Story: Many moons ago, my mother was a pianist of such talent that she was teaching adults by the age of 14. Pass a few more years along, life dolled out its misfortunes, and ultimately she was left unable to play. For a time when I was younger she encouraged me to follow in her footsteps, but my lack of musical aptitude left me frustrated and I never picked it up. Though more recently I’ve grown a certain fondness for all things piano and have considered trying to once again learn, it’s still a bit of a personal thorn that I have not been able to remove.
Thus, when I stumbled upon Your Lie in April by chance, the series immediately pinged me in a special and unique way that hit remarkably close to home. On the surface, the series is a poignant drama involving a group of talented kids striving to master classical music. Each has a unique and well-developed backstory, particularly that of our primary protagonist, Kousei, who sifts through day to day life as a defunct prodigy. The viewer soon explores the good reasons for his solemnity, which involves a convoluted tale of tragedy, abuse, grief, depression, and inadequacy. Foiling him is the surrealist Kaori, a vibrant violinist striving to make every moment of her life count as if it were her last. Along with Kousei’s two close childhood friends, the story unfolds as a particularly touching coming-of-age tale of romance and dreams, and the premise is established quite early that the story will unfold Kousei’s growth from troubled child to master pianist.
But, like I said, that’s just the superficial face to the story. Far deeper, despite being about a group of 14 year old children, the story of Your Lie in April is a tragic, powerful weave of metaphors about the reaches of the human heart and the fundamental tragedy of life. The layers upon layers of Kousei’s relationship with his mother, Saya, are absolutely wonderful to watch unfold, bereft with a carnality and emotion that extends far beyond Kousei’s own perspective. Their story touches upon the relationship of childhood and parenthood in a beautiful way, highlighting the juxtaposition of flaws and virtues that humanizes and defines parents. Themes of death and sickness drive their tale to a stunning climax, and highlight the complexity many of our close relationships face when presented with grievous adversity. While at first Kousei seems like a whipped puppy scarred by abuse who seems to have developed a sort of Stockholm syndrome, this veneer drops away to reveal a parent-child tale that rivals the marvel of a certain sunflower scene in Clannad.
Further down the rabbit hole are more abstract themes of Kousei’s rise to manhood, driven twofold by his existential void and his longing toward the feminine ideal. The Kaori that Kousei sees and the Kaori that exists as a person are two fundamentally different characters in the show. The former manifests Kousei’s desire for a softness, gentleness, and happiness in his life that he cannot obtain on his own – a fleeting hope to lift his pain and sorrows and give him a desire to live. The latter Kaori is the real human, an imperfect girl struggling with her own despair while always keeping a smiling visage up for others. Behind her character is a conflicted immaturity that, despite appearing strong and powerful, desperately looks for the foil of the masculine ideal in Kousei to lift her burdens.
Writing such a contrasted character duality into a story is an enormously difficult feat, but the authors pull it off here with fantastic success – it allows for an incredibly authentic side of Kousei to be displayed that all young boys struggle with on their path to adulthood. The harmonization of the ideal with the real is a tragic and painful road for Kousei to walk, as it inevitably is for all men, but the journey teaches him to master his pain and step forward toward the future. Similarly, Kousei is written as a duality of a human boy and a masculine ideal, which allows brilliant character and script writing to blossom their tale into a beautiful poetic masterpiece.
The synthesis of all these numerous layers results in a show rich and dripping with emotion, a parallel of bittersweet, solemn, and hopeful tones that sweep together in one single melody. Against all the childish backdrop is a poignant, mature drama with elegant pacing and top-tier character writing. In many ways, the use of the characters as 14 year olds offers a certain “excuse” to keep some childish humor in the mix to avoid the tone getting unintentionally too dark. While the story indeed carries a very somber feel, it also carries one of hope and longing, and the presentation mixes the right amount of light humor to keep the drama from getting lost in itself. The intent of the tears that well up in the viewers eyes is that they be both tears of sadness at the tragedy, but also tears of happiness as the characters overcome and press forward in life.
Animation:
The particular style of Your Lie in April was not really my thing, but the animation of the musical compositions brought the show a bit above average for me as a whole. These scenes are gorgeously animated with a great deal of artistic detail, and stand out as the visual highlight of the show. Still, the oddity of girls-have-lips-boys-do-not was a little jarring, especially when this was lost in many distance shots. An excessive use of Fullmetal Alchemist style “chibi” scenes was used for much of the comedic relief animation, which sometimes felt a bit too over the top and overplayed.
All that said, the animation of the violin and piano scenes was very well done and outweighed a lot of the quirks. The series looks okay, but certainly is not up on the list for winning any awards.
Sound:
Perhaps it’s just my particular luck of the draw, but I’ve stumbled upon several great piano-based soundtracks for dramas lately. Examples would include Your Name, Just Because, and Violet Evergarden, and Your Lie in April certainly sticks with this trend. The musical score for the series itself is fairly limited, but stands rife with beautiful and emotional pieces played at precisely the right times. Between these songs are a host of classical music pieces, each played with subtle differences that audibly capture the intended feel of the dialogue. The repetition hurts the score slightly, but only by a bit.
Importantly, with the classical pieces as a backdrop, the series loads on many flashbacks with writing and voices timed brilliantly to hit the peaks and troughs of the dialogue. The classical music was certainly not written for this particular show, and yet it carries a powerful and emotive weight as if it was. The musicians composing for Your Lie in April nailed the intended feel of the drama perfectly.
Characters:
Commenting on the characters is difficult, as the show takes all three main cast members and presents them analogously as both human and as metaphor. The fundamental power of the show is that the children are not really children in the truest sense – they are facets of a greater part of human idealism.
Take Kousei’s presentation as a prodigy of untold fame and admiration, for example. While an undoubtedly important aspect of his character from a base level to push the story forward, it acts as a multi-level foil to many of the key character interactions in the story. To Saya, his mother, his prodigy is the core of her belief in revealing the untapped potential of her child, and also the consuming despair she will never live to see come to fruition. To Tsubaki, it’s a manifestation of the masculine ideal that brings her both the greatest joy in life and the greatest pain. To Kaori, it’s a source of existential fulfillment and a dream to push her to aspire toward a brighter tomorrow against the cruelty of life.
I could elaborate for each primary cast member, but the point is made. The deep level of character interplay, writing, and harmonization creates protagonists with a sort of surreal richness that is incredibly rare to see in an artistic medium. Many stories that aim at more somber themes, such as AnoHana, set upon themselves to target a particular theme or two and then try to shape characters and a story around these premises. What Your Lie in April does, instead, is establish a set of characters who are extremely real, and then organically grows a story around them that elegantly and effortlessly taps into its intended themes. This is why, for example, in spite of the coming of age tale being the central theme, the story also plays heavily on the poignancy and tragedy of parenthood. This level of nuance and undertone I would not have observed had I watched this show ten years ago.
The side cast of characters are interesting and functional, but are left intentionally rather undeveloped and plain. While Watari plays an important role in the show, for example, he’s far more a catalyst for events rather than a key player, and the writers knew how to balance his function very well. Several other characters play similar parts in the drama, acting as subtle pushes to keep the pace of the show moving forward with intent. This leaves the supporting cast more abstract, with the writers instead choosing – rightfully so – to focus on the main three. In many cases this level of simplicity in a show irks me and generally results me in docking points, but Your Lie in April handled the balance between primary and secondary characters exceptionally well.
Overall:
Though it has some quirks and oddities, Your Lie in April is a powerful drama with a sprinkle of romance in the mix that, while important, does not play a particularly central role for a majority of the show. Far more dominant is one of the most realistic and emotive coming of age tales I’ve seen anime pull off yet, saturated with a level of poetry that most series dare not aspire to create. Despite being a few years past this stage in my life myself, it still roused a fair amount of reflection of my own experiences, and also managed to touch on the adult and parental perspectives which are far more relatable to me today.
When viewed as a whole, Your Lie in April is a wonderful, touching drama with a splash of well-written youthful romance. Wrapping it all together is a beautiful harmony of classical and contemporary piano pieces that come across as neither pretentious or clashing with the intended themes. Topped off with one of the most poignant and touching ending episodes I’ve yet to see, this caliber of series is what I watch anime for.