NOTE: Contains spoilers

First off, my condolences to the production team of the anime—unfortunately, it’s abundantly clear their work was anything but labor of love. That said, judging Whisper Me a Love Song on its own merits, it sadly falls short on practically all counts: many episodes are rife with incongruent plotlines, impulsive actions, and unrealistically melodramatic realizations, among other faults. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the lackluster production; however, I’m primarily here to discuss the narrative, given that this anime has neither endearing enough characters nor compelling storylines to balance out its technical deficiencies.

My first fault (and perhaps the most central one) lies with the execution of Himari and Yori’s relationship. Truthfully, I often fail to see the value in the “love at first sight” trope, as it entails greater effort on the viewer’s part to piece together and grow invested in a relationship. In other words, if an anime lacks the necessary introspection and exposition to justify a character’s love, it often falls on the audience to make their own deductions. That’s not to say there’s no inherent value in the trope—Bloom Into You, for example, executes this concept in a palatable and authentic manner—but it risks confusing and alienating the viewer if no subsequent justification is provided.

Such is the case with Himari’s one-sided crush on Yori: in the fourth minute of the first episode, we see Himari become enamored with Yori’s singing, followed by an apparent love confession in the eight minute. Keep in mind, at this point we know virtually nothing regarding their interests, personality, and ambitions, yet we’re suddenly thrust into their unknown world of romance. Consequently, I was quite apathetic to Yori’s subsequent dilemma; after all, if you saw two strangers on the street—the label I’d apply to Himari and Yori at this point—suddenly fall in love, how much would you care?

Therein lies my main issue with Himari, and to a lesser extent Yori: these characters are defined almost entirely by their romance with each other, rather than their distinct traits and aspirations. Throughout the first two thirds of the show, I feel it’s no exaggeration to claim that 95% of Himari’s dialogue and actions are related, tangentially or directly, to her affection for Yori. Himari engages in conversation with Miki? She fawns over Yori and her musical prowess. Himari seeks out an after-school activity? She ultimately settles on the cooking club to woo Yori with baked treats. Himari has free time during school? She seeks out Yori’s companionship and ponders whether she’ll enjoy the privilege to hear her sing yet again. That’s all to say, prior to the introduction of Shiho, I’d be hard pressed to tell you any distinct character interests or traits Himari has: she…enjoys fashion, I guess? Of course, a romance’s principal aim is to flesh out a relationship, but when it suffocates the plotline to the point that its characters lack much independent thought, it quickly becomes unrealistic and off-putting for the viewer. As a result, Himari’s characterization is equivalent to a hollow caricature of a romantic, easily interchangeable with another generic love-struck protagonist without so much as an impact on the plot.

By the same token, the nature of their romance is equivalent to a paint-by-numbers scheme: saccharine and satisfying enough on the outside, but ultimately formulaic with little room for interpretation. For instance, Yori’s rationale for falling in love with Himari essentially boils down to “she’s cute” with minimal elaboration provided, while meaningful interactions where they discuss their interests (or, more frankly, why they became enamored with each other) are few in number. Likewise, Himari discusses little about Yori’s personality traits, preferring to focus almost solely on her musical talent, which culminates in her almost mind-numbingly predictable confession following Yori’s second performance. The end result is a relationship that relies almost entirely on telling, rather than showing, making for a paper-thin romance that hinges on declarative statements in a feeble attempt to convince the viewer of their chemistry.

In the same vein, much of the supporting cast lacks any semblance of personality or distinction. Miki’s role is largely confined to being “Aki’s sister” with no traits of note, Mari’s only distinctive trait is that she weirdly refers to others using their first and last name, Hajime’s only purpose is to round out Laureley, and…I can’t even recall the name of the other member of SSGIRLS. Similarly, Momoka, Aki, and Shiho, while given slightly more space to develop, ultimately fall flat as characters and romantic interests. Little explanation is provided regarding Aki’s crush on Yori beyond the fact that it exists, causing her sudden antagonization of Himari to feel unsettlingly out of place, yet this drama is largely relegated to one episode…and she somehow comes to terms with Himari and Yori’s relationship within the span of a few minutes..? On the other hand, while Momoka’s relationship with Kyou tries to pull at the heartstrings, its three minute montage lacks the attention and development needed for a greater effect.

As for our resident antagonist, Shiho, her backstory attempts to invite sympathy from the viewer but ultimately fails at portraying her as anything besides petty and egotistical. While the intended narrative seems to be “childhood prodigy explores new musical endeavors as she grapples with past relationships and her insecurities,” the five minute montage reads closer to “entitled, whiny teenager copes with main character syndrome by embarking on a petty revenge arc.” Given the complexity of such a narrative, as demonstrated by shows like Sound! Euphonium and Your Lie in April—which develop similar stories over multiple arcs—it’s only natural that this show’s rendition lacks the nuance and clarity of dialogue needed to sell Shiho’s character. Chock-full of generic, self-centered lines like “the more I talk to you, the worse I feel” and “she positively adored me, and I thought she was pretty all right,” Shiho’s backstory amounts to little more than surface level victim blaming and projection, causing Himari’s sudden fixation on and sympathy for Shiho to feel rather contrived. Of course, compelling characters don’t necessarily need to exhibit the highest moral fiber…yet Shiho’s utter lack of self awareness and empathy, shown when she unapologetically trashes Yori to Himari’s face (seriously, who does that?), does little to endear me to her.

Unfortunately, the final two episodes (which premiered six months later, by some miracle) do little to change the tide. Shallow monologues and confounding choices galore round out the festival arc: apart from the bizarre creative choice to entirely sideline Himari and Yori’s relationship, Aki and Himari nonsensically blame themselves for Shiho’s inner turmoil—culminating in Aki seemingly professing her love for Shiho…or not? As a viewer, I was honestly left with more questions than answers…how did we go from “enemies” to “lovers” within the span of five minutes? What in the world compelled Aki to give Shiho a second chance? Melodrama can only take a plotline so far, and by a certain point, I feel that introspection and dialogue are needed to convincingly sell a story. So, while I can respect the narrative intent, Aki’s 90-second monologue—an exercise in 'telling' rather than 'showing' her feelings for Shiho—and Shiho’s explicit avoidance of Aki ultimately culminated in a resolution that felt unearned, if not entirely manufactured, ringing hollow on all fronts.

All in all, Whisper Me a Love Song, while ambitious in its attempt to capture the viewer’s attention, ultimately lacks the nuance and gravitas needed to elevate its plot beyond an elementary level romantic drama, amounting to a confounding watch experience best left forgotten.