I want you!
I need you!
I love you!
Deep within my mind, music resounds – akin to a heavy rotation.
“I want to believe that I can shine too, because I hate the way things are now.”
To say I didn’t hold a positive opinion of The Idolmaster: Cinderella Girls’ first cour would be putting it lightly, its first nine episodes lolloping down the mobage track with assumed familiarity, not once pausing to allow the viewer to process the merciless onslaught of names hurriedly flung at them. I disparaged its business-orientated model; my head sent reeling at the cold approach designed with churning unit after unit in mind, evocative of its mobage origins struggling to thrive in a cutthroat industry where idol games are a dime a dozen. DereMas was a far cry from the warmth I’d experienced with its predecessor, The Idolmaster. Being perfectly honest, I was reluctant to press on.
But I’m glad I did.
There was once a time I kept the notion of idols firmly at arm’s length, reluctant to delve into a contentious realm designed with artificiality in mind – yet watching the 2011 smash hit The Idolmaster proved to be an eye-opening experience. How strange it is, that I could have missed out on one of the more charming shows had I slavishly adhered to those naïve preconceptions of mine. As I quickly became acquainted with its supplementary material I found myself incorporating the more catchy numbers into workout routines, cooing over game footage, and even slowly warming up to the possibility of watching the accompanying live performances, despite all those initial reservations. However The Idolmaster is a multimedia franchise which goes beyond the thrilling sphere of 765Pro, which led me eagerly settling into watching its 2015 spiritual successor: The Idolmaster: Cinderella Girls.
ARE YOU READY!!
Even now I can remember what spurred me on into taking an interest in the art of animation with astounding clarity, as I bore witness to fluidity unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Not anime as a medium mind, that would require traversing down the dusty corridors of my memory, unsure if I should turn towards Haruhi brazenly assert herself with a nonsensical speech telling of aliens and espers or Sakura capturing Clow cards on television after school, my glossy eyes filled with awe. I’m talking about animation: the sweat-drenched genga which transform into phenomenally inspired scenes which our imaginations scarcely dare to imagine, pens unleashing the equivalent of fairy dust, this enchanted substance which enthralls. Fluidity that we often overlook in favour of narrative resonance. Scenes which wield a power to linger, years later, due to the sheer emotions surging forth.