Becoming A Poet Was The ‘FLCL’ Cipher I Didn’t Know I Needed
The first time I watched FLCL, I was 16, and it quickly became a favorite anime of mine. But I’m not 16 anymore. Now, at the wise old age of 26, I have returned to FLCL with a more concrete sense of both myself and the world. (While I was gone, its sequels Progressive and Alternative were released, and I recently watched those too, but this piece isn’t about them). Once again, I have seen all there is to see of FLCL, but this time I have a different opinion of it. Or maybe I always thought this, but didn’t have the language for it. I’m not sure there’s much of a difference.
Now, though, I am able to more fully articulate why I adore this show so much. Some elements are obvious, if superficial. The show is renowned for its fourth wall breaking comedy, dynamic and frenetic animation style, and intentionally obtuse overarching plot. And a lot of sex jokes. But while FLCL is pretty well known for being a high-energy clusterfuck, nowadays I feel much more strongly attached to the quieter side of the show.
There is an air of melancholy to FLCL, rooted in the shackles of adolescence. The main characters, specifically Naota and Ninamori, are both well aware of their circumstances. They have seen through the masks worn by their parents, but they don’t have the means to be independent of them. They’re still kids, and part of their journey through the series is to learn that they’re allowed to be kids. They’re so desperate to leave their world behind, and a large part of the show is the two of them coming to terms with the fact that no one grows up in a day, or because they want to.
Meanwhile, Mamimi persists on the fringes. She’s older than Naota and Ninamori, but doesn’t want to be. She latches onto Naota because she used to date his older brother before he moved away. She has no friends or peers, and her only relationships are built on replacing connections that she has lost. Mamimi just wants everything to stay the same, but just as Naota and Ninamori are powerless to speed up the clock, Mamimi is powerless to stop it.
The show underscores these struggles with its rock soundtrack (all provided by the rock band the Pillows). Every song is almost perfectly utilized; in the action scenes, characters shout at each other and fly through the air in bombastic combat while the music turns the scene into a music video. During the barely-inflected monologues Naota gives throughout the show, the score sets the tone like it’s trying to harmonize with poetry, and it works.
Under all the aliens and the gunfights, this core resonates with me as someone who has finally admitted to a host of suppressed identities and untreated mental illnesses. This core of melancholy impotence, this fear and longing toward change, this kaleidoscopic and contradictory mood, is present in a lot of my own writing as well. Looking back on the poetry I’ve written over the last few years, the influence of FLCL is clear as day. The cadence I use to describe my emotions and my world are similar to Naota’s monologues, I’m just describing a different set of struggles. (And I don’t have a rock band providing a backing track whenever I read my poems out loud.)
It’s been a decade since I first saw FLCL, and I have grown a lot since then. FLCL is still my absolute favorite anime (I took over 300 screenshots during my most recent rewatch), but I’m no longer the boy who watched it because he heard it was weird. It’s not weird at all, really; it’s relatable. Nothing amazing happens here, just life.
