A character of this nature, who starts out as a wimp before gaining superpowers, could so easily tilt into assholery and toxic macho posturing, losing what made them relatable in favor of making them power fantasies (looking at you, every modern isekai ever). I can’t overstate how beneficial Akira’s well-established humanity is to this show’s overall tone. It’s a mutually beneficial circle of casual celebrity worship, and at the center of it is a genuinely cool dude making life genuinely more fun for the people latching onto him. Sure, he indulges his admirers because he enjoys the attention, but he does so in a way that entertains those he indulges as much as it does him. He’s still got at least a relative sense of humility, never going so far as to rub his superior status and skills in everyone’s faces he even pulls himself short after that ridiculously batshit running stance to finish the race upright, and he doesn’t seek to draw attention to himself in the aftermath.
Even in this new form, Akira’s a genuinely good person! He may enjoy the indulgence of everyone’s newfound admiration for him, casually flirting with his fangirls (”I don’t do kids.”) and milking their towel-based erotic fantasies of him for all they’re worth, but there’s never a sense he’s being skeevy or condescending about it. And from the second the reborn Akira struts into school with his new, edgier physique, the show does a fantastic job of selling you that dichotomy. He’s the symbolic weight of the show made flesh, a devil’s body with a human heart that strives to keep it in check. If there’s one aspect of Devilman Crybaby that above all others stands as proof positive for the strength of its construction, it’s the Devilman himself, Akira. So let’s dive in a bit deeper and see what makes its mechanism tick. For as short a show as it is, Devilman Crybaby is already proving to be one hell of a heavyweight contender. I can absolutely see why this show become so popular there’s something almost hypnotic about the way its better angels (pun intended, of course) shine through the chaotic whirlwind of blood and sex plastered across its surface. It’s a story of extreme violence and brutality, often uglier and nastier than most other anime even dare attempt, but it’s all centered around an unmistakably human heart, pumping purifying blood through the noxious body it supports. From the very first moments, the psychedelic imagery of its banger OP, the haunting opening sequence of spiritual annihilation, and the main characters setting up that dichotomy in explicit flashback terms over a dead cat’s body (”The weak ones die.” “You’re wrong!”), this show wants you to know right up front that it’s intention is to explore humanity’s capacity for both good and evil. Thankfully, not only does Devilman Crybaby understand that fundamental principle of dark storytelling about as well as I’ve ever seen it pulled off, it’s entire thematic thrust is centered around that clash of light and shadow.
That’s what separates slop like Future Diary from the kinds of masterpieces that define a generation. Neon Genesis Evangelion, The Last of Us, pretty much everything Gen Urobuchi has ever written (check out my Psycho-Pass binge for an example of just how fucking good the Butch is at writing dark stories in this vein), these are all tales of horrible thing happening in an unfair, fucked-up world, but the reason they stick with you is that all of them give you a reason to care for the people trying to survive such hopeless situations. It’s a tricky balance to pull off, but at it’s best, this fusion of hope and hopelessness forms the backbone for some of the most powerful stories of the modern age. Just look at the start of the DCEU with the likes of Batman v Superman for an example of how utterly disastrous not following this maxim can be. If you want to make your audience care when the world gets fucked, you have to give them something recognizably human to care about that stands to be lost should the worst possible scenario occur. The success of any narrative steeped in cruelty, inhumanity, moral ambiguity, or any such depressing conceit is in large part dependent on how well it can balance that darkness out with kindness, compassion, and hope. Ask any storyteller worth their salt about writing dark, tragic, fucked-up stories, and they’ll generally give you some form of that answer, because it’s more often than not true. And so we begin! In which I dive headfirst into a maelstrom of madness with a shockingly solid core, balancing light and dark in equal measure.
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