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Kyoto Animation’s Quest To Make Their Staff Comfortable, Spy x Family’s Tricky Workload Management, And Charming Pokemon Spinoffs – Sakuga Blog In today’s collection of writing topics, we dive into the neat staffing changes at Kyoto Animation to further improve working conditions, how Spy x Family‘s co-production has further adjusted (and struggled) to accommodate a big workload, and the production of some lovely Pokemon web series. Kyoto Animation staffing and working conditions news KyoAni’s exceptional productions tend to give us plenty of excuses to write about their works on this site, so in the grand scheme of things, they’re anything but overlooked when it comes to the SakugaSakuga (作画): Technically drawing pictures but more specifically animation. Western fans have long since appropriated the word to refer to instances of particularly good animation, in the same way that a subset of Japanese fans do. Pretty integral to our sites’ brand. Blog. Given how much they’ve reduced their output, however, an entire year can come and go before they’ve released something new for us to dig into. Coinciding with the release of Euphonium’s theatrical OVA Ensemble Contest this past summer, I already pointed out that the studio has been misrepresenting their production schedules in the opposite direction than their peers tend to; something that has yet again happened, as Eupho’s cast—like the VAs for all their recent titles—were boasting about getting to voice over beautifully finished footage, not long after the director tried to convince people that the third season was still in pre-production… and nearly 2 years after its writer said he was wrapping it up. The studio currently takes their time with each project, and even when they’re done with it, they keep it close to their chest for a long time as they’d rather continue to play it safe with release schedules. That is certainly preferable to the continuous death march of the current anime industry, but it does mean that a lot of time passes in between each new major excuse we have to write about them. And yet, in between those, there tend to be a bunch of neat movements that they don’t seem to care to emphasize for a broader audience; again, I’d much rather that they focus on meaningful improvements for the workers than in constantly releasing messages to the public about how much they’ll improve things while imposing crunch on everyone, but it does explain why the anime fandom didn’t quite realize what they had until the tragic arson—and even then, much of the nuance is missed. Some of the specific recent changes to the studio follow the trend of broadening their means of creation. I can’t say I see much of a financial reason to make an entire label for physical books that mix illustration, writing, and music, but it does allow their staff and associates like Evan Call to try out new forms of storytelling. On a similar note but behind the scenes, the studio keeps extending their responsibilities beyond that of a regular animation production company. A while back, we noted that KyoAni had created their own editing room to begin bringing that process in-house, and that they were now in charge of sound production for their titles as well. An amusing point of friction brought up then was that Rakuonsha, a company that is often present in the production committees of their titles, had been the one in charge of that process for their works—so what would be their reaction if the studio themselves barged into that territory? I’m not sure I have an answer for that, but what I do know is that they’ve recently employed Tomomi Yano: the sound manager for many of their works, up until now through Rakuonsha’s Studio 2010, and now directly as a KyoAni employee. Though it’s a sign of good relationships, I’m not sure I’d continue to fund the company that is slowly rendering my role moot and also poaching my staff. On the other hand, though, it’s a good way to secure a client! For as neat as changes like that can be, though, the most meaningful staffing update was for a position that we’ll never even see credited for their works. The studio has made it a custom to list every employee of theirs anytime they produce a movie or hold an event, which means that last month we got an update about their personnel changes since the production of Ensemble Contest. As usual, this means an influx of young creators given their policy of limiting hirings of artists to those in need of training still, and even a departure or two; I hope Mei Isai is doing fine, since hers came as a surprise as a new director and was swifter than we’ve seen before. Hidden in between all those names of recently hired artists, Mayuko Kiuchi was a name that immediately caught my attention. After the arson attack, president Hatta promised to facilitate psychological assistance to all workers and families who needed it. And indeed, the credits for the Violet Evergarden Movie—the first production they finished after that terrible incident—listed a certain mental health worker in the external support category. That person worked at Happiness Ai Center in Kyoto, where they also dealt with cases of stress related to the Covid pandemic. Her name was Mayuko Kiuchi, and her experience with the studio must have been satisfactory, because she’s now listed among their in-house personnel. When people propose ways to improve the industry, it always comes down to a simple “more money”, and thanks to the increasingly more public complaints, perhaps a bit of “better scheduling” as well. Those are by all means true, arguably the most necessary. But it’s also about actually employing your team; a way to give them security, as well as reducing the reliance on other companies that we know for a fact are not likely to treat the staff properly. And once you’ve gotten to this point, it’s about details like printing an in-house magazine to keep employees on maternity leave engaged with the team, or about hiring a mental health worker they can confide into. It obviously doesn’t have to be these specific policies, but it has to be some specific policies that make them a better work environment on a day-to-day basis. That is what anime needs more of. Spy x Family’s constantly adjusting co-production and built-up exhaustion Back in November, we published a lengthy recap of the shifting co-production dynamics of the Spy x Family anime. It felt necessary at the time because, even though people seemed to correctly understand that the balance for the second season ought to tip in the direction of CloverWorks, the specifics about how that manifested were being misunderstood; after all, at that point studio WIT had still headlined the alternating rotation of production duties, and half the episodes were made over there—not exactly the abandonment of duties in favor of producing the movie that a lot of people had assumed would happen. That said, we ended that corner by noting that we might have to return to this topic as that balance between studios might shift… then it proceeded to radically shift, so here we are. In retrospect, studio WIT had no business producing multiple episodes for the first half of this season as normal, even leading the pace as they did across the previous one. They got creative with it, relying on that oxymoron we brought up before of in-house outsourcingOutsourcing: The process of subcontracting part of the work to other studios. Partial outsourcing is very common for tasks like key animation, coloring, backgrounds and the likes, but most TV anime also has instances of full outsourcing (グロス) where an episode is entirely handled by a different studio.—aka entrusting an episode to another production line at the company—but the workload for the movie was eventually too much, especially given its less-than-ideal schedule. To make things more complicated, their forfeit happened to overlap with the start of the Cruise Ship Arc in the series; one that isn’t just beloved and thus subject to more scrutiny by fans, but also rather heavy on the action, as it closely follows Yor for a change. That’s quite the responsibility for CloverWorks to suddenly have to shoulder, especially for a project that they’ve never really given their all for. Did they this time, then? The answer is complicated, because the management and execution of this series deserve entirely different grades depending on the level you judge it from; disappointing macro, notable micro, but we can get to this later. After a modest but solid start to the arc, most notably with the episode that the ever-efficient Haruka Tsuzuki directed, storyboarded, and entirely key animated alongside supervisor Takuya Kawai, things spice up around episode #07/#32. Betraying the economic approach to the animation that is the norm in the series, this episode brings out some notable names like those of Satoshi Sakai, Kou Horio, Yuki Suzuki, and an undercover Hironori Tanaka to tackle one of the final bosses of animation: action with 2D chains. Though the consistency isn’t always there when it comes to the polish, that’s in part because the highs of the sequence are well above the standards for the series. And more importantly, it feels like the whole team understood the point of the assignment, because the sound direction and tempo of the animation really play up the (pretend) circus performance aspect. After that taste of greatness, the show takes it to the next level for the action climax of the arc across the next two episodes. #08/#33 in particular stands out, with storyboards and direction by Team Imas ace animator Isao Hayashi, accompanied by a list of animators on a whole different level of acclaim than we’ve seen on this show before; not just for the action, but even with the likes of Shouko Nakamura animating a cute flashback. This is the type of high-profile staffing one would expect in works produced by Yuichi Fukushima, and for these highlight episodes, they do deliver what is expected of them. Although Spy x Family becomes more faithful (and less adventurous) the more it’s distanced from series directorSeries Director: (監督, kantoku): The person in charge of the entire production, both as a creative decision-maker and final supervisor. They outrank the rest of the staff and ultimately have the last word. Series with different levels of directors do exist however – Chief Director, Assistant Director, Series Episode Director, all sorts of non-standard roles. The hierarchy in those instances is a case by case scenario. Kazuhiro Furuhashi, Hayashi’s taste is immediately on full display with all the 3D camera traversals across the battlefield—similar to the ones he animated across the stages of a certain idol franchise. He provided 3D guidelines for those, and animators involved have noted that he also made room for personal improvisation in the action, hence why Yor kicks ass harder than ever before. His storyboarding prowess is showcased in how he uses match cuts to translate the simultaneity that makes the gags in the manga, and that’s eventually followed by the return of Miyuki Kuroki to board a beautiful closure that needs no words to connect both sides of the family. These episodes are quite good and loaded with talent, but at the same time, something just feels off. There is a disconnect between the renown of the team and the conditions they were subjected to, between their ability and the energy on display. Spy x Family never falls apart during this arc—far from that!—nor in the more relaxed episodes at the end, but it does constantly feel like it’s hiding how out of breath it is. The way to achieve a stable production, one that can realize its goals within scope and remain immersive for the viewer without killing anyone in the process, is not to pile up popular names—despite what some fans and studios think. If anything, the smartest moves of this season of Spy x Family are exactly the ones that catch no attention because they’re not related to those Big Names. Internally shifting episodes like WIT did, or entrusting a near-solo episode to someone with sturdy fundamentals as CLW did. And when things move out of either hands, having someone like studio Snowdrop, who produced the two outsourced episodes of this season. In an age where subcontracted episodes are ruthlessly split and rushed, Snowdrop staff can direct, supervise, fully key animate, in-between, and paint the episodes themselves. And they do so with basically the exact same team in both instances in this series, allowing the team to grow more closely acquainted with the characters and world. They may not make the most impressive episodes, but they provide a very sturdy baseline, and even allow themselves to have ambitious ideas in spots. But even with those smart, effective solutions that people in the trenches come up with, and despite having the ability to call that top-of-the-line talent if need be, the planning of this franchise makes it rest on fundamentally shaky grounds. Spy x Family only ended up being a co-production because it was first entrusted to a team that was too busy, so they had to go ask for help from equally busy friends across the street. Ever since then, its success has kept them pumping out material at exactly the right speed to avoid a collapse, but also prevent the necessary rest to solidify those grounds. The original movie that caused WIT to eventually step away from this season is already a massive success, and by the looks of it a genuinely fun family time with highs beyond what this TV production is capable of… but it was also finished right before the premiere. Despite not being a complete mess like anime production can often be, and the workload not being outrageous on its own, the team feels caught in a cycle where they just can never rest up. C’mon, just let Anya take a good nap. Recent, lovely Pokemon spinoffs There are quite a few works I’ve promised to write some shorter commentary for, but in between some massive writeups we’ve published this month and a certain yearly event, I simply haven’t gotten around to them; sorry Doremi Naisho, I swear your turn will come.  If there was one I’d be remiss to skip right now, though, it would be Pokemon: Paldean Winds / Houkago no Breath. For the last few years and despite the troubles they’ve been having over at the main series, the Pokemon Company’s decision to partner up with various anime studios to make short-form content has been paying dividends. It just doesn’t get any better than Shingo Yamashita and studio Colorido’s Twilight Wings. WIT is one such partner studio, having not just produced one web series led by Ken Yamamoto, but even collaborated with them on a few movies. Rather than having one contact at the studio, these jobs have been handled by multiple teams. And for Paldean Winds, the chosen ones were… the production line that has been making Spy x Family, sharing AniP with the recently released film. See why the studio might be a bit out of breath, like the Japanese title for this one series asks for? Despite that packed schedule and an unfriendly release, Paldean Winds is a very enjoyable series with a curious team behind it. Series directorSeries Director: (監督, kantoku): The person in charge of the entire production, both as a creative decision-maker and final supervisor. They outrank the rest of the staff and ultimately have the last word. Series with different levels of directors do exist however – Chief Director, Assistant Director, Series Episode Director, all sorts of non-standard roles. The hierarchy in those instances is a case by case scenario. Ryouhei Takeshita has earned a reputation as perhaps the best emulator of physical cameras in anime. On the one hand, that is a bit reductive view of a director with broader talents, even if he does his best to remind people that he does love cameras. On the other hand, it’s that experience with hand-held motion and POV framing that helps purposeful artistic choices like starting this series with a sequence that lowers the eye level to that of a small Pokemon. The relationship between these creatures, humans, and the space both inhabit continues to be a point of focus across the series. It’s explored through the action in the second episode, which extends its message of personal feelings over cold, supposedly common sense through very subjective framing in general. Meanwhile, the third one is more playful with space, in great part thanks to the 3D layoutsLayouts (レイアウト): The drawings where animation is actually born; they expand the usually simple visual ideas from the storyboard into the actual skeleton of animation, detailing both the work of the key animator and the background artists. that Takashi Katagiri always prepares when he directs something; another nice achievement under his belt before he went on to lead that Spy x Family movie we keep coming back to. One of the most interesting aspects of this short series relates to the scripts, and not just because of the eclectic mix of writers. Besides Takeshita’s own contributions, the series had scripts by the multitalented Teruko Utsumi of studio Lapintrack. She’s a neat figure we’ve followed before, as an ex-Brains Base production assistantProduction Assistant (制作進行, Seisaku Shinkou): Effectively the lowest ranking ‘producer’ role, and yet an essential cog in the system. They check and carry around the materials, and contact the dozens upon dozens of artists required to get an episode finished. Usually handling multiple episodes of the shows they’re involved with. and literature personnel circa Penguindrum who has kept her relationship with Kunihiko Ikuhara by becoming a representative of the studio he’s stationed at nowadays. Apart from her presidential role, Utsumi is willing to tackle basically any job she comes across: lyrics, management, building dioramas, and in cases like Sarazanmai or this series, regular writing as well. By her side she also had WIT’s Keisuke Sato, who may not have as wide of a repertoire yet, but is also making the jump from management to creative duties. And his was the script for the finale of this series, which made the interesting choice of showing the outcome of every character’s personal arcs indirectly, through a series of music videos directed by the lord of orange/blue contrast Yuki Kamiya. I feel like that neat choice that Sato personally pushed for might be lost in a sea of praise for all the delightful Nanjamo animation, which is… a perfectly fine outcome, really. Animator Kaito Tomioka drew a simply obscene number of sheets because he loves the character that much, and the playful details like the inertia on her electromagnetic buns show that. Before we wrap up, I’d like to shout out another Pokemon series that has recently dropped. I suppose that having just one beautiful anime named after a caretaker position in a commercial establishment wasn’t enough, so they had to squeeze in Pokemon Concierge into 2023 as well. This 4 episode series shows a familiar world from a different angle, aiming to offer respite to its inhabitants and audience alike. Stop-motion animation experts dwarf Studios are behind it, with Iku Ogawa sitting in the director’s seat. Key to its soothing aura is also the work of Tadahiro Uesugi, who is being billed as its character designer, but played just as important of a role as a concept artist and one of the brains behind the worldview. One of the most interesting aspects of Pokemon in animation is how each team decides to portray the creatures themselves, both in writing and on a visual level; ideally, with those two in conversation. Some teams have accentuated their animalistic traits through the redesign and emphasis on their demeanor, while others have blended them further into human society through their unifying mastery of lighting. In Concierge’s case, the neat choice that is constantly being made is about texture—which material conveys the tactile feeling I imagine this Pokemon to have? It may be felt for fur, something sturdy but rugged for a rock, and a more unnaturally smooth plastic for amphibian skin. If anything, I wish they took it further with more radically hand-crafted materials, as the studio has proved to be capable of. For such a relaxed and cozy series, though, I understand the choice to go for a softer look. And really, how could we need any more edge, when the series already confirms that the stereotype of the basic Pikachu fan also exists in-universe? Talk about spicy. Support us on Patreon to help us reach our new goal to sustain the animation archive at Sakugabooru, SakugaSakuga (作画): Technically drawing pictures but more specifically animation. Western fans have long since appropriated the word to refer to instances of particularly good animation, in the same way that a subset of Japanese fans do. Pretty integral to our sites’ brand. Video on Youtube, as well as this SakugaSakuga (作画): Technically drawing pictures but more specifically animation. 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Anime Studios And Their Local Communities, Regional Training Facilities, And Kyoto Animation’s Ever-evolving Mentorship – Sakuga Blog While most anime studios are scattered indistinctly in Tokyo, regional branches and rural studios with distinct cultures are becoming more common. Let’s dig into how their bonds with local communities develop, their affinity for mentorship, and KyoAni’s ever-evolving training systems. Although it’s not likely to get much attention from broader audiences, Kyoto Animation’s latest project embodies the trends at the studio too perfectly not to stop and examine it. Earlier this month, the city of Uji unveiled the third chapter of their collaboration with KyoAni: a beautiful commercial to promote the atmosphere of the city and its historic heritage, encouraging everyone to come get a taste of those first hand—that’s supposed to be the only way to stream the full version of this short film after all, though experienced computer users might disagree about that limitation. Prior to this, the studio had already illustrated a gorgeous visual with the characters (fictional, historical, and of myth) that would eventually star in this new animated work, and even intertwined the worlds of Genji Monogatari and Hibike! Euphonium’s with special illustrations. Those now decorate the city all over—soon there will be more life-sized Kumikos than actual people in the tourism center—as if to unsubtly make a point: KyoAni’s ties to its home town are growing increasingly stronger, to the point of becoming a factor in their creative processes. This type of relationship is, of course, not unique to them. While it may be difficult to perceive these local relationships from an overseas point of view, this topic shouldn’t feel new for readers of this site; after all, we do have a predilection for studios that have developed a culture of their own, and that will sometimes manifest through that special bond with their home turf. Admittedly, those are tricky to develop if your studio happens to be one of the countless companies in Tokyo, but the increasingly more popular practice of establishing regional branches or simply launching your own digital-based venture elsewhere is opening up more studios to this possibility. One such example we’ve written at length about is WIT’s Ibaraki branch, located in the city of Tsukuba. Two leading members of the studio in animation producer Tetsuya Nakatake and designer Kyoji Asano (both known for the likes of Attack on Titan and Spy x Family) happen to hail from that prefecture, where they’d always wanted to start a studio. After partnering up with the city and an exciting animator like Masaaki Tanaka—who also graduated from Tsukuba University—they created a small branch with clear goals: nurturing regional talent through less demanding projects like kids’ anime, and working with folks outside the sphere of commercial animation. A handful of years after its creation, it may seem like this wasn’t that big of a deal, as Tanaka has eventually left for the indie space and it’s the works of WIT’s Tokyo studios that receive the most attention. The truth, however, is that this was a culture-shifting move; they did indeed train animators locally, Ibaraki remains a place where the studio holds physical events to this day, its team has created works as stunning as Totsukuni no Shoujo, and perhaps most importantly, it has become a bridge between commercial and experimental animation in Japan. Even when not gathered in a specific project at Ibaraki, the relationships created because of that branch have made it so that Geidai alumni and their equally interesting acquaintances now pop up all over regular WIT projects (and even sibling companies!). For a studio with notoriously ruthless top management, such bonds with indie artists who have a much fresher attitude are a bit of a godsend. While there are some recurring patterns in the relationships between anime (sub)studios and their local communities, the way those develop depends on the specific culture of the companies and their region. As seen in WIT Ibaraki, it’s common to take advantage of the less hectic, lower-pressure environment of more rural anime studios to focus on fishing for talent on potentially untapped pools and then focus on steady training. That does apply to some degree to Ufotable Tokushima, whose model (laxer working hours with strict control of overtime, more robust benefits, and so on) is one of the few that can be said to successfully have intentionally followed the model of a certain studio in Kyoto; as opposed to the more common practice of saying you want to be like them, and acting in a radically opposed direction. Leaving their story at that, though, fails to consider what Ufotable themselves bring to the table. If the philosophy of the team is a factor in the culture that develops in these regional studios, we just have to ask ourselves: what sets Ufotable apart? Among other things, there’s the predilection for doing a bit of everything they owe to their founder Hikaru Kondo. That has led to them offering a wide array of services—from cafes to cinemas—and directly dealing with customers in a way that naturally led to the organization of a bi-yearly event by the name of Machi★Asobi. With time, that has become not just a noteworthy event within the anime calendar, but also a pretty big deal for the prefecture of Tokushima. As the smallest and least populated of the main islands of Japan, Shikoku rarely gets any love when it comes to otaku events, making MachiAso an important cultural artifact for locals. And by default, that means that Ufotable means something to them; yes, even now that they nominally don’t organize it after Kondo’s tax scandal. Other regional studios with a training focus and a proven record of success thanks to that different culture from their headquarters include TRIGGER Fukuoka, or more extremely White Fox Izukogen; a very green location for a studio, as you can see from their header. The characteristics of each of those territories affect not just the upside for both parties, but also some downsides. Look no further than P.A. Works, with its identity firmly rooted in the prefecture of Toyama—the hometown of president and founder Kenji Horikawa. After working in Tokyo for various studios throughout the 90s, he had to return to Toyama for family reasons about a decade later. In his view, something had changed in that timespan: the digitization of animation had made it much more doable to maintain a rural anime studio, which would have been a logistics nightmare with fully physical materials. Capitalizing on that opportunity faster than most of his peers, Horikawa created the studio that would become P.A. Works. To his credit, Horikawa succeeded in establishing a now-beloved studio with a strong identity, both creatively and in its local presence. P.A. Works is another example of strong ties between neighboring cities and an anime studio, which has become a cultural hub for aspiring artists and the population at large. That training aspect is also a major focus of their goals, as we’ve written about before. Though in execution their track record is rather spotty, they’ve kept doubling down on their efforts to nurture artists away from the big city, to the point where there’s no denying that they do mean well and act upon that. Between their establishment of a training course modeled after a certain studio’s, publishing animation teaching materials by living legend Toshiyuki Inoue (a good friend of Horikawa), and production models like Maquia’s meant to maximize the training opportunities, P.A. Works have more material policies with this training goal in mind than the vast majority of studios. And again, those have to be specifically geared to fitting that specific rural environment; back in 2010, Horikawa already talked about the dormitory they had established for the young animators, as they’d come to the conclusion that you need tools like that to have a sustainable workplace away from the big city. And yet, as previously stated, the major drawbacks to that can’t be escaped; in their case, they haven’t been able to mitigate it either. Home-grown talent leaving for Tokyo to work in a freelance capacity, maybe jumping around short contractual stints with various studios, is something that all studios in a similar position face. Talent retention at P.A. Works, though, has been particularly troublesome—even more so coinciding with this more recent effort to double down on the training, though I wouldn’t venture to say that the two are related. If we look back at the young animators being mentored in Maquia (especially the younger in-betweeners), the reality is that the studio has struggled tremendously to benefit even from a once-in-a-generation training effort. Initiatives like this are worthy of praise in an industry that is killing its present and future by neglecting traditional training mechanisms, but for P.A. themselves the results have been less than ideal. For the good and for the not-so-great, there are anime studios that simply can’t be understood without considering their environment, and that often includes how likely you are to convince people to work and live there. What about KyoAni’s relationship with Uji and Kyoto as a whole, then? If you’ve read our summary of the studio’s history, you should be aware of their origins as a cel painting company for housewives in the neighborhood—something that immediately, materially rooted them into their surrounding community. Few people have had a clearer view of that process than Taku Sugiyama, since he was somewhat to be blamed for this. Sugiyama had entered the anime industry through iconic Toei Douga films, and was later recruited by Osamu Tezuka himself to join MushiPro as a director and writer; making his debut as series directorSeries Director: (監督, kantoku): The person in charge of the entire production, both as a creative decision-maker and final supervisor. They outrank the rest of the staff and ultimately have the last word. Series with different levels of directors do exist however – Chief Director, Assistant Director, Series Episode Director, all sorts of non-standard roles. The hierarchy in those instances is a case by case scenario. on Wonder Three, and making appearances on the likes of Astro Boy and Kaitou Pride at the time. As he has explained in multiple interviews and on his own blog, it was also then that his little sister asked for help to join the anime industry, so he introduced her to the studio where she began working as a painter. Her name was Yoko Sugiyama, but chances are that you know her as Yoko Hatta. Sugiyama notes that despite that fruitful experience there, his sister found herself quickly moving to Kyoto, where she would settle after marrying Hideaki Hatta. Not being one to sit idly, however, by the beginning of the 80s she was already organizing an anime painting crew alongside the local housewives. She once again prodded her brother to hook her up with some acquaintances, which most notoriously included Daikichiro Kusube: an animator who had entered the industry through Toei Douga alongside Sugiyama, and who by this point had already established a studio by the name of Shin-Ei Animation. Kusube sadly passed away in 2005, at the age of 70—and yet, Shin-Ei remains the single studio that Hatta’s company does regular outsourced TV work for to this day. They were introduced through family, and as far as animation production is concerned, it’s no exaggeration to say that the two studios still share a similar bond. At the time of first gathering neighbors, they weren’t a company yet; they weren’t even Kyoto Animation, but rather Kyoto Anime Studio. Though some of the earliest members only had a passing interest in anime, others have stuck with them for the long run. In the wake of the tragic arson, many outlets began reporting on the unique qualities of a studio that weren’t unknown, yet were hardly given enough attention, almost taking them for granted. Within their piece, The Hollywood Reporter noted that one of those local housewives who joined in 1983 was still working with them, and that her daughter was hired in 2014 as well. That person—misleadingly named Mihoko Kouda there, the correct reading should be Mihoko Eda—did indeed work with them until 2022, when she finally hit the age to retire; don’t ask me who her daughter is unless you want an overly long theory about her being a certain art directorArt Director (美術監督, bijutsu kantoku): The person in charge of the background art for the series. They draw many artboards that once approved by the series director serve as reference for the backgrounds throughout the series. Coordination within the art department is a must – setting and color designers must work together to craft a coherent world. working under a different name. What’s truly important here, though, is how relationships like this demonstrate how deeply rooted the studio remains in the local community it was born out of. Beyond this small scale, quite literally personal bond with its immediate neighborhood, KyoAni rose to a position of being emblematic of the Kansai region at large. By the time of its creation in the 80s, virtually no anime studios existed in Western Japan. Which that means that, those that did pop up, naturally weaponized their unusual position. Though getting Anime-R off the ground in Osaka wasn’t easy, once they had established a solid foundation—shout out to Kazuaki Mouri—they became an extremely alluring studio for aspiring local artists; enough for a 16 years old Hiroyuki Okiura to begin a career that would lead him to becoming one of the most technically proficient animators of all time. There’s no downplaying personal efforts like his, but the reason why Anime-R’s golden age in the 80s is chockful of stories like that simply cannot be separated from these geopolitical factors. Similarly, you can assess KyoAni’s lack of competition in its vicinity by that straightforward Kyoto Anime Studio name they first adopted; incidentally, you can also asses the same plain naming sense that would eventually get them to name their branch Kyoto Animation Osaka, before realizing that Animation DO rolls off the tongue better. By preceding most anime studios in the prefecture, and then by making a name for themselves through less abrasive working conditions and a strong reputation for their quality, KyoAni have been the number-one destination for aspiring Kansai artists for quite a while. While that does play a factor in their emphasis on training, I think we ought to explore how that quality of being emblematic of their specific area interacts with their artistic tendencies as well. As we covered at greater length in our piece about the studio’s history, KyoAni’s fondness of carefully depicting the daily lives of their characters precedes what people know as KyoAni anime. If you were to narrow it down to a single mastermind, that would be the late legend Yoshiji Kigami, who arrived at the studio through the aforementioned Shin-Ei link and quickly became a mentor to everyone. Kigami fostered a thoughtful approach to characterization through animation that inevitably rooted the characters’ daily lives in physical, existing spaces—especially once they started producing their own shows, and thus handling the location hunting themselves. By beautifully depicting those places after thorough research, and then holding an uncompromising attitude when it comes to animating what living in those locations might be like, they’ve been making anime that accidentally doubles as tourism ads. KyoAni’s name has become inseparable from the anime pilgrimage phenomenon, which they revitalized in 2007 with Lucky Star and have kept being a key factor in. Their way of making anime is simply conducive to it. With all of that in mind, the eventual outcome appears inescapable. What happens if you have a popular studio that is emblematic of one location, with personal ties with its inhabitants, and that is characterized by a style that emphasizes the daily life in the setting of their stories? There’s only one possible answer: those people will want to tell stories about their home. The moment KyoAni grew big enough to have the leading voice in what they would animate, they strongly pivoted towards stories centered in Kyoto and nearby locations, especially through their own imprint of KA Esuma. That’s not to say that they won’t animate stories set in other locations in the country—their latest TV shows are Tsurune, mostly set in Nagano, and Maidragon bouncing around Saitama and wherever big lizards come from—or even jump to different countries and fantastical places altogether. Even when they do that, though, there’s still that grounding element that brings them to model aspects off real locations; as seen throughout Violet Evergarden, with its specific roots in Germany. That predilection for applying this style to stories set in Kyoto has been an important aspect when it comes to their title selection, something that viewers overseas often fail to realize; if not the fact that it happens, at least how prevalent it really is. The studio had a history of relocating stories without a definite setting to nearby places (K-ON! in the neighboring Toyosato, Shiga, with nods to Kyoto itself) or to directly tell original stories in their neighborhood (Tamako Market & Tamako Love Story, with their heart in Demachi Masugata Shopping Street). Whether consciously or not, the nods in the awards the studio used to select new stories they’d have control of trended in the direction of Kansai too, with multiple examples between those that they’ve animated and the ones that remained in book form. Such is their local bias that, when a writer who often works with them like Jukki Hanada was asked about his tendency to work on stories set alongside a local line of trains, he added some more like Kyoukai no Kanata… and a certain unspecified title with an adaptation already announced. Given that all his upcoming series are located elsewhere, and that KyoAni’s 20 Seiki Denki Mokuroku is unsurprisingly set in Kyoto, he might have alluded to having written the scripts for its adaptation. If that were true, it wouldn’t even be the first time that we’ve been able to guess an upcoming project of the studio because of their fondness for their home. Back when Eupho’s anime adaptation was first announced in October 2014, it was a rather obscure novel with one single volume and not even a manga adaptation to speak of. It might have seemed bizarre to hear rumors that KyoAni pursued such a niche title to adapt it, and yet people with deep knowledge about the anime industry sorta bought into those despite some details about the supposed leak having turned out to be false. Why did they believe, then? The reason was simple: the author was from Kyoto, and so was her story. If there’s one relatively practical bit of knowledge you’ll retain from this history lesson, let it be this: no better bait for this crew than a story tangibly set in their home. The studio’s obsession with representing settings that mean something to them gives their work a time capsule quality. In his latest message before Eupho S3, director Tatsuya Ishihara noted that in their mind, they must now show Uji as it was in 2017 – after all, Kumiko started high school in 2015, so her third year should be in that exact time period. Ishihara did mean that: the latest PV for the show begins with this shot (from an episode of his own), featuring a couple of chimneys that were removed in 2019. As far as Eupho is concerned, though, they’re still there. He added that the ability to capture an exact moment in animation is part of the appeal of the job. Given this context, if there’s one surprising fact, it’s that KyoAni wasn’t collaborating with local entities all that much in an official manner. Uji and surrounding areas were plastered with their works, visited by their fans, but it was something that those cities passively benefited from rather than actively pursuing. Ever since the arson, though, it feels as if all parties involved are working towards strengthening the bonds that have always united them—which is to say that now they won’t stop commissioning the studio. That may come in a highly specific form, like their staff painting two posters for the Kyoto State Guest House so lifelike that everyone confuses them for photos when they first look at them. Right now, it’s this long collaboration campaign with the municipality of Uji, which is in the midst of an effort to highlight its historical heritage and current qualities alike. In the same way they’re collaborating with the NHK period drama Hikaru Kimi he / Dear Radiance because of its depiction of local icon Murasaki Shikibu (author of The Tale of Genji), they’ve also been highlighting the role of Uji’s most renowned modern creators in KyoAni. And as noted at the beginning of this piece, they’re willing to mix the two. When it comes to the studio, the first role they were commissioned for was to produce that visual featuring Murasaki herself and various Uji inhabitants across different eras, unveiled on October 31 2023. Also in that visual, you can see a certain rabbit that stars in the logo that KyoAni designed for that broader Uji campaign. That cute creature is representative of Ujigami Shrine, a UNESCO World Heritage Site and possibly the oldest Shinto shrine in the country. Its ever-present rabbit motif comes from the legend that, at a time when the crown prince had become lost, it was the Way Back Rabbit who guided him back to safety by hopping in the right direction. And so, you’ll still find these cuties in all shapes and forms in the shrine, from figurines to fortune slips. When asked to animate a 2 minutes commercial for that same promotional campaign, the studio subverted that same legend. Uji ni wa Monogatari ga Aru features Akane, the same 23 years old tourist seen in the initial visual, visiting the shrine and meeting the Way Back Rabbit. As divine messengers do, the rabbit eats her smartphone whole and then dashes away, forcing Akane to follow through beautiful landmarks, pleasant local delicacies (lots of matcha, of course), and even to come to face with Murasaki herself. In the process of bringing their beloved city to life, however, things got out of hand. Remember that 2 minutes runtime they were asked for? No one at the studio did, because they instead submitted 6 minutes and a half. As the press releases stated, approximately 120 staff members found their way into this project, which was in the making for 3.5 months—1 for storyboarding, 2.5 to animate it—and piled up 6.5k drawings total; something that studio reps called the equivalent of your average TV anime episode, but would be more than that if applied to the industry at large. Considering the large number of participants we just stated, it might sound like it was a free-for-all production. And while they did all want to have a hand in depicting their city, framing it like that obscures the true nature of the project. We began this piece by talking about the natural propensity of anime studios outside the big city to become a place of careful mentorship, something that the industry is in dire need of. When it comes to Kyoto Animation, that hasn’t so much been an aspect of the studio but the goal, sometimes feeling even more important than actually producing anime. When she was recruiting painters in the early 80s, Yoko Hatta wouldn’t seek people with experience, but rather publish ads saying they would teach people how to do it. As we’ve written about before, the renowned KyoAni School precedes their own anime, and continues to be just the starting point of their continuous development of talent. Even when pondering about the repercussions of tools like AI animation, their worries are framed from the angle of perhaps no longer being able to pass down skills to future generations—that is the role of the studio to their veterans. It’s not a surprise that a studio like this wouldn’t only have systems of training, but also projects on the side for the newbies to experiment. Traditionally, side jobs like the Shin-Ei outsourcingOutsourcing: The process of subcontracting part of the work to other studios. Partial outsourcing is very common for tasks like key animation, coloring, backgrounds and the likes, but most TV anime also has instances of full outsourcing (グロス) where an episode is entirely handled by a different studio. have been a playground for newcomers, though always under the supervision of veterans who know the Shin-chan franchise like the back of their hand; the first role as trainees for studio stars like Taichi Ishidate was to draw its irreverent protagonist, something that you’d never know by looking at ending credits. In their process of recovery from the arson attack, however, the studio has attempted to carve out more of those safe spaces for training through side projects of their own that would still have less pressure than their popular titles. The studio’s comeback to TV with Maidragon S was accompanied by a short web series fully animated by their younger staff, as well as two commercials led by those fresh faces. Incidentally, one of them was Haruki Sakamoto, who has since then returned to the Tokyo he hailed from and his old friends like Ichigo Kanno—a very interesting mix of influences that has allowed him to handle the most delicate bits of animation in Dungeon Meshi. The studio’s reinvigorated desire to create these safer spaces of training and experimentation for young artists doesn’t just manifest through animation, but also other types of jobs that end up on the studio’s lap… and the ones they make up too. On some levels, it’s fairly traditional stuff; rather than entrusting the official illustrations for magazines and merch to character designers, directors, and studio aces as was the norm, nowadays those are mostly handled by the younger folks at the studio. In other instances, it’s the studio’s quirkier side which opens up those opportunities. Hagureboshi no Uta is an experiment between Ishidate and composer Evan Call to combine writing, art, and music in the form of a multimedia book. To complete the team, the former held an audition for writers that was won by the young Ayano Sato, then personally chose the equally inexperienced Shiori Yamasaki as the artist—he’d taken notice of her talents across Violet Evergarden and she was up for a new challenge, so that ended up being a perfect match. Though each of these side projects chooses its participants differently, it’s no coincidence that they’ve consistently landed in the hands of young staff members. In a long, rather interesting interview about what goes into the making of a book’s cover and illustrations, one of them let it slide that it’s essentially expected that fresh members who haven’t gotten to branch out like this before will land at least one such project. Mao Takayama of the art department had been painting backgrounds for the studio’s works since right before the arson, which meant that due to the company slowing down, she didn’t have all that much experience yet. She credits her nomination to work on Moon Fighters to that fact, though it’s also true that her name did come up when the rest of the team was asking for someone with the right skills, and that her portfolio made them wonder how there was someone that impressive still relatively unknown among their ranks; given how beautiful her art already was as a student, I don’t think they’re exaggerating. By handing these opportunities, they’re not only offering practical training grounds to these up-and-coming figures, but also helping mitigate an issue that not even they can avoid: talent retention. While their staff sticks around for longer than they do anywhere else in the industry, some members still part ways with them at some point. In a recent interview, now-renowned designer Atsushi Saito reminisces about his fun anecdotes at the studio. When talking about his departure, he saw it necessary to point out that he did so on good terms (hence why an exception was made and he got to work on his beloved Koe no Katachi), but that he was attracted to the idea of working freelance in Tokyo for whatever title he wanted, as opposed to only ever focusing on KyoAni’s titles. His story is not uncommon among those who’ve left, and shows the obvious downside to the studio’s fully in-house model. As an extension to that, some notable individuals have also left because they saw it unlikely that they would move up the ladder into positions to lead their own projects, which is more or less inevitable at a fairly large studio that insists on making fewer titles than the norm. Perhaps to avoid encountering that issue even more now that they’ve further reduced their output, they’ve also diversified it through all these side projects. The young Yamasaki herself expressed that she had the desire to try higher responsibility procedures like color scripts and concept art that a regular background artist within their pipeline wouldn’t be entrusted with, which she saw fulfilled through Hagureboshi’s unusual means. These entertaining diversions for the younger staff have already served to test promising individuals at the next level, before they start leading major projects at the studio. The most beautiful of those 2021 commercials had character designs and supervision by Tamami Tokuyama, who over the last couple of years has moved up to become the studio’s newest animation director; a job she has done while maintaining the same appealing round forms already seen in that side project. Uji ni wa Monogatari ga Aru is set up similarly, with pretty much nothing but newcomers in leading roles, perhaps as a final test before they do so for major titles. That includes, for example, the aforementioned Takayama: making her debut as art directorArt Director (美術監督, bijutsu kantoku): The person in charge of the background art for the series. They draw many artboards that once approved by the series director serve as reference for the backgrounds throughout the series. Coordination within the art department is a must – setting and color designers must work together to craft a coherent world., overseeing the beautiful, somewhat fantastic depiction of their city. She worked alongside the equally green leaders of the other aesthetic departments—new color designerColor Designer (色彩設定/色彩設計, Shikisai Settei/Shikisai Sekkei): The person establishing the show’s overall palette. Episodes have their own color coordinator (色指定, Iroshitei) in charge of supervising and supplying painters with the model sheets that particular outing requires, which they might even make themselves if they’re tones that weren’t already defined by the color designer. Yuki Honiden, and debuting director of photographyPhotography (撮影, Satsuei): The marriage of elements produced by different departments into a finished picture, involving filtering to make it more harmonious. A name inherited from the past, when cameras were actually used during this process. Keisuke Sudo—to craft an aesthetic with a subtle parchment texture; as if Uji’s past was really printed on a scroll, but not so visible that it obstructs the beauty of it all. When it comes to the role of character design and animation directionAnimation Direction (作画監督, sakuga kantoku): The artists supervising the quality and consistency of the animation itself. They might correct cuts that deviate from the designs too much if they see it fit, but their job is mostly to ensure the motion is up to par while not looking too rough. Plenty of specialized Animation Direction roles exist – mecha, effects, creatures, all focused in one particular recurring element., this short film also features the debut of Kengo Narimatsu. That likely means he drew the original illustration that kicked off this project, which I had personally assumed was the work of Nobuaki Maruki due to his expertise in constructing complex layoutsLayouts (レイアウト): The drawings where animation is actually born; they expand the usually simple visual ideas from the storyboard into the actual skeleton of animation, detailing both the work of the key animator and the background artists.. Given Narimatsu’s uncanny versatility for his age and how clean his art remains regardless of the task, this isn’t actually much of a twist—by which I mean that I accidentally predicted his promotion mere hours before this video dropped out of nowhere, just because his talent was that obvious. At first glance it may seem that the directorial roles are a bit of an exception to this wave of youth, but the truth is more interesting than that. Takuya Yamamura is indeed the chief director, and while by all means he still qualifies as a promising young star, he already has some (wonderful) project direction experience under his belt thanks to Tsurune. Given what we have heard from the production of this short film, though, it appears like he had more of a supervision role, while the hands-on direction was left to an absolute newcomer. Ayumu Yoshida has only ever been credited for in-betweening once (Tsurune S2) and twice for key animationKey Animation (原画, genga): These artists draw the pivotal moments within the animation, basically defining the motion without actually completing the cut. The anime industry is known for allowing these individual artists lots of room to express their own style. duties (Tsurune’s sequel again, as well as Eupho Ensemble Contest), and yet she was the sole unit director and storyboarder for this Uji promotion. She handled jobs that normally wouldn’t be in the hands of a unit director, let alone someone with no experience whatsoever. For one, she was the person who chose and invited the music composers; a role with even more responsibility than usual, as Uji ni wa Monogatari ga Aru has no dialogue and instead relies on the music matching her first boards ever. In the end, the result was beyond satisfactory. Yoshida’s storyboards smartly use reflections to overlay the multiple eras of Uji on top of each other, and get fairly creative once the protagonist steps into the local museum. The scrolling compositions enhance the performative aspect, as if she had stumbled into a theater with a historical play, and the various tricks used to make it flow seamlessly add to how mesmerizing it all is. If you just so happen to visit Uji, accessing this site with your GPS on will lead you to an easy quiz and the full video as your reward. And if you happen to know how to spoof such a thing (or how to look up a video on certain sites) instead, you can watch it anyway—but you should still visit Uji if possible, it’s a beautiful place! The people who produced the video can and will vouch for that. Do you need to develop personal and historical bonds with the location of your anime studio to make something this gorgeous? The answer is no, of course. That isn’t even doable if you’re one of many anime studios within the same Tokyo districts, or if your staff works remotely across different places. What an approach like this allows, though, is to foster anime’s much-needed mentorship in more fitting environments. And while it’s not necessarily a factor in the quality of the resulting work (though in cases as extreme as KyoAni’s, it’s clearly a factor in what they want to depict), these relationships with local communities add extra layers of appreciation to them, making them richer in the end. Support us on Patreon to help us reach our new goal to sustain the animation archive at Sakugabooru, SakugaSakuga (作画): Technically drawing pictures but more specifically animation. Western fans have long since appropriated the word to refer to instances of particularly good animation, in the same way that a subset of Japanese fans do. Pretty integral to our sites’ brand. Video on Youtube, as well as this SakugaSakuga (作画): Technically drawing pictures but more specifically animation. Western fans have long since appropriated the word to refer to instances of particularly good animation, in the same way that a subset of Japanese fans do. Pretty integral to our sites’ brand. Blog. Thanks to everyone who’s helped out so far! Become a […]