11 | The Revue of Longing

Scene l Episode 2, 16:17-22:25

Cast l Aijou Karen V Hoshimi Junna

Revue Song l The Star Knows

A great follow-up to the series’ immaculate first impression.

The episode preludes the second Revue with a beautiful scene that intertwines each participant talking to their respective closest one about their hopes and dreams; Karen tells Hikari of how she feels a sense of purpose and drive for the first time in so long, being with Hikari again, being able to perform dazzlingly on stage, having that promise of one day performing by her side feeling the closest to her grasp it has in so, so many years. Simultaneously, Junna talks to Nana about the chance she feels she has finally been given, at long last, to prove herself, to become a star, to become something she can be proud of. The pianos and sunset that overscore this scene are so hopeful, make both of their dreams feel so attainable and worth pursuing; a perfect emotional prelude to the stage upon which these deeply-held emotions will clash and compete, as we understand by this early point that they must. Both of their emotional contexts are set up and made to feel real and be empathized with right before the curtain rises on their next match. Both of them have deeply personal stakes in this.

So with the episode that precedes it and the backstory Junna shows Karen during this Revue, Junna’s mindstate now has proper context, and we fully understand the meaning of what she sings of and why she does so. Stage performance is Junna’s dream, but it’s not something she has a natural inclination for; she chose this path later on in life in spite of where her talents naturally lied and the path everyone expected her to walk, in studying and academia, and as such, as she sees it, she needs to build herself from the ground up, as she is starting from zero.

Junna knows exactly what she has to do about this; she just has to work at it and get better. Junna goes about it in her own way; she trains hard, dedicates every moment she can to practice and improving, and she studies relentlessly. She believes she can find the key to conveying her passion by way of simply gaining enough knowledge on the performing arts through study, theory and relentless practice, exercising herself enough both physically and mentally; if she learns enough, then with that knowledge dedicates herself enough, someday she’ll be able to express that passion as well as she wishes to.

And she works herself to the bone for this; we see how dedicated she is to training herself, we see her exhaust herself and collapse, we see how hard she dedicates to this and we understand how much this means to her. Junna wants this, she wants is so badly. And that’s exactly why it hurts so much to see her, effectively, fail, fail to hold up her own body and fail in the Revues, the auditions, her big chance, twice in a row.

And yet what’s admirable is that she doesn’t ever give up. She keeps her star in her eyes, and she keeps reaching for it. She knows everyone has a star, and she knows hers is up there if she’ll only keep an arm out for it.

Look at the way Junna follows along with and mirrors Karen’s movements during the introduction; she puts her all into the performance of it all, attempting to emphasize to herself just as much as Karen, the giraffe, or any prospective audience, that she is a real stage actor, by putting in just that little extra flair, just that little extra fidelity, as it occurs to her to do so. It is, it must also be noted, a rather common experience for amateurs in an artistic field to get a grasp by imitating the people they look up to, as Junna in a way now does for Karen.

As Junna emerges from the silky red curtains and makes her presence known, she looks out at the stage with absolute determination as she sings of that implacable flame that possessed her, that passion that drives her forward in spite of all doubts;. So she sings, she does not know why artistic passion, that need, that drive, to express and perform, chose her, the titular star she speaks of as though she were chosen by some deity. All she knows is that that passion is hers, and she holds it dear. She found something to live for beyond the mere academic responsibilities that had become expected of her; she found something that made her feel alive, that being theatre, and she sees it as her oath to do that thing justice, the best she can; insufficiency at that task is the worst feeling she can fathom.

Yet, I take note of the lyric “struggling against the oncoming wind set my heart on fire”; struggling for it in and of itself, reaching for something, even something well out of reach, by only her own force of will and desire to do so, is what gave Junna fuel. It feels fulfilling to strive, and doing so with such a greater distance to climb only engulfed Junna’s heart in the flame, flames fanned by that wind of friction and struggle, further and further, self-perpetuating.

I know exactly the feeling Junna gets when she looks at the likes of Claudine and Maya. Junna talking about how there are heights she feels she can never reach, while the screen shows the exact people that represent those heights, the idolization Junna carries of the people whose work and artistry inspire her just as much as they, through no fault of their own, make her feel insufficient... yeah, suffice to say, I know that exact phenomenon like you wouldn’t believe. I haven’t stated it outright yet, but Junna is my favorite character in the series, and… this, right here, is a big part of why. I have felt like the Junna in this dynamic with so many people I admire and respect, so many more times than I can count. It’s highly likely more than one of my own Claudine’s and Maya’s are reading this post right now, and to you, whether you know it or not, I can only say thank you for inspiring me. It’s good and healthy to have heights to aspire towards, to not settle for less. But for Junna, and often for me, that same effect can feel so intimidating. Like you’ll never see yourself as one of them.

Junna’s arrows popping golden confetti which flies everywhere, giving the visual illusion of a series of lined-up cannons exploding following Karen, is such an awesome visual setpiece, so creative. It feels like an amateur yet incredibly intuitive practical effect one could make from a low budget, which vibes-wise befits the entire theme of Junna’s amateurishness, and perseverance in the face thereof, very well.

In a meta sense, this Revue does a good job setting up the ideal state of what the Revues represent and what this series is on the whole, to a deeper and clearer extent than even the first one did; two different motivations, each deeply personal and meaningful, competing in their purest form, driving the protagonists towards them, with musical theatre as the conduit, the earnest, expressive medium through which such feelings can be expressed and made to clash in their purest, ascended forms. Look at this moment, as a perfect microcosm of what this Revue achieves in that sense. They start out singing shared lyrics in tandem, their passions equal in measure, before their lyrics diverge and clash as they overlap, said passions disparate in kind. The dichotomy here is that of the external and internal. Karen’s motivation is external; she wants to fulfill a promise she made to a dear close one; Junna’s internal; she cannot afford to lose, she needs to seize her chance, now or never, as she sees it. The musical number emphasizes the nature of the conflict.

Junna is desperate. She feels as though this is the best chance she’ll ever get, that it’s now or never. She’s more than a little insecure, worried if she fails now, when she’s at the most confident in her abilities, that will prove her insufficiency, mark her a failure forever, prove that her best is simply not enough.

I know what that must feel like, for Junna to lose this Revue as well. To do your best, to throw yourself into an artistic discipline arguably harder than is healthy because you care so much about doing it well, only for, in the end, your best to still not feel like enough. Your passion and desire for conveyance still don’t come through as well as you want them to, and you still find yourself feeling utterly, comprehensively inferior to those around you. That’s what happens to Junna in the wake of her two consecutive losses in the first two Revues, and from there she’s kind of left in the shadows, not to rise again for a long time, and it’s… really sad. That’s the curse of the not-naturally-gifted, the one who has to build their skill through hard work and passion later in life, the one who didn’t get a head start; the fact that doing so takes time, and when you think you’ve reached a great height the mountain can turn out to be even taller than you could have ever dreamed. That’s what I feel like Junna goes through, following these first two Revues where she had sought so passionately to prove herself and failed, lingering in the others’ shadows for the rest of the series, until she could improve her mindset. She sees the mountain as twice as tall as it was when she set out.

Her face when Karen takes her star. She’s so shocked. That one second of Junna realizing she just lost is wracked with so much startlement and despondency and disappointment and fear and uncertainty.

I take notice of how mournful the descending, high-pitched violins are that highlight Junna’s defeat, like a moment of true tragedy, before the instrumentation flips back into triumph for Karen taking Position Zero. It’s a subtle moment, but it really effectively shows how two-sided this is. For Karen, she’s proving herself, proving that she can indeed fulfill that promise and be worthy of standing on stage with Hikari. For Junna, however, it’s the opposite; to her, this is a moment that only proves how unworthy she is, the shine she reached for being pulled from her grasp. Is is because Karen wanted it more? Is Karen’s motivation stronger? Is Karen just better? Whatever the reason, that she can’t even beat a newcomer is a sobering turn for poor Junjun.

Every failure is an opportunity to get better, however. It’s tragic that Junna loses, when she thought she finally had a chance, could finally make it and prove herself, only to have her star struck to the floor, but she doesn’t give up. It would be an insult to that hope, the very fire she sung about, if she were to give up. She’ll just need to stand back up and try even harder, get even better. Maybe then, someday, she will…

I like the coda following this moment with genuine camaraderie, in spite of it all. That’s one of the most admirable things about Junna; her perseverance, and her optimism. As many times as inadequacy crushes her, and as devastating as it can feel, she always chooses to continue striving, always uses those moments of failure as motivation to continue, be better, go further. As long as her road may be, the promised light of her star will never stop guiding her to the greatness she yearns for. Just as long as she keeps on walking.

That’s precisely what a passion is, after all. It’s something you chase wholly for its own sake, your own sake, desire’s own sake. Because you want it. It’s exactly what she laid out in the Revue, and exactly what her attitude and approach continues to prove, time and time again, no matter how many times she gets knocked down.

10 | The Revues of Destiny and Tragedy

Scene l Episode 10, 13:36-22:31

Cast l Kagura Hikari with Aijou Karen V Tendou Maya with Saijou Claudine

Revue Song l Star Divine - Finale -

Revue Deut! Just conceptually, this is such a good finale for the auditions. It’s an evolution of the format that not only puts one’s own performance, but their bonds and chemistry with others to the task; and no better set of pairs for it than the promised two versus the two at the top.

I love how when selecting partners, Maya doesn’t even need to call out Claudine by name; she throws the star her way knowing full well she’ll catch it, and full well that she’s ready. That formalityless connection of theirs is just unimpeachable.

There’s probably something to be said in how Karen and Hikari’s monologues are intertwined into one, where Claudine and Maya deliver theirs back-to-back. Perhaps it’s that damned pride; Karen and Hikari are doing this for their togetherness, Claudine and Maya are doing this for victory and pride. Karen and Hikari shine as one, where Claudine and Maya shine as two. Karen and Hikari intertwine into one star, as sharers of one promise, one goal of togetherness; Claudine and Maya are dual blinding stars who clash, contrast and spiral, fighting for dominance; it’s just that they need to clear those in their way before they can do that against each other, which is why they’re so willing and raring to team up to take out anyone vying for their peak first.

The choreography and stage setting are very simple and straightforward, not nearly the level of bells and whistles of most other Revues, which works for this being such a raw, pure final clash of talents and passions, of the mutually-fueled flames and the keepers of the promise having to prove whose shine, whose passion and talent, truly succeeds. It’s a testament, how exciting and blood-pumping this Revue is even for how stripped-back it is. It’s the Revue in its purest form, a test of which mode of passion greater drives its holders’ hearts towards success, towards the top.

They must overcome entirely on how well they sing, dance, and fight, no complications, a gauge of pure skill and internal and interpersonal drive. Screaming guitars, passionate singing, clashing swords, spark and shine as spectacularly as the most extravagant set and stage ever could.

In general, I love how this Revue is so bereft of dialogue. It succeeds by stripping away the flash, dialogue, pomp and circumstance that is the series’ signature, and lets the bare elements of musical action do the lifting; that is, the music and the action. The song and the swordplay. The conviction that comes through in the muscle of the song’s orchestra-accompanied hard rock backbone, and the connection that comes through in how these characters move, strive, and play off of one another! The visceral emotional weight of whether the promise of years is strong enough to stand up against the best of their craft! It’s utterly climactic!

Even Maya and Claudine’s big dialogue exchange in the middle isn’t actually dialogue; it’s entirely internal monologue on both of their parts, and yet it may as well be dialogue with how perfectly their thoughts play off of one another’s, how perfectly they get one another. How they stare into one another's eyes, content smiles resting upon each face at the mere sight of their rival, their most cherished adversary, it just sweeps me off of my feet. They’re atop Maya’s staircase from the Revue of Pride; the very one Maya made such a show of knocking Karen down from before. Maya may belong at the top, she may have sworn such measly competition as Karen away, but there is only one who may vye for that spot against her, who may be at this height alongside her, only one who is worthy, and she is Claudine. It is a connection between two and two alone. It is dearly romantic, and it is so clear; Claudine is special to Maya.

Karen and Hikari don’t even need to say much of anything themselves; they just need to reaffirm their promise. I do love the lyric in there; “that’s our destiny; that’s our instinct”. It’s not just the lofty, bestowed promise of mere fate; it’s drive, it’s desire, it’s something deep within them, that compels them to be together. Love is primal, just as much if not more than it is magical. That one lyrical touch adds a dearly appreciated edge to everything.

At first, it might seem obvious in a thematic sense why Karen and Hikari win; Karen and Hikari are fighting for something external to all this, their promise, where Claudine and Maya are fighting purely to win. And yet, can it not be said that to win is something of an unspoken promise between Claudine and Maya in and of itself? In a sense, that’s how Claudine and Maya express themselves, not least of all to one another; through victory. Through pride, arrogance, ego and success. To win is each of their ultimate goals, their ultimate drives, and to win together would be the ultimate show of their bond. It is so evident, the sheer vibe between these two, as they play off of one another, so self-assured; we are victors. We are together in our shared striving towards the top. To fight for the top is our promise. Can it not be said, then, that this is indeed a clash of equal promises, equal loyalties, equal loves?

This is why Claudine breaking down at them, nay, Maya losing hurts so much. We see how victory and caring loyalty intertwine for them here, in the Revue’s aftermath; Claudine tears up and refuses to accept the result, because she refuses to see Maya defeated. Whether it’s that she feels guilty and inadequate for causing Maya to lose by being insufficient as her duet partner, or is just so infatuated with her vision of Maya as a perpetual victor that she just can’t stand to see it tarnished by defeat, or a combination of both. She reverts back to speaking her native French as she cries, as though she just can’t help it, her emotions flowing forth and spilling all over the stage from such a deep and uncontrollable place through her native language, the loss and betrayal and frustration and refusal.

There’s something so moving, so implacable, so utterly perfect, about Maya comforting Claudine in Claudine’s own mother tongue. It feels intimate, special, deep. A sense that only these two can truly understand one another on such a deep level, that no one else, not even Karen and Hikari, could, symbolized through language. Absolute kinship. It’s breathtaking. That last line, that “you’re so cute when you cry, my Claudine”, just… spellbinding. Teasing, adoring, acknowledging, loving.

Maya proves here that she hasn’t truly lost, as she still has the fortitude to stand up; and, thus, so should Claudine. Just as Claudine doesn’t want to see Maya be defeated, as in lose, Maya doesn’t want to see Claudine be defeated, as in give up. To give up is to lose. Defeat is unacceptable; that’s precisely why Claudine ought to pick herself up.

This really should be a heartwarming ending; Claudine and Maya resolving to not let loss defeat them, Karen and Hikari’s promise fulfilled.

But that’s not how the story of Starlight goes, is it?

Starlight is a tragedy. That’s… the whole point, right? That’s precisely why the story of those nine girls moves us, compels us, inspires us so. That’s why it resonated with them in the first place. Such a tragedy was so implacably beautiful it changed the course of their lives, led them to this school, led them here.

Of course it’ll end this way for them, so the arbiter of these auditions believes. That’s the nature of these things. This is all it is; simple tragedy. This is what we’re watching for; isn’t it?

Obviously, that’s not true. In truth, this moment is arbitrary, frustrating, and unfair, and it feels that way with good reason.

I basically covered this Revue’s place in the story and the whole thematic idea it sets up already when I talked about Astral Sins and Starlight Gathering, and how those Revues interrogate the giraffe’s ideas of art and performance, of why tragedy in performance and conveyance moves us, and ask us to do the same in ourselves.

Starlight was a work of art, first by an author, then by a playwright and a crew and a cast. It’s something borne from empathy and creativity, emotion and conveyance, passion and care. The giraffe ripping Karen and Hikari apart from one another, forcing the ultimatum that they must fight, that only one may triumph, that there must be an ultimate cost for daring to strive and connect and care and love… well, isn’t that. It’s just plain cruelty. That’s not what all this ought to be about.

I’ll just say, I do love how kind Hikari is in her final words to Karen before, as far as she knows, disappearing from her life forever are. Thanking her. Letting her understand that she wasn’t wrong to chase their promise. Showing her kindness, through tears. She doesn’t say a word about how “this is how it must be”, “this is the nature of things”. It doesn’t feel like a betrayal on Hikari’s part, because it isn’t, and Hikari wants Karen to know that. Even in a moment like this, human empathy is what shines through the brightest.

9 | The Revue of Resentment

Scene l Movie, 55:45-1:04:41

Cast l Isurugi Futaba V Hanayagi Kaoruko

Revue Song l わがままハイウェイ, “Selfish Highway”

So here we have our first Revue of the film and, yeah, much of what I said about Futaba and Kauruko earlier does here to this Revue’s place in the film too. This is the only straight-up rematch from the series, unless you can make a couple concessions and count Tragedy and Rebirth I suppose, which only goes to prove that point about Futaba and Kauruko feeling kind of in their own bubble further. I certainly wouldn’t go so far as to call us anything like useless or filler, it’s obviously excellent, but… it definitely makes sense that we’re getting this one done first, y’know?

That said, this Revue does give these two a dearly satisfying goodbye to one another. The Revue of Promises ended with Futaba and Kauruko resolving to stay by one another’s side, Kauruko valuing Futaba as her own person more and being able to reach for her own star, but there was still that presupposition that they would be together. Here we see that promise as it has aged to their graduation, to the understanding that that was never going to last forever. Kauruko is going back home to Kyoto where Futaba is moving up to the New National, their dreams post-Seisho ultimately misaligned, and given how clingy we know Kauruko to be, it was never going to end so cleanly.

We begin in an old gambling house, in a scene where Kauruko plays against Claudine, accusing her of stealing, eating, and poisoning her precious candy box; obviously representing her relationship with Futaba, which those damned Claudine and Maya have gotten in the way of with their ambition and inspiration. The fashion sense in this opening just goes hard, Kauruko as a geisha and Claudine as a gangster, both affecting deeper tones of voice to befit this deeply grudge-driven gambling match with implied violence on the line in this dark, underground place, Futaba posing in this delinquent getup and jacket and, I must say, making me somewhat weak. More pointedly, it really goes to put a new level of emphasis on the acting aspect of these Revues, now playing out whole scenes that serve as allegory for the performers’ relationships, conflicts and feelings, as opposed to mere on-stage versions of themselves.

I love their monologues so damn much, they play off of each other beautifully; Futaba presents her side of the story bluntly, the near-decades she’s spent in this position with clear frustration directed towards her old friend, where Kauruko feigns more class in hers, her poem about the passing of the seasons and the cycle of life and parting as represented by their flowers, yet there’s a harsh edge to it, resentment of it all that bubbles to the surface and explodes by the finale, tearing off her robe to reveal that tattoo right before she enters the battle, signifying this can no longer be settled in a verbal manner, the absolute rhythm of Kauruko calling out to let the petals scatter, to let this season end and parting begin if it is what her opponent so wishes, before bursting the door open and starting the fight, in time with the music, oh, it just hits me.

On the whole, this Revue is just on-point aesthetically. The main running motif of red-light entertainment works, it’s as flashy and colorful and bombastic as the clashing of their steel and the momentousness of this time in their lives at graduation just as it is as dangerous and seedy and suspicious as the feelings and secrets tied into the titular resentment between the two would warrant, a perfect marriage of feelings.

Not just in the stage acting, but in the music, this Revue sets a great first standard for the longer, more progressive-suite style of Revue song in the film as opposed to the relatively standard-length numbers of the series. That main trumpet riff in the first act is absolutely golden, tense and confrontational yet cinematic and cathartic, maybe the single musical phrase from this series most ripe to get stuck in your head (that didn’t come from one of Mahiru’s Revues, anyway). The woozy, swooning bar jazz of the hostess scene fits the sultry yet threatening tone of Kauruko interrogating and teasing Futaba’s true motives and feelings out of her with such feminine charm perfectly, the build and explosion into full-on casino funk (complete with SWEET SEXY SLAP BASS) for the climax just hits like a brightly-lit truck; I love how they swap and intertwine their semi-shouted English lyrics, too, they feel so invested and so in-sync with one another it’s infectious; and the soft piano coda of the outro is perfectly sentimental, it’s exactly the immaculate reflection of the emotional journey of the performance you’d hope for.

I really like the dynamics at play in the scene in the hostess bar; Futaba, ostensibly, has laid out plenty of valid reasons to want to separate from Kauruko and go her own way, and she’s always seemed to be the more mature and serious of the two. But it is because Kauruko knows the simple logic of immaturity and pettiness so well in herself that she sees right through all of Futaba’s excuses, knows they’re not the whole story. Kauruko plays the role of Futaba’s temptress in this scene; she is capable of laying bare Futaba’s truth, being her closest confidante and the one she is closest to knowing intimacy with, and Futaba is visibly weak to her, as seen most clearly when Kauruko whispers delicately into Futaba’s ear as Futaba’s composure, her ability to maintain her façade of maturity and reasoning, is visibly weakened. Kauruko cuts through all the noise - quite literally - and makes Futaba get to the heart of it; that her motivation really is just as simple and, indeed, selfish as just being annoyed and tired of being around Kauruko all the time. As Kauruko says, the logic of an adult is such an annoyance; all these games, all these excuses, all this decorum, all this saving of feelings and saying the right thing. Why can’t Futaba just come out and say what she means!? Kauruko’s immaturity is treated as something of a virtue in this way; it’s a hell of a lot more honest.

(It’s all wonderfully gay, too, of course; the hot, raging homosexuality behind this line just cannot be overstated, it makes the blood in my heart a couple degrees warmer, and Kauruko just puts herself into the performance, rightfully dominating Futaba in mind and spirit the whole way through.)

And I think the Revue’s ultimate assertion is that that’s kind of okay, actually, or at least that such things are perfectly natural and human, especially in long-term relationships like theirs. It’s fine for desire to be somewhat selfish, somewhat simplistic, and maybe sometimes that’ll cause rifts and friction, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we shouldn’t act on it. Futaba shouldn’t be afraid to reach for the New National if that’s genuinely what she wants, even if her drive really is just wanting some god damn space from this other person; that’s where she’ll find the capacity to grow for herself, after all. Seeing that desire collide with what loyal friends Futaba and Kauruko have been, to see such desire threaten to force an ending just as much as a beginning and the people caught in that nexus working through it, is incredibly inherently compelling.

This is driven (heh) home further in the Revue’s climax, when Futaba cries out that it’s not fair for her to have been part of Kauruko’s life for so long, so Futaba to have done so much in service of this bond, only for their parting to be so unamicable, for Kauruko to be treating it as something permanent. This is, again, Futaba’s own desire being treated as worthy and sympathetic. She ought to want for herself, to want this for herself, and we’re with her in wanting for her and Kauruko to still be able to be friends, even if Futaba doesn’t always do what Kauruko wants out of their relationship, be it in the micro such as with the little daily annoyances they were fighting over in the Revue of Promises, or in the macro such as here.

What they ultimately realize is; they’re both pretty selfish. They’re both immature. They’re both absolutely helpless. They’re both petty, self-centered, useless in the grand scheme of everybody they know. Might as well come to peace with that, and understand one another through it. The whole Revue, they were dedicated to cutting it off forever, they were fully prepared to do that when they rode those trucks into one another on the selfish highway of parting. That it took them doing all this to come to such a simple solution… that reinforces exactly what Kauruko says. Maybe these useless lesbians do need eachother, ultimately. But Futaba still doesn’t need to shackle herself for that, and Kauruko is finally ready to accept that.

I just… utterly adore the final moment of this Revue, and I always have. Kauruko’s matching singing and speaking of the final line is a simply magical moment, as she finally admits she can’t win against the logic of a kid, can’t overcome Futaba’s own selfishness and urges, and accepts this outcome for Futaba’s sake, because she understands Futaba and still loves her for who she is. Futaba smiles and takes Kauruko’s star so gently, so mercifully, without a flash but by simply cutting the rope that ties Kauruko’s star to her robe. It really is amazing just how amicable and caring this moment of defeat is, really showing off the different nature of the film’s Revues from the series, since a moment like this just couldn’t happen in such a harsh competition as the auditions. Their parting is amicable, their smiles are soft and kind as they gaze into one another’s eyes, and with the understanding of this finality coursing through their hearts, this is where their ten and eight year journey inseparably bound comes to an end.

8 | The Revue of Passion

Scene l Episode 1, 17:36-22:31

Cast l Kagura Hikari with Aijou Karen V Hoshimi Junna

Revue Song l 世界を灰にするまで, “Until I’ve Turned This World to Ashes”

The Revue of Passion is just about the best introduction to the concept of the Revues you could ask for. It gets you fascinated and excited, being so hype and beautiful and unlike anything you’ve seen before, and it gives just the perfect amount of information, leaving you with questions and wanting more while also making it perfectly crystal-clear and understood on an intuitive level just what the Revues are in an artistic sense. It serves its purpose and does its job absolutely flawlessly.

The very, very first impression of these performances, which you get right alongside a bewildered Karen, is arresting, heart-piercing. Hikari and Junna come close to a kiss as they tenderly caress one another’s faces, before pulling apart from and then right back into one another, into a lover’s caress which changes in an instant into a clash of blades; that touch of sapphism, of the unbreakable, implacable bond and, of its own kind, love of sharing a stage with another, the intimacy, the passion, the mutual fire. As competitive as it is close, as affectionate as it is adversarial, bringing them together more than anything in this moment could ever pull them apart.

Karen acts as our point of view character in our first exposure to the fighting. She is as confused as we are, just having been naïvely thrust into all this, as to what all of this means in a diegetic sense, but watching Hikari and Junna’s duel, we know exactly what’s going on and what’s being promised to us in an artistic sense; epic, emotional, gorgeously-animated musical battle. In other words, we do gain an answer, in a sense, of what the anime is all about. These paradoxical elements, the diegetic confoundment and meta crystal-clear understanding, are woven together so perfectly into a seamless introduction, satisfying yet tantalizing.

There is a consistent sense of disorienting kineticism to the whole affair. From the moment Karen is rocketed down to this secret place by elevator, flung across the air and landing in her seat, to when she uses the giraffe’s head to leap in, sword blazing, taking the stage for herself and entering the battle for real. That rush of animation when Karen enters the stage proper and defeats Junna is just blistering, the heart-pumping speed of it. Karen flies and speeds towards center stage at an unstable, unbound pace; even her victorious rush once she’s transformed, it feels… slippery, impossible to stop, like she’s in over her head, even as the adrenaline shot of this moment leads to that sense of hype it’s also incredibly destabilizing.

Karen isn’t the only one here, either. She intruded on this, and there was a victim.

It’s sad when you think of the moment this might’ve been for Junna, if not for Karen. How she sings, the climacticism of the music, how her lyrics eulogize her passion for what she does, it feels like Junna is fully confident in herself, ready to prove herself and the worthiness of her passion. At the beginning of the Revue, the stage is hers. The setting is engulfed in stars, as her name bears, with her at their center, proud and confident. She sings with utmost confidence and, for a time, overpowers and overwhelms Hikari. The burning and ferocious conviction in Junna’s lyrics contrasted with the soft hopefulness of her voice and the orchestra, gentle, weeping violins and tender piano, make this all feel so truly… warm and bright, like a victory so well-earned, so hard-fought-for, so proud.

And then that Karenitwit just had to jump in and mess it all up.

This was to be her moment, her triumph. To have this newbie, this outsider, who across this introductory episode has shown herself as kind of a mess and a loser, come in and take that moment away from you, throw your passion aside like it’s nothing, become the star of the show and you a disposable side character, just like that, as much as your passion for this craft aches for it to be otherwise, for said passion to be shown to effectively mean nothing… what must that do to one’s self-esteem?

Junna losing her star to Karen is effectively made to feel tragic; so close to grasping her coveted stardom, yet it is ripped away from her by circumstances beyond her, that may take the light of center stage away from her, as the narrative deems them more important. Still, I can’t help but be arrested by that very actorly faint she does, the tragedy of losing that which she fought towards and very nearly grasped being played up to the utmost drama; even in this moment, Junna indulges in and puts as much fidelity and reverence into her beloved craft of stage performance the best she can, proving herself a true Stage Girl to the curtain’s fall.

The Revue of Passion, ever appropriately named as a thesis statement for the whole series, is as exhilarating and fascinating as it is confounding and otherworldly. There is a sense of jumping into something unknown, into danger and the unprecedented, but knowing full well, in those implacable depths of your heart, that what you are falling into right now is something you feel passion for, something you want to do, something you are undeniably compelled towards and more than willing towards. Just as Karen is so driven by her desire to join Hikari up on that stage, you too are made to feel an utmost confidence and desire to enter this world yourself, your feelings right alongside hers.

Act III—

Act I—