UlasanAnime.com – The author addresses a request to elaborate on the anime “Girlish Number,” prompted by a previous discussion with “Digibro.” The article delves into the anime’s themes, character analyses, and its commentary on the voice acting industry, while also touching upon a personal disagreement with Digibro regarding critique and defensiveness.
The author begins by clarifying their stance on critiquing online content and the nature of their relationship with Digibro. They assert that their personal blog is for their own expression, and Digibro’s defensiveness about criticism, especially when he himself critiques anime and light novels harshly, is unwarranted. The author emphasizes that they owe Digibro no obligation to curate his knowledge or participate in his community, and that basic human decency doesn’t preclude pointing out perceived flaws.
The author then addresses the “toxic elements” and “groupthink” observed among some of Digibro’s fans in the comments of a previous post. While acknowledging that civil discussions might exist, the author expresses disappointment with the mob mentality displayed by certain individuals. Despite these issues, the author states that the primary motivation for responding to Digibro’s call for information is not a desire to engage in an argument, but rather Digibro’s courteous request.
A key point of contention is the author’s belief that Digibro is not genuinely interested in the subject matter of voice acting but rather in “being right.” The author notes that Digibro himself admits he is not a “seiyuu otaku” (seiyuu fan). The author is willing to share knowledge with genuine fans but is disinclined to assist someone seeking to win online arguments, especially after being labeled an “elitist.” The author also mentions that a lengthy response would be time-consuming, and they have other priorities.
The author reflects on the natural defensiveness that arises when an outsider criticizes or praises something deeply related to a particular art form or fandom without sufficient knowledge. They question whether it would have been better if Digibro hadn’t published his video, but ultimately concludes that his review, while perhaps lacking depth, wouldn’t significantly perpetuate misinformation about the industry. The author admits it was a “foolish move” to engage due to the subsequent aftermath but reiterates their passion for discussing “Girlish Number.”
The article then pivots to the thematic core of “Girlish Number.” The author posits that the ultimate lesson of the anime is the importance of caring, which is presented as the flipside of Wataru Watari’s (Watarin) cynical passive-aggression, a trait also seen in “Oregairu.”
A common misinterpretation of “Girlish Number,” according to the author, is the failure to recognize the narrative’s perspective. Unlike “Shirobako,” which offers a multi-faceted look at animation production from various internal roles, “Girlish Number” primarily adopts Watarin’s perspective, sometimes represented by the author of “Kuusure” (the fictional anime within “Girlish Number”).
The author highlights Watarin’s dedication as a “true nerd,” having pitched “Girlish Number” shortly after “Oregairu” and seeing it eventually adapted into an anime. The form of “Girlish Number” is described as a story about voice actors in the late-night TV animation industry, focusing on their internal struggles and presented with a more negative and comedic tone compared to more positive portrayals.
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The meta-commentary of “Girlish Number” is that the idols revered by seiyuu otaku might actually be flawed individuals. The character Kuzu, for instance, illustrates how seiyuu otaku can be exploited for marketing purposes, using cute girls to promote shows through idol-like activities. This serves as a double satire on contemporary otaku consumerism.
The author points to an early seiyuu interview as a great example of the cynical yet guarded nature of public-facing Japanese media. They note that talents are often adept at providing “edited” answers, a fact that otaku sometimes overlook in their fantasies.
The article touches upon the challenges of becoming a seiyuu in the current era, suggesting readers conduct their own research due to the limited English-language coverage. The author explains that voice acting in Japan is an insular industry, with limited information available outside of Japanese sources. While seiyuu are spotlighted in Japan, this attention is tightly controlled by agencies. The influx of aspiring seiyuu has led to more discussions about the profession, but this content remains largely in Japanese. The appreciation of seiyuu can be complex, with distinctions between those who are fans of the personality (“seibuta”) and those who appreciate the craft (“jitsurokukei”).
The central question of why a show like “Kuusure” exists is addressed. While Digibro suggests that mega-hits can lift less successful projects, the author argues that even poorly performing anime can still be profitable for investors. The anime itself demonstrates this by continuing “Kuusure” into a second cour, implying that consistent mediocrity can be more valuable than aiming for a home run and risking failure.
The author further explains that individual negligence rarely leads to a company’s downfall in the industry. Instead, structural resolutions handle the ramifications of failure, as seen in “Shirobako.” It takes significant, systemic problems to bring down a company, not just individual mistakes.
The author suggests that Kuzu, despite being “trash,” is an essential part of the ecosystem that caters to certain seiyuu otaku. Their existence, while enabling negative aspects, also allows for positive ones. A simplistic interpretation of Kuzu reveals more about the observer’s perspective than about “Girlish Number’s” commentary.
For those involved in creating “Kuusure,” or the actresses themselves, the anime delves into existential questions, unlike the more optimistic resolution offered in “Shirobako.” The author draws a parallel to the film “The Producers.”
The author, as a seiyuu otaku in 2017, describes the typical fan experience: consuming social media, following seiyuu through various events, and purchasing merchandise. The industry has evolved to meet this demand, with companies like Pony Canyon actively monetizing by combining anison artists, voice actresses, and intellectual property.
The author draws a parallel between “Kuusure” and “Springtime for Hitler,” noting that while “Kuusure” isn’t fraud, the characters and marketing tactics mirror real-life situations. The author humorously notes that aspiring novelists whose works are adapted into anime often have their writing criticized online, and that this criticism is acceptable on some level.
The article states that “Girlish Number” caters to Japanese seiyuu otaku by focusing on seiyuu-driven events, social media engagement, and memes. Many seiyuu attempt to succeed in this market, but the industry is highly competitive, with a ballooning pool of talent and a relatively stable number of anime productions. While age can diminish career options in entertainment, voice acting is less affected by looks, allowing older performers to continue. Younger talents are often cheaper and more available for lower-tier work, and their visual appeal can be advantageous for marketing, though established voice actresses with fan bases also retain appeal.
The downsides of younger voice actors are explored within “Girlish Number.” The author introduces the meta-concept of “jitsurokukei” versus “seibuta,” distinguishing between fans who appreciate the craft of voice acting and those who are fans of the seiyuu as entertainers, similar to idol fans. Examples like “The IDOLM@STER” and “Showa Genroku Rakugo Shinjuu” are used to illustrate these distinctions.
“Girlish Number” ultimately suggests that the distinction between these fan types doesn’t matter as much as the fact that seiyuu entertain. The author acknowledges that even seiyuu who are marketed in revealing ways or perform idol-like activities can still be appreciated, and that liking what one likes for valid reasons is acceptable.
The author then discusses “laziness” and “insincerity” as perceived traits of characters like Chitose. They argue that Chitose is intellectually lazy, seeking ego boosts by being the lead without necessarily striving for a good performance. However, the author contends that Chitose does put in the effort required of seiyuu and that labeling characters as “lazy” might stem from a lack of understanding of the complexities involved.
Regarding insincerity, the author points to a scene between Chitose and Momoka as an example of the disconnect between the romanticized “myths” of seiyuu otaku and the practical realities of the industry. While Chitose’s outburst might seem uncharacteristic, the author notes that newbie seiyuu often learn from their seniors. The author believes Chitose, having overcome initial hurdles to enter the industry, possesses the potential to improve once she confronts her existential issues.
Finally, the author analyzes Nanami, who represents the “true believer” archetype, characterized by naivete and unwavering belief. Watarin is seen as balancing the positive and negative aspects of this attitude. Nanami’s obliviousness to the existential situation makes her difficult to work with, but she serves to highlight Chitose’s phoniness. The author notes that while not tactless, Nanami’s earnestness can be awkward for colleagues who have moved past similar early-career struggles. The author suggests that confronting such situations naturally is often the best approach, a sentiment echoed in discussions about seiyuu work environments.
The author concludes by stating that a genuine sincerity serves as a rebuttal to Watarin’s satire. Most industry professionals, they believe, are earnest and work hard for various reasons, including professionalism. The system that supports seiyuu, while enabling flawed characters like Chitose, is ultimately a harsh reality. The author leaves a link to a Twitter post related to a different IP but with similar themes, emphasizing that “Girlish Number” is crafted for a specific audience – Japanese seiyuu otaku – and that fully grasping its nuances may require firsthand experience.
