Theoretically, romance traveling the human years begets an immediate reception perceiving it as more fetching than stories that feature compressed journeys of togetherness. Fiction following the footsteps of reality in slice-of-life romcom narratives always has incredible merits, for by scripting the march of everyday life to resemble the dull and dreary amidst the occasional spark of the hustle and bustle and furnishing it with the creative freedom of story-making, a person can create a reliable work for reflection, and allow others to experience a makeshift simulation of possible events.

I often take a retrospective approach when writing up my post-completion thoughts, and looking back on it, I think Maison Ikkoku truly was an enjoyable show whose length is quite justifiable. Two things make it so that the way it kills time stays within reason: Godai's graduation (then employment) and Kyoko's status as a widow living to move on.

As sadistic as it is to say, I gain enjoyment from Godai's miserable luck. This feeling might be similar to how the upper class derived amusement from colosseum gladiators fighting for their lives in desperation--but of course there is a galaxy-wide distinction between relishing real-life bloody spectacles and finding meaningful connection with a wimpy college kid near the same age as I fighting life's battles and always coming home tattered...yet inevitably evolving from the struggles albeit in such a staggering pace. Someone so pathetic, insecure, weak-willed; someone whose eyes constantly avert from their own priorities; someone without direction and is therefore prone to the whims of life; someone like Godai whose skillsets are subpar to even secure a comfortable livelihood for himself growing throughout the years holds a mirror to the viewer and asks them to comprehend the insanity of the non-linear personal development of someone without fate's favor, which covers a large portion of our population.

An author mercilessly flaunting their protagonist's flaws in appropriate settings such as in Maison Ikkoku is enduringly satisfying to see, especially when the object being sought after is nigh unreachable. Protagonists usually have an impossible dream ahead of them right? Godai's infuriating writing really escapes the screen, making it all the more rewarding once he's grown up much better by the end.

For much of the duration, we see the story through Godai's eyes. This approach lights up Kyoko as the ideal goal of the story. It didn't really help that she was locked behind the "manager" persona. Adding to that we had a long, dark age when it comes to her past apart from that she is a widow who names her dog after her late husband, goes to tennis classes, is being fought between Godai and Mitaka, and is one BEAUTIFULLY designed woman.

A goal, a character playing a role, and less of a character in a living story, Kyoko just didn't have much deeper to her going yet. Those times we are only being misled by how she is an ideal woman for possessing the traits of a traditional domestic house lady, when in reality she too had many things to process and has undesirable characteristics any normal human being would have.

Kyoko is the final piece of Maison Ikkoku, a messy story about messy people, and being so, naturally knowing her flaws open up the doors of the apartment--that is, her heart, for is not moving on a path that leads one to migrate to another world, and is not love about opening yourself up? Her surprising temper when dealing with her family especially, her severe indecisiveness mingling with unaware hypocrisy, her need for external validation--the need to be needed wraps up the feeling, for in her mourning state the loss of affection might have somehow influenced her to "like" receiving the thing that she now does not have, inhibiting her to decline either Mitaka or Godai's advances much sooner, warding the hungry dogs off with the "I'm a widow" card instead which she knows does not work on them at all. Grieving because "no one (general people) loves me" I think can go alongside grieving because "no one (late partner) can love me anymore". I don't know what being widowed feels like, and I also do not know what truly goes on deep in the mind of a person squeezed between two suitors, but given the context and the timing of her decisions, as well as a particular line, I'm led to think in that certain way.

Once again, it is merely an influence, not a deciding factor, because of course her being scared of entering a relationship with someone because she is scared he will die before her again is her whole deal. The assertive youth she once was, and the aggressive spirit of the high schooler Yagami, were buried under real fear due to a sudden, real experience. And also, it's perfectly human to want to be depended upon.

I like the dynamic of Godai and Kyoko a lot. She actually can be considered as no different than Godai with respect to skillset, for Kyoko never went to college due to marrying Soichiro after graduation. With no degree, her mother is scared of her future outside Maison Ikkoku (she says this to her child as she rattles off Kyoko's deficiencies in typical Asian style). This makes Kyoko so much more similar to Godai, whose will is constantly being tested by the tenants on the topic of his future, being a no-name in a third-rate university and all. I can go as far as to say they're close equals: Godai as a 20th-century man is duty-bound to secure financial stability for the person he wishes to take care of all his life, and Kyoko as a widow and a degree-less "damaged goods" has to stay in Ikkoku or else the future is pretty bleak. Both are pressured by societal expectations normalized during that time period and cultural conditions, making the story so much more realistic and immersive.

And then, we have the dreaded abuse of misunderstandings. There have been a few tasteful meals Takahashi Rumiko made from it, such as Mitaka's wedding being wrapped up because of McEnroe (here Mitaka's conquered fear bit him in the butt, and a dog sealing his loyalty to a woman was super suitable when thinking about his fright against the species a jab at his faithlessness, being a known player and all). But overall, the best I could do was just grin and bear it. If we could take away two-thirds of it then the loss would still be negligible--it simply lacks creativity. That technique is not Maison Ikkoku's charm at all. With Godai, sometimes it makes sense for him to misunderstand the situation due to his weak-willed character, but even then he could just man up a little bit and say one measly sentence. This goes to everyone else in the cast too, who have less excuse to act as such. I took less mind against it during the last quarter of the series due to the extreme boost in quality allowing a bit of breathing room for the stain to make its way with the plot, with the series taking itself more seriously, but man was it downright tasteless so many times before.

On a related note, the tenants overdid their act. Although not outright despising them for outstandingly despicable behavior, during the midgame they can only gain a couple of silent laughs from me, and not even that, but a small number of slight air-pushing through the nose. When I'm not poked at optimistically, my reactions were dismissive of their existence, as if they were inconsequential obstacles when they try so hard to be so, as if this feeling of annoyance they strive to bait from me is unneeded and therefore cannot rise up when it has surfaced once already. Yeah, they're a fun little crew indispensable in smearing the atmosphere as it should be and being challengers of Godai's plans, and Yotsuya is pure amusement, but instead of the group's actions per se I focus more on their abstract relevance (even if at times it has to be scraped to be seen), and sitting on the idea that they could be imaginary people, just the personification of the messy rooms within Godai and Kyoko's inner houses.

To continue with the topic of complaints, Kentaro should have more screentime! The child is too adorable not to be given more focus. I need to see him and his villain arc from being stuck in the apartment whose noise pierces through dimensions. Being a kid with a mother like Ichinose-san has gotta be absurdly stressful. I wholeheartedly believe he suffers equally with Godai, just because of the frequent negligence by Ichinose-san and the indirect stain to the environment the party trio brings. That one episode where the tenants went on a rare vacation together, and instead of having the luxury of comfortable accommodation and a refreshing new assortment of meals, Yotsuya, Ichinose-san, and Akemi instead used the financial funds for drinks! Poor Kentaro had the excitement stolen away by selfish adults.

And oh yeah, whatever happened to the apartment itself having a rich history during the attic episode early in the series? It was a good spot to step foot on because of the place being the very title of the show. They didn't do anything to expound upon that ever again apart from the filler episode where the apartment was at risk of being taken down, which is a shame. Maison Ikkoku, "The House of One-Moment", whose every energetic day adds to its long legacy, filled with tenants who appreciate the present. Such a shame.

What a fun romantic story Maison Ikkoku is. The premise upheld itself to the end, and resisted the antagonizing elements, the societal norms which I was anxious would be surrendered to by Godai succumbing to a corporate job and Kyoko pressuring Godai to go for it (which I know at that point was already improbable considering the time they've spent together so transparently in one apartment). I'm genuinely elated that the length didn't dilute my care for the main characters to a sad degree, partly owing to the anime team's prowess and partly due to me just wanting to have a chill time whenever I play an episode randomly, a mindset that has sort of faded within considerably. After all, entertainment media is meant to intake simple pleasures.

The greatest benefit of watching: unlocking rightful access to 80s anime aesthetics!