Jellyfish Can’t Swim in the Night is a strong character drama that hinges on a connection with its characters to sell its many emotionally intense scenes. The show is very much anchored by the charisma of its cast, using it to tie together a rather wide range of themes and subjects it wants to tackle. While a majority of the narrative is focused on the specific topic of amateur online content creation, specifically in music, Jellyfish also covers wider issues with the professional entertainment industry as well as the private struggles of its characters. This does benefit the show by preventing its identity from solely being about its subject matter of internet content creation, avoiding the risk of becoming too technical or granular to appeal to a wider audience. However, it also contributes to the pacing feeling quite rapid at times with its many different themes and plot threads that are all made to intersect through the characters. The show ends up lacking the time to fully dig into so many of these topics given their gravity. Despite that, it never feels like it is pulling its punches either with what it does choose to show of the cruel and even dangerous world of entertainment and internet culture. It is an understandable compromise since these issues are natural extensions of the show’s premise yet also cannot be taken to their full “realistic” extremes without radically morphing the tone and trajectory of the show into something dour or even horrific. This still puts a noticeable strain on the narrative with how it struggles at times to both satisfy the intensity of the plot yet maintain its more hopeful and light-hearted premise without slipping into melodrama or creating tonal whiplash. But despite this tension in its narrative aims, Jellyfish still ultimately succeeds on the back of its charismatic and earnest characters, though never quite rising to its full potential with how it clearly intends to cover its themes.

The key to the success of Jellyfish has been the strong characterisation of its core cast that balances being larger than life with believability. All media, even those with a mundane setting, are to a degree a heightened reality where everything is presented in a more stylized manner to make for a compelling narrative. However, this exaggerated and romanticised veneer creates the constant risk of characters feeling too unbelievable in their mannerisms or responses to events given their supposed ages or backgrounds. The show tows this line well with the core cast portrayed both as charming and quirky enough to be engaging while being self-aware of how peculiar or emotionally consumed their behaviour can at times make them appear. With how many dramatic moments are packed into the season, the self-awareness of both the characters and the narrative is key in maintaining suspension of disbelief while avoiding a slide into melodrama. It preserves the characters' many outbursts and tears as their genuine emotional reaction to events and prevents them from feeling like they were written in for the sake of entertaining the audience. At the same time, the characters later reflecting on events having simmered down or scummed to embarrassment not only makes it feel even more sincere but signals that the narrative does not perceive these dramatic moments as ordinary nor without exceptional cause or consequence. All this serves to create characters that are larger than life but still feel bound to it and respond like genuine people to things around them. This self-awareness is also leveraged to smooth out the transition between light-hearted and more dramatic moments, even heightening the impact or catharsis of scenes with how they contrast each other in quick succession. While it is arguable how effective this is in the eyes of some viewers who still feel a degree of whiplash, it still undoubtedly helps alleviate the pressure on the suspension of disbelief by consistently framing the cast as the impulsive and mildly frivolous teenagers they are.

This self-awareness of how strange or intense the characters can appear also ties in strongly to Jellyfish’s themes of them feeling isolated or rejected by society in various ways. It serves to reinforce and show the audience that what makes them compelling characters is also acknowledged within the narrative as exactly what makes them feel alienated or even rejected by many of their peers. While a lot of their personality is still favourably framed as quirky and endearing, it is also a subtle reminder that some of these mannerisms would be a bit hard to embrace if confronted with them in real life. This framing is made stronger by the show choosing to introduce each character to the narrative in tandem with the core parts of their backstories. It allows the viewer to immediately connect their past with the character’s current views of the world and social circumstances in a direct yet subtle manner. More importantly, having all the pieces on the board from the onset is what gives the show a solid foundation for a compelling character narrative. It ensures that all the growth and obstacles throughout each character arc do not feel like they come from nowhere, all of them being clearly set up in their backstories or natural extensions from them. Even characters like Kiui who start with more unknowns about their circumstances have the incongruence between what is said and what is shown clearly telegraphed to the audience with the answers being readily inferable from the information provided. It even leverages small things that most anime take for granted as just part of character design like the unusual dyed colour of their hair to imply things about their social situation. In this, Jellyfish demonstrates it is also capable of a surprising amount of subtlety or implicit storytelling despite the general impression it makes of being a fairly direct narrative. While all this has placed the weight of making the show engaging solely on its execution and character portrayals, it is a confidence well-founded for Jellyfish. Furthermore, it resists the urge to use mystery as a crutch or narrative sleight to prop up the drama like so many other shows tend to do these days.

With all character arcs and their direction firmly laid out by episode four, it does become apparent that the show has a significant number of themes it wants to cover. They range from the struggles of a creative in finding confidence or a purpose to their work to more personal questions about self-acceptance despite finding it hard to fit in, and even rather expansive societal topics like the fickleness and cruelty of internet culture and the underhanded nature of the entertainment industry. Although these all certainly relate and overlap with each other, it is apt to question if this is too much for a single narrative running twelve episodes to cover. To tie everything together into a plot, the narrative gives more screentime to the creative challenges the characters face as JELEE since it interacts more directly with the plot threads to do with internet culture and the entertainment industry. Part of the issue with that is although Mahiru and Kano have personal struggles that relate directly to their creative work as part of JELEE, Kiui and Mei face challenges that have more to do with how they feel as individuals. Most of the events surrounding the successes and mishaps with JELEE only interact with Kiui and Mei’s character arcs as catalysts instead of being more directly or thematically related. As a result, much of the cast's more personal arcs like struggling with what they want to do after high school or why they feel rejected by their other peers end up underserved by the plot. This is particularly the case for Mei who fades into the background in the show’s middle and feels particularly static given she does not have an obvious character arc. Even Kiui’s compelling personal struggles feel more like they run parallel to the main thrust of the narrative surrounding JELEE, lacking the full time to breathe and elaboration that would really draw out all its potential. There could have been ample room to focus on the more personal stories of the characters in a variation of Jellyfish where the narrative omitted or minimized its plot threads to do with the professional entertainment industry, but that is simply not the direction they wanted to go in. While what we do get of their personal struggles is certainly impactful, it does not get the time to be explored or to breathe that would bring out its full narrative potential.

This is not to say that Jellyfish’s plot or commentary about the idol industry is without merit. It is mostly direct in showing an extremely nasty and unglamourised side of the industry while still having a subtler touch with some scenes that at first glance appeared to be played for laughs. For instance, despite the upbeat and zany framing the show frequently uses for Miiko the idol, there is always this foreboding or sinister undertone when the show reveals more about her situation in life. Yet it still feels like it has at least slightly overloaded the show’s pacing and framing with how much time needs to be dedicated to it and the effort it takes to meld the tone of such a hefty subject matter with the rest of the show. This problem arguably exists with the plot and themes directly surrounding JELEE as well since it goes into the dangers of seeking fame on the internet such as being doxed. It is a natural extension of any narrative dealing with online creation, especially with how it establishes JELEE as an anonymous group and with some of the cast having plenty of baggage tied to their real identities. Admittedly, the show cannot reasonably delve into the full extent of the scenario since it would ultimately warp the show’s entire premise around it by necessity. Not only would it require most if not all of the show’s remaining run time to get into the consequences of being doxed like harassment and the mental toll it would take, but it would also drastically alter the show’s premise from being about being an internet creative to the dangers of the internet. This kind of grim, almost horrific exploration of the topic would be more suited to a show in the vein of Perfect Blue, and at the very least would feel like a bait and switch to the audience since nothing about Jellyfish promised or even hinted at that kind of tonal shift. Perhaps there is a way to convincingly blend both a fun and quirky tone while dealing with the full escalation of doxing, but that would be an exceptional feat instead of something reasonable to expect. That only leaves the show with one option, both narratively and tonally, in having its characters respond by pushing through all the vicious comments and ridicule and forging ahead with their goals. There does still feel like a lack of time to let the gravity of the situation settle in, either by showing more of the characters processing what is happening to them or a less indignant response like emotionally shutting down for a while. But that limitation is due more to how packed the narrative is with its runtime being dedicated more to furthering other conflicts. Despite the difficult competing demands, the show still does show a significant amount of anguish from its characters to drive home the magnitude of events while not making it too dark and creating an irrecoverable amount of tonal whiplash. While imperfect, it strikes a reasonable compromise in ensuring that the characters nor the narrative ever seem to be taking it lightly while also maintaining the initial tone and vision of the show.

With the tightly packed plot and weighty topics it wants to tackle, it leaves Jellyfish relying on a connection with its characters to maintain the suspension of disbelief as the intensity of the drama. Opening the show with all the members of JELEE already being experienced creatives is certainly an excellent choice to support the stakes the show rises to. It allows the plot to essentially bypass the beginner phase of attempting to learn their craft, both saving narrative time and providing them with baggage that the plot can immediately tackle. Mahiru’s arc in this is fairly conventional when telling the story revolving around a character dedicated to any sort of craft. Despite it having the usual plot beats about lacking confidence in her abilities and how she might be going too far in the name of getting her big break, it is executed well by the show and avoids some of the common pitfalls of the character archetype. The show never makes the mistake of having a single uplifting speech from another character solve all of Mahiru’s worries permanently. Her anxiety lingers on and is never fully assuaged by compliments or reassurances despite them still being helpful. It is never shown to be something easy to get over and requires Mahiru herself to work for it throughout the show. On the other hand, Mei’s character arc is harder to see with her character feeling static for much of the season despite eventually having some major dramatic moments where she is the focus. There are some implicit ideas about her journey being one of connecting with Kano as the person she really is instead of being stuck in a parasocial relationship with the image of who she used to be. It is possible to argue the lack of emphasis on this as subtlety, but the viewer simply sees too little of how Mei’s interactions with Kano change over the series. A majority of her scenes are frequently used as punchlines or to further the plot instead of her characterisation. While she is still a charming character, it feels somewhat disappointing for there never to be a moment where Mei gets to connect with Kano and solidify this as being her character arc.

In contrast, Kano’s arc has the most consistent amount of narrative focus with her being the focal point for much of the drama surrounding JELEE given her colourful past. Yet her journey of learning to perform and create more for herself and those who care about her feels like it would be more at home in a show dedicated to commenting on idol culture. What Jellyfish delivers hits all the major plot points surrounding that, but they feel abbreviated or packed a little too close together because of the many other themes it needs to tackle. There is some interesting interaction with how Kano’s background as a former, and arguably disillusioned professional contrasts that of Mahiru’s as someone aspiring to go pro and be recognised for her abilities. Yet they still feel a little smothered and under pressure from how packed and dramatic the rest of the narrative is. Notably, a lot of the themes and plot threads relating to Kano’s relationship with her mother and past life as an idol feel like they lack the time to breathe and are a little rushed to a resolution. This pressure is more keenly felt in Kiui’s arc where it is exceedingly strong but also feels distinctly like a tangent to the main story. Despite the narrative being unable to consistently dedicate focus to it, Kiui’s character remains compelling since her personality has the benefit of having obvious layers to it. In constantly striving to project this image of confidence, the viewer always has plenty to consider with how much of Kiui’s confidence is a deliberate ruse, how much is genuine, or more complex permutations like her pretending having gone on for so long that it has become real or at least reflexively baked into her personality. Still, the potential of Kiui’s arc feels less realised than it could be simply because there is not as much build-up or time to breathe as there would be in a show more dedicated to exploring those kinds of themes. The juncture where Jellyfish leaves Kiui’s arc is still satisfying in being a cathartic moment where years of her frustrations and fears have been released. Yet it also feels more like the beginning of the end instead with how the reflection and falling action to do with her arc have been shortened. Despite the packed narrative, Jellyfish still does an excellent job with its characters, making these limitations feel more like strained or missed potential than anything incomplete. The drama is still compelling enough even in its compressed form that it is reasonable to argue only an increase in the sheer amount of episode count would improve it, and that is not something that can really be held against a show given current industry norms and expectations.

Overall, Jellyfish Can’t Swim in the Night is a show that has plenty of charm and lots of ideas. It is certainly compelling as a show that aims to encapsulate and blend the most prominent themes and stories that can be told in the entertainment industry into a single show. By far, it feels more limited by its episode count and format than any decision to be made within the narrative itself. Part of that necessarily opens it up to being a little hit or miss with certain viewers given the packed run time creates a constant flow of dramatic moments that might overwhelm them. Especially since this might reasonably veer into the territory of melodrama if for a viewer less sold or moved by the intense emotions of the cast. Nevertheless, with how earnest Jellyfish is about its themes and how charismatic it is with its characterisation, it deserves a solid 8 out of 10. It is tempting to give it an 8.5 or even a 9 with how compelling I found Kiui’s character in particular. But the compression of everything in the plot makes it seem distinctly like the show is biting off more than it can chew despite it never feeling like melodrama to me. Still, it is not unreasonable for some viewers to give it a higher score or perhaps even have Jellyfish be one of their new all-time favourites due to how compelling they found the characters to be.