Escha & Logy no Atelier: Tasogare no Sora no Renkinjutsushi
Atelier Escha & Logy: Alchemists of the Dusk Sky
エスカ&ロジーのアトリエ ～黄昏の空の錬金術士～
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This world has gone through many Dusks, and is slowly nearing its end. Within this world, in the western reaches of the "Land of Dusk," there was a nation that prospered thanks to its use of alchemy. There, in order to survive the eventual arrival of the "Dusk End," the people devoted their efforts to rediscover and recreate lost alchemic technologies. Rediscovered technology from the past era was gathered in the alchemy research city known as "Central," where research was conducted on how to halt the advance of the twilight. One of the heroes is a young man who researched alchemy in Central, the other a girl living in a small town on the frontier. This girl's name is Escha. In the process of using her knowledge of ancient alchemy to help others, she was assigned to the Development Department. The young man's name is Logy. Having learned the newest alchemic techniques in Central, he requested a transfer to this understaffed town to make use of his abilities, and meets Escha when he is assigned to the Development Department as well. The two make a promise to use their alchemy together, and bring success to the Development Department. (Source: Tecmo Koei Europe)
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mahoganycow
August 11, 2014
The thought of video game adaptations in film or anime usually leads one to imagine the more frequently popularized aspects of video games: Stylish violence and sensuality, high-velocity, no-holds-barred plotlines with worlds that need saving, and iconic, stone-faced heroes and heroines. Atelier Escha & Logy, an adaptation of one installment in a series of well-received roleplaying games, is about as far removed from that generalization as possible—its heroes and heroines are not particularly adept, and its focus drifts towards some of the more humble aspects of gaming, such as navigating the environment, gathering resources, communicating with other characters, and gradually honing skills. The idea isrespectable, but the result here is a slice of fantasy life that is calm and benign, but also difficult to become invested in. It is immediately clear that, whatever other virtues Escha & Logy might possess, a budget isn't one of them. Put bluntly, this show screams “cheap.” The backgrounds lack any noticeable texture or detail, and are reused frequently. The character art, while usually not too bad up close, can sometimes stray wildly off-model at a distance. The animation, bordering on cut-rate to begin with, actually degenerates in quality as the episode count mounts, until fight scenes or even just scenes of quick movement are nothing more than montages of still-frames. A simple lack of production values can, of course, be overcome by visual creativity, and a show with this much whimsy seems like a prime candidate for such a treatment, but a series of poor design choices prevent it from happening. Perhaps handcuffed by a desire to remain true to the game's image, the character designs here are about as typical as a fantasy can get—a witch is a girl with a hat riding a broom, a warrior is a bulky dude with a sword, and so on. Color, however, is the biggest obstacle to my saying this show looks anything but mediocre; the palette is painfully light in tone, with soft yellows, whites, and reds in huge numbers, and even its dark colors look bleached and faded, resulting in a uniformly washed-out blur of pastels. In general I'd rather not beat up a series for its looks, but there simply isn't a lot of room for compliments when something looks both creatively bankrupt and technically inept. The music, however, manages to slightly bolster the technical side of the series. It's difficult to pin down the vibe emitted by the show's setting—vaguely steampunk with numerous elements of medieval fantasy—so the soundtrack wisely paints in broad strokes, from soft modern orchestral to anthemic rock to Celtic-sounding folk music. Though it doesn't contribute much toward an overall sense of consistency, this scattergun approach works surprisingly well on a scene-to-scene basis; the score is a little too typical at times, perhaps, and a little too overwrought at others, but at any given moment the odds that it's complementing whatever is happening onscreen are solid. Escha & Logy's world is a barren one in which human settlements are ringed by The Land of Dusk, a wasteland of cliffs, deserts, and dry, cracked soil which cannot sustain plant life. Civilization has resorted to the research of alchemy in order to restore the desolate land to a more hospitable state, and main character Escha, who lost her mother when she was a child, is the last in a line of alchemists. Raised by the automaton Clone in the tiny frontier town of Colseit, she has joined her town government's research and development branch in order to assist with alchemical development and various expeditions into The Land of Dusk. There she meets Logy, an alchemist from a much larger city who has been sent to assist the Colseit branch in their adventures. The conceptual high points of the show are revealed early on—Escha's personal history merging with the history of alchemy and the battle to restore The Land of Dusk to a fertile state is a curiosity-piquing idea. Some scenes, such as the revealing of the town's generations-old, hand-tilled apple orchard, have a sort of modest grandeur. The lone spot of noble green in the wasteland, made possible only through hundreds of years of human effort and sacrifice, seems like a tiny hint at what Escha & Logy is about: The little ways in which we choose to fight ruination, be it within ourselves or within the world. Initially, the skeleton of a story seems to be in place. Unfortunately, it soon becomes apparent that a skeleton is all that it is. Escha & Logy is quick to talk at length about anything but its overarching plot, instead diving into a series of episodic shenanigans in which the eponymous pair explore old ruins or meet the many denizens of Colseit and help them through personal problems. They help a local swordswoman through a quarrel with her sisters, help a local witch capture a fire spirit, help a local girl with a wish to make medicine. The more the list goes on, the more disconnected the show begins to feel from what could have been its strengths—the dusky world eventually looms like a forgotten backdrop rather than an essential element, and the two main characters eventually seem more like walking panaceas who exist to provide conclusions for the stories of others rather than humble, newly-minted researchers with goals and motivations of their own. The arc which concludes the series seems like a slapped-together combination of all the standalone adventures, a desperate attempt to prove that there is, in fact, a narrative thread holding the show together. There isn't, though. A mindless amalgamation of supporting characters piled on top of a final objective does not a story make. That doesn't mean the series has nothing to offer. As far as simple, lazy, Sunday afternoon entertainment goes, one could do a lot better than Escha & Logy, but one could also do a lot worse. It's innocent enough in content, and each adventure can occasionally offer a tidbit of humor or a tidbit of genuine cuteness. There are men and women who need saving, pies that need baking, petite dreams that need to be reached. All of that has a certain charm. The series bumbles along, but, other than failing to capitalize on the potential of its own ideas, makes no great transgressions. There's nothing particularly malignant about it—the average episode is just a warm and fuzzy (if shallow and predictable) little story which might serve as that most basic type of escapist entertainment, vapid and insubstantial, but mildly pleasant and passable as a brief distraction. Ultimately, though, watching Escha & Logy feels a little too much like watching someone else play a video game, with each episode a quest. You can practically feel the boss at the end of the dungeon approaching, or the pop-up box of success when a character is helped. Simply by virtue of its constant movement from place to place, such a thing might draw the attention of the eye and the brain for twenty minutes. But when it's over, you'll take whatever miniscule reward it offers, walk away, and, hours or days later, forget that the whole thing ever happened.
