He appears to be on top of the world. Boasting a picturesque cleft chin, surrounded by a legion of followers that fervently scream his name and a trio of women that lovingly caress his shoulders, this man seems to be the center of attention, and he’s not only aware of this but he enjoys it as well. This man is Lucky Roulette, the ringleader of a gang known as the “Wild Bunch”. They’re a nasty assortment of thugs, mugging, murdering and inflaming anyone or anything that obstructs their path to riches and renown. The “Wild Bunch” migrate from one town to the next, mercilessly pillaging the inhabitants’ resources before moving to the next locale. Their acts of destruction are all overseen by Lucky, who views each undertaking as an opportunity to assess how much luck he possesses.

“It’s the one thing in God’s domain. No training to it. No honing of one’s skills. Nothing. That’s why I want to test it. I want to find out just what God thinks of me,” - Lucky

To that end, he endeavors into each heist without abandon, which simultaneously endangers his life and pushes the boundaries of his good fortune. Cackling maniacally, twirling his pair of revolvers, Lucky obliterates everything in his line of sight and, through pure luck, he finishes with nary a scratch on him. Because of this, Lucky feels as though he’s not only fortunate but exceptional as well. He believes that no matter what activity he partakes in, he’s guaranteed to succeed because of his luck. However, it is when Lucky begins terrorizing the small town of Evergreen and encounters a hopeless drifter named Vahn that everything changes for him.

When Lucky learns that Vahn injured a few of his members during one of their raids, he coerces Vahn into playing a simple card game with him as a method of uncovering how talented Vahn is. In the middle of this game, he promises Vahn that no harm will come to him if he wins. Lucky also claims through a lengthy monologue that attacking Vahn would contradict his personal code of honor, stating that he only engages in fair fights. However, when Lucky loses the card game, he reneges on the promise he made. Valuing his good fortune above all else, Lucky believes that, during the card game, Vahn deprived him of what he cherishes most. As a result, he ambushes Vahn in a dark alley and drenches him with steaming hot lead, which not only triggers his ultimate downfall but also tarnishes the moral principles he claimed to protect.

Lucky Roulette’s characterization is a blatant argument against the concept of an honorable criminal. He discourses at great length on righteousness, claiming to support his moral code, but when circumstances demand he prove where his loyalties lie, he abandons his beliefs. Stripped of his noble platitudes, Lucky is your typical bandit, just as petty, self-absorbed and shortsighted as his peers (if not more so). Lucky’s proclamations of honor only serve to emphasize the extents his hypocrisy reach, which makes him all the more fascinating to watch during his brief appearance in Gun x Sword.

In the context of this show and what it aims to accomplish, Lucky Roulette is but a one-off villain, defeated in its very first episode, never seen (nor referred to) again; he is a pawn, unwittingly participating in a scheme far bigger than he could ever fathom. Lucky’s role is minor, yes, but it does carry some level of significance. With each episode, Gun x Sword would burrow further and further into the concept of an honorable criminal, exploring the nuances of this idea through various individuals (each with their own unique moral code), before ultimately confronting it via its main antagonist (who is arguably the most complex “honorable criminal” of them all). However, this thematic exploration all begins with Lucky and his card games. Honestly, the fact that Gun x Sword created such an insignificant character and used him to establish the groundwork for one of its most essential concepts speaks volumes about the level of writing we’re dealing with here.

It’s difficult not to marvel at the scope of this show’s vision. Gun x Sword (GxS) is ambitious, an anime aiming to integrate a myriad of themes and concepts into a narrative that seamlessly transitions from episodic, small-scale events to a far larger plotline (what GxS accomplishes with the idea of an honorable criminal is but one of many feats its storytelling achieves). During this transition, it ceaselessly diversifies the intent of its individual vignettes, each episode (unique in its own right) serving as an experiment for GxS’s overall purpose. While one episode is a Pulp Fiction parody, another is a high-stakes mecha tournament. This is an anime that can dedicate one episode to elaborating on the dangers of childhood nostalgia and an entirely different episode to waxing poetic on the merits of bathing suits. It is this wondrously creative writing that highlights the adventures of Gun x Sword’s protagonists Wendy and Vahn.

Established on the Earth-like planet known as the “Endless Illusion”, GxS is an anime that’s partially defined by its scenic backgrounds, by its gorgeous fight scenes, and by its devastating plot twists but what guides all of this forward are the motives of this show’s central characters. Wendy is an insecure yet assertive young girl, an individual whose arc is focused on retrieving her older brother Michael from the clutches of The Claw (GxS’s main antagonist), alongside surviving and maturing in a world that doesn’t favor her small stature. Vahn is the stereotypical anti-hero, a poor man’s Spike Spiegel that’s pursuing The Claw because he murdered his wife at their wedding three years before this show takes place (as a memento, Vahn still wears the tuxedo from that day).

Together, Wendy, Vahn and their motives are the foundation for Gun x Sword, and all that it aspires to do. They are also the nucleus of an anime that prioritizes its ambitions far too often for its own good.

With its wings stretched behind it and its chest puffed out in front of it, Gun x Sword is Icarus, grasping the heavens above but ignoring virtually everything outside of its line of sight. This show propels its narrative (and the multitude of ideas embedded within it) into increasingly innovative directions but, in the process, it mishandles and (at times) neglects more than a few impactful plot elements. Focused on the bigger picture, Gun x Sword doesn’t apply the same attention to the smaller pieces of the puzzle.

This show is one that attempts juggling several concepts at once but, though this pursuit is admirable, it doesn’t always succeed. While it’s understandable that GxS struggles under this workload, the degree to which this show fumbles with some of its ideas is, at times, baffling. For starters, there is a certain subplot involving a watchdog and its two puppies that exudes the stench of a halfhearted effort. Gun x Sword tries positioning these characters as devices for an overarching message on the human condition but it doesn’t dedicate enough time to properly develop this idea and the result is naturally less than ideal. Then, there are the unsettling implications contained within the dynamic between Wendy (who is in her early teens) and Vahn (who is in his mid-twenties) that Gun x Sword never bothers exploring.

I don’t expect this show to present a detailed opinion on underaged relationships but, if you’re going to portray your protagonists with a considerable age difference as a couple (and, dear God, is GxS guilty of this), then a comment or two on how you feel about this topic shouldn’t be too much to ask for. Naturally, there are other concepts that GxS fails to flesh out in one way or another (of particular interest is episode 14’s tragically underdeveloped viewpoint of mass-produced machines) but, in the grand scheme of things, they (and the deficiencies I mentioned earlier) are inessential. When examined individually, that might not appear to be the case. However, in the context of all that Gun x Sword represents and accomplishes, their importance is downsized considerably. What this show forfeits on a conceptual level by botching several of the themes it tackles, it more than compensates by emphasizing its force of personality.

Gun x Sword has quite the theatrical flair. This show doesn’t merely advance its plot lines to thrilling peaks; it revels in those dramatic highs. GxS throws itself wholeheartedly into exploiting each and every twist and turn its story takes for maximum effect. The result is a show whose overdramatic approach is simply irresistible to watch. And for something like this, it requires a soundtrack that’s worthy of its efforts. GxS needs a soundtrack that’s just as gloriously over-the-top as it is, a soundtrack that not only complements the tone of this series but elevates its theatrics to new heights.

Luckily, Kotaro Nakagawa, famed composer of the soundtracks for Code Geass and Planetes (among others), is here to make this possible.

It’s his experience with creating uniquely cinematic scores that allows GxS’s music to flourish. Primarily reliant on a combination of orchestral and jazz, this show’s score is highlighted by the intensity of its sound. Nakagawa’s saxophone riffs awaken with the fervor of a firework display while his violin solos roar with a Hans Zimmer-esque self-importance but GxS’s score really shines in his efforts with Hitomi Kuroishi. A frequent collaborator on Nakagawa’s projects (and a musician I’ve long admired), Kuroishi provides her harp, her drums and (of course) her angelic voice to this show’s soundtrack with her songs “Paradiso” and “La Speranza”.

As awe-inspiring as the songs created by Nakagawa and Kuroishi are, it is Gun x Sword’s opening theme that’s truly the pinnacle of its musical brilliance. Backed by a symphony of trumpets and drums, it is a series of climaxes, energetically transitioning from one to the next. It is also a marriage between flute solos and background vocals. Last but not least, it is an opportunity for Gun x Sword’s supporting cast to be properly introduced.

In the opening theme, they are nothing more than silhouettes. However, in the viewpoint of first impressions, they seem to be nothing more than plot devices; they appear to be mouthpieces masquerading as characters (and not very talented mouthpieces, at that). Every message GxS conveys through its supporting cast makes for an unappetizing watch. Shallow at its best and heavy-handed at its worst, this show’s social commentary is one that not only offers nothing new to the issues it discusses but it also pushes to the forefront a rather limited perspective. When its characters state their opinions on topics like ageism, classism, and sexism, their efforts betray a lack of knowledge on the subject matter.

As more exposure is provided to the supporting cast, these individuals are allowed opportunities to deviate from their mouthpiece roles and to distinguish themselves. While this show falters in communicating social themes through its supporting cast, it shines in developing their personalities. With the benefit of a different approach in place, it’s apparent that these characters are more than tools for GxS to employ however it desires; they are people striving to preserve their beliefs and fulfill their ambitions. Enhanced by these intensely personal characteristics, the supporting cast is rendered human, which ultimately makes investing in their individual journeys far easier.

The supporting cast truly is a collection of fascinating characters, which consists of (but certainly isn’t limited to) Ray Lundgren (an enigmatic loner with a scathingly cold demeanor), Michael Garrett (a deconstruction of the shonen protagonist), Joshua Lundgren (a mechanic whose inferiority complex is played for laughs), and Priscilla (a confident tomboy that compensates a lack of intelligence with her zeal). Each of them is solidified as characters through their willingness to defend their beliefs and ways of life. As a result, the fights that occur in GxS aren’t merely exchanges of blows. They are philosophical conflicts, sprung to life by the determination of each combatant and their reliance on their principles. Not only does this cause the supporting cast to be all the more enjoyable but it also adds a layer of nuance to this show’s overall theme of revenge.

A hero falls victim to devastating circumstances, resulting in the deprivation of everything he/she ever cherished. However, instead of succumbing to sorrow, the hero uses their most vulnerable moment as the driving force to settle the score with the cause of their despair. Revenge is a concept that’s both exceptionally alluring... and exceptionally narrow.

In comparison to ideas such as love, power, and prosperity (which are broad and abstract concepts that can be defined however you wish), revenge is specific and concrete, which severely limits the extent to which you can explore it. To its credit, Gun x Sword provides a valiant effort. Through Ray Lundgren and Vahn, this show not only dissects the idea of revenge but how it consumes individuals, alongside those around them and (in the end) it questions the benefit that results from revenge. However, where GxS ultimately falters isn’t in its thematic exploration but in the conclusion it reaches after its analysis.

(A useful aside: It’s impossible to overstate how important revenge is to Gun x Sword as a whole. It isn’t merely among the many themes this show builds upon. Revenge is THE theme of GxS, the concept that everything else revolves around. Vahn’s pursuit of revenge allows him to encounter Lucky Roulette (and Wendy) in the town of Evergreen, which causes this series to move forward. Without the idea of revenge, none of what GxS accomplishes (and wants to accomplish) would be possible)

Revenge for its own sake is not unique, nor is it entertaining. There must be a deeper meaning to the motive if you really want people to be invested in your character. For Ray, a man whose wife was murdered because she remained loyal to her principles, revenge is only part of what he desires. In pursuing his wife’s killer, Ray wants to uncover whether or not the choice she made was correct. For Vahn, however, it’s different. You see, after all of the time Gun x Sword devotes to questioning the purpose behind Vahn’s pursuit, the answer it reaches is the equivalent of a shoulder shrug.

By not providing any depth for Vahn’s motive, this show’s development of the idea of revenge is a half-finished effort. If this flawed thematic exploration were an isolated incident, it would be quite difficult (but not impossible) to properly appreciate everything else GxS has to offer. However, factoring in the other underdeveloped concepts that are scattered throughout this show, the various pieces of the puzzle that (by themselves) seem insignificant, results in something too devastating to overlook. Gun x Sword leans far more towards style than it does substance; this is an anime that amazes with the outlandish ideas it raises but underwhelms with how little it’s willing to develop them. It promotes itself as something of a thinking man’s shonen/mecha but its efforts in justifying this title are inconsistent, to say the least.

I admire Gun x Sword. No; it would be more accurate to say that I admire what Gun x Sword could’ve been. With its joyously overdramatic approach, its experimental narrative, and the overwhelming ambitions it aimed to fulfill, who can’t appreciate the heights this show wanted to reach? When it involves potential, few can compare to GxS. However, when it involves realizing and maximizing that same potential, this show ultimately falls short.