I’ve been fond of labelling anime series as “good” or “quality” productions without really getting at what I mean. Off the top of my head I think of impeccable pacing, the accomplished execution of a recognisable element, effective plot progression, dramatic unity, anything which aids immersion. I suppose I mean formal excellence, craftsmanship.

Do I like stuff because it is good? I guess I do, but only so far – aesthetic tastes, novelty, the relevance of any message – these are all factors. But obviously I’m going to prefer a show that achieves what it sets out to do with a certain accomplishment. What’s most interesting are the extremes of the quality scale, the godawful and the masterpieces.

So then. Football. Zidane (Zizou). One can’t really turn to YouTube for the many hagiograhpic fan videos demonstrating his ability without missing the point – which is that he was about more than skill. Because he was a player who used his head, and tried to control the flow of the game. He worked his passing in such a way that it was like a tutorial in how the sport should work, how the movement of players creates spaces in the defence, and thus opportunities for goals. He reminded me that it’s just a game, because he was in tune with the structures, the dynamic of play.

I was trying to think of anime series which provoke something like this reaction in me. I can think of films which do, and books (let’s take the best of John Ford and John Updike as easy examples). Works where the architecture of the whole is rendered almost transparent by the eloquence of each movement.

I don’t think anime is inherently unhinged (oh so foreign, oh so crazy), but few of my favourites prompt such a reaction. Is there just a natural prejudice in favour of immediate kicks inherent in a TV series? It seems more likely that it’s a reflection of the audience. Maybe it’s because in novels and films there’s a set of high art conventions – a formalism, a tastefulness based in so many writers having studied the craft in school? Maybe I’m just more used to spotting the formulae in the traditions I grew up with?

But that feeling is something I get in spadeloads from Kino’s Journey. Cohensive but non-continuous. All encompassing and oddly polite. It’s in total control. Every ambiguity is carefully measured, sometimes in a manner which is queerly artificial. Maybe because Kino herself takes the world on with such a cool level gaze. Each episode moves in and out of a themed location, it’s often beautiful without being in the least bit extravagant, this isn’t a budget show off, it’s just elegance.

I think that the episodic structuring of Kino contributes to this feeling – with the exception of one two-parter, each country only appears in a single episode. It works as a series, and we learn about Kino, but in a way the character development is almost coincidental  – it’s done well enough to make things feel real, but it isn’t really the point. There’s a self-supporting message within each shot Kino takes. I didn’t feel in any hurry to finish the show, overall momentum wasn’t an issue even after the very best episodes, or after the slightly disappointing ones. There’s a sense of openness that comes from the way that each new country brings a unique and contained reality to explore.

It makes an interesting contrast to Serial Experiments Lain, which is continuous and frankly baffling. Lain talks about the world and the future, and so by its very nature it’s too much too grasp – a suffocation of ideas. It’s highly evocative, but I think I’ll have to rewatch it before I can come to a properly informed conclusion. On the other hand, I feel like I could, having completed it a couple of months back, dip into Kino at will – and feel at home with it. [although I might have to steer clear of the more emotionally draining episodes]

Thing is, like with Zizou, not everyone plays the game like that. Some people just run like crazy, or kick the opposition to pieces, or follow a prescriptive action plan. And that can be fun too. It wasn’t just that he was really damn good at football, it was that he was somehow doing it right. That’s how Kino feels to me, a series of stories being told right.

Which is a bloody silly thing to think. And a product of that awareness of artifice that comes from this kind of narrative. Kino makes me want to be a formalist, because Kino is like a reminder that those forms are there for something. The series is a triumph for the episodic, and because each little triumph is so perfectly contained, it’s apparent as such.