Lately, i've been revisiting KareKano.
It starts off so good–endlessly watchable due to Anno Hideaki's artful, filmic direction. The establishing shots just swallow you up in their colors and their framing; there's so much love for city life evident in them. The power line shots used between Yukino's school life and self are a denpa horror staple here played for comedic dissonance–at first, at least. Similarly the stoplights are a reflection of Yukino's comfort/feeling of control over herself. At school, they're red with her effort, and at home, all but one are green. All but one. Her breakdown in e2 and Soichiro explaining he just wanted to be around her changing all the stoplights to green for the first time was a really cute moment, only made more personal by how weird it is to repeat those shots, to key in on such an ordinary feature of life. With so much of the same staff as Evangelion, its no surprise to see a lot of the same techniques used. In just the first few episodes we can he same spotlight motif and stylings in the journey to the center of the mind segments. splatter backgrounds, blank sketched out crowds. negative coloring.
All of these run through the same themes of disordered communication and self-worth, played for comedy (in juxtaposition with Evangelion's tragedy, if not always for laughs.) The confession in episode 4 is another example. We can see the same split screen as in "Dance Like You Want To Win", when Yukino and Soichiro are attempting to wordlessly convey their feelings as Shinji and Asuka spent that episode working towards. Its a littering of shots of empty hands at sides, panned over with no thought of synchronization. Until they hold hands. Only then does the screen unsplit. it's genuinely enrapturing to watch–i couldn't blink till my eyes stang–and an almost sublime representation of how good these two are for each other. Both of their lives and characters are defined by massive effort in the story's very premise. There would be no story if Yukino and Soichiro weren't inclined towards trying exceptionally hard to change how they're seen. That seemingly self-centered focus is just what makes it so possible for them to love each other; it's just a matter of these damaged people shifting that effort towards understanding each other better. No small part of what made KareKano unique, especially at the time, is just how forward both parties are in confessing their feelings.
It's still a story about the personal and psychological tolls of being both exceptional and deeply flawed, and moreover maintaining human connection with both conditions as a background hum. In a genre that can coast on familiar dynamics and remain emotionally effective, the ways KareKano bucks rom-com trends feels less pointed and more personal–a credit both to the original mangaka Tsuda Masami and to the team at Gainax. However it shines most in the adaptation; as with the romance, the city landscapes are so beautiful in part because they're treated like the vehicles in something like Gunbuster or Wings of Honneamise. The same otaku fetish for detail brings out the beauty in everyday complexities. i feel like such a dirtbag comparing this to Eva so much.