Not Recommended
If I were to describe, in detail, every moment in which I was saddened, revolted, or infuriated by what I witnessed, I’m afraid that it will be the death of me. For you see, One Room is unparalleled in undermining any rational expectation from its audience; few anime series have disappointed as consistently and as vigorously as One Room. I’ve never seen a show blatantly resist originality, creativity, and artistic integrity quite like One Room. At first glance, One Room appears to be yet another cash cow representative of the harem genre, a product engineered from the assembly line to satisfy the masses. On further examination,however, One Room is revealed to be the culmination of Studio TYPHOON embarking on the shortest, easiest, most effortless route to success. In a medium where laziness has become the norm, One Room has taken this standard to unfathomable extremes. It is, without a doubt, the master of cutting corners.
Like every other work belonging to the harem genre, One Room is about a self-insert protagonist (read: a one-dimensional, vaguely likable cardboard cutout of a high school student with a lack of assertiveness) and his attempts to aid the women in his life. A fairly interesting plot structure (one woman per three-episode arc, totaling three arcs for 12 episodes) with the potential to elevate its storyline into a cohesive work of art is undermined by an utter lack of focus. Every halfhearted attempt at conveying anything remarkable is obscured by an overwhelming amount of meaningless endeavors: the “incest is wincest” angle, the blushing and the stammering, the unnecessary monologues about what an awesome guy the protagonist is, and (of course) the lengthy T&A shots. Every sluggish grasp at individual depth is marred by an unwillingness to present anything that might be lurking beneath the cutesy character designs. Each episode has a five minute runtime, which simultaneously compounds on the issues and provides Studio TYPHOON with an alibi for their complete lack of effort. It’s because of One Room’s runtime that the production company’s executives can pat themselves on the back, and say to themselves, “Well, we WOULD make this project of ours somewhat worthwhile but, you know, we just didn’t have enough time.”
That, my friends, is inexcusable.
Even if there isn’t an option to extend the episode length to the standard 23 minutes, that still doesn’t permit you to put forth the bare minimum at your job. It’s possible to have an anime series with five minutes per episode, and still provide a memorable, enjoyable experience for the audience. I mean, look at Bonobono. It’s currently airing with 50 episodes and counting, and it has yet to disappoint. However, with One Room, the only reason why there hasn’t been a tidal wave of outrage is due to the show’s cinematography, or rather, its first-person point of view shot.
That’s right; the principal source of One Room’s popularity isn’t a relatively unique art style (this show’s animation can hardly be described as “unique”; it’s more lackluster than anything else), a memorable insert song (any ED that lasts for 25 seconds isn’t worth mentioning) nor the financial backing of a prominent production company (One Room is Studio TYPHOON’s first project). No; the method in which the presentation is displayed is the only cause of One Room’s acclaim. As a reviewer with an adoration for cinematic flair, I have written fondly of anime titles that effectively utilize camera angles but I never considered that to be a main attraction. Employing the POV shot as your central selling point is like a car company declaring its visual appeal to be the best feature of its products. Sure, it’s pretty useful to have, and rather convenient at that, but in no way is it essential. For the videogame industry, for shooting games in particular, the 1st-person point of view shot is a must-have. For anime, however, using it as consistently as One Room causes your project to come across as a novelty act, a gimmick above all else. Yes, these are the depths to which One Room has sunken the standard of excellence.
The biggest grievance I have with One Room is its tendency to discover willowy slivers of potential before immediately mishandling it in epic proportions. Its mildly catchy insert song is not only inserted at the wrong time but its appearance is brief as well. Its moments involving the cherry blossom trees are, strangely, the moments in which One Room’s aesthetics are at their apex, and yet these occur once in a blue moon. Its panning shots of the surroundings are the greatest usages of the 1st person POV, but One Room dedicates more time to its lifeless dialogue than anything else. Really, the examples are endless when it comes to One Room but the biggest example has to be its forgettable cast obliterating any shred of redeemability. Pointless Love Interest No.1 is the girl next door while Pointless Love Interest No.2 is the tsundere/little sister and Pointless Love Interest No.3 is the childhood friend. All three of them are virtually rendered obsolete beyond their surface identity; these vapid vessels of femininity can cook, clean, blush, stammer, and whisper sweet nothings like no other, yet they struggle to convey a thought of their own. None of them, however, are worse than the protagonist himself.
Thanks to the POV angle, it is from the protagonist’s eyes that we are able to view the show. If there ever was an opportunity for an anime title to redefine the self-insert MC, this was it….. and that’s what amplifies my disappointment. Believe it or not, I can forgive his passive nature, his shallow selflessness, even his inability to speak. However, the Nameless Protagonist’s unsettling ogling over the other girls (even his own sister!), and One Room’s fascination for hammering the "protag is a perv” angle into our skulls, is where I draw the line. The average anime company crafts their self-insert MC based on how they perceive their audience, as you likely know. The socially awkward high school perv is hardly revolutionary in anime but what’s frustrating about One Room’s pervy self-insert protag in particular is that he possesses no facial features, no body parts, nothing.
The difference between One Room and every other harem anime is that other studios present their MC, and say, “This is a general impression of what we think our viewers are”; on the other hand, when Studio TYPHOON presents their MC, it’s as if they’re saying, “This is a representation of you.”
Not only am I enraged at Studio TYPHOON’s patronizing manner but the lack of a reaction among One Room’s viewers about this is infuriating as well.
If Hand Shakers really is the worst anime series of the Winter 2017 season, then One Room is far and away the second.
By any thorough analysis, rating scale, or statistical calculation, it’s inconceivable to witness this utter deprivation of quality, and deem it “worthwhile”.
When One Room isn’t thematically shallow, it’s cringeworthy.
When One Room isn’t cringeworthy, it’s blatantly aimless.
When One Room isn’t blatantly aimless, it’s emotionally stunted.
When One Room isn’t emotionally stunted, it’s completely condescending.
And if “completely condescending” is what you require to sate your anime-viewing appetite, then you’ll be downright ecstatic to know that One Room will return for the Spring `17 season, with a sequel and a special. Yes, screw longevity! Studio TYPHOON’s milking this cash cow as if they too realize that its 15 minutes of fame has an impending expiration date. I’m sure there will be plenty that will gleefully tune in every week for another episode of the shamelessly contrived, strikingly pandering, and unconditionally conceited money maker that is One Room, once again hailing it as “innovative” and “unique” when it is anything but.
As for me, I’ve heard enough “onii-chans” to last a lifetime.
