Carole and Tuesday vs. Kids on the Slope - Part 3.

Written by The Curmudgeon

SPOILER WARNING: The following contains spoilers for both Carole and Tuesday and Kids on the Slope. Go watch them first if you don't want the plot spoiled. If you have seen them, or you just don't care, read on!

It sure has been a while since I moaned about something, hasn’t it?

Too much positivity isn’t good for you, and I spent the whole last post talking about a bunch of amazing films that I love. Click here for more on that...

Alas, now I can feel my heart growing three sizes, so I’d better get back to my cave so I can complain about things on the internet.

Hello there my sweet, wonderful people. Welcome to the third and final instalment of my series comparing Shinichiro Watanabe’s Carole and Tuesday (2019-) with his very own Kids on the Slope (2012). If you haven’t, you should go check out part 1 & 2 which can be found here.

Last time, I had to coerce myself into criticising Carole and Tuesday’s best feature: its music. While that was a task in itself, on account of how bloody brilliant the music is, this instalment will be far less painful.

Tuesday meets Carole, Carole and Tuesday episode 1: True Colours

Today, we’re going to have a chat about the characters – arguably the show’s weakest aspect. We touched upon this briefly in part 2, whereby I accused the Carole and Tuesday of lacking meaningful motivation for its characters. While Kids on the Slope roots its music deeply in what it means to its protagonists, Carole and Tuesday does no such thing.

But the superficiality doesn’t stop there. Ironically, Carole and Tuesday’s shallowness runs deep.

Something which stood out to me through the first half of season one is that its titular characters are basically interchangeable. Given the surface-level differences between Carole and Tuesday, this really shouldn’t be the case.

Carole as an orphan, Carole and Tuesday episode 1: True Colours

Let’s review. Carole is an orphan who lives alone, and is supposedly dirt poor. She busks. Tuesday is a rich girl who runs away from home, both to escape her overbearing mother, and to pursue music. Surely, these disparate personalities should lead to some interesting interactions, no?

Of course, their personalities manifest themselves in plenty of superficial ways. For example, when Tuesday attempts to clean their flat, but just makes a mess in episode 2:

Tuesday attempting to clean, Carole and Tuesday episode 2: Born to Run

Obviously, this is a demonstration of her total lack of independence as far as domestic skills are concerned; a symptom of her upbringing. Largely, the differences between the two protagonists are measured in vague terms of who’s independent, and who isn’t.

A major shortcoming of Carole and Tuesday’s script is that these differences are never explored in any detail. There aren’t any meaningful flaws to be explored, any ugliness. For example: if Tuesday lived a sheltered, pampered life, how does it affect her? Is she prissy? Can she be lazy, sometimes? What about her adjustment to city life, or life in relative poverty? We never see any of this. What about Carole? If she’s an orphan, she’s surely independent, yes. But, how has her history of self-reliance shaped her? Is she callous? Can she be emotionally distant or guarded?

Tuesday alone, Carole and Tuesday episode 1: True Colours

Although their characters are made apparent in small, infrequent gags and bits, these deeper questions are never answered. You get the odd flashback, but it's never substantial and never bears upon the story in an impactful way. Ultimately, they’re just a couple of nice, likeable, white-bread people. This is what makes them interchangeable. Their individual personalities don’t matter.

Contrast this with Kids on the Slope, wherein the two protagonists’ disparate personalities are a little more…central. After all, we could consider the heterogeneity of their characters to be the inciting factor in the story: it is Sentaro’s relaxed, beatnik personality which absorbs uptight Kaoru into the world of jazz. It’s this same, syncopated personality which coerces Kaoru into playing with other musicians, too. More importantly, however, Kids on the Slope makes it ever-present that the characters’ dilemma is a symptom of their own, personal defects.

What do I mean by this? Well, let’s take a look at that first episode again.

Kaoru walking up the hill, Kids on the Slope episode 1: Moanin'

We’re introduced to Kaoru as he trudges up the titular slope leading to his new school. He’s accompanied by an internal monologue, complaining about the hill, and the heat. More importantly, he complains about the people around him; the people he’s never even met. “These students without a thought in their heads,” as he calls them. You could be forgiven for disliking Kaoru from the get-go, because he comes across as extremely conceited. But the foundational blocks have been paved for understanding Kaoru’s situation – he’s a weird pariah.

It is also established early on that he was the top of his class in his previous school, and that his fellow students should learn much from him. Clearly, he’s under a huge amount of academic pressure. As he walks through the classroom, the sea of students fall out-of-focus, further separating him from them; snide comments are heard left and right. “He looks like a real bookworm,” one girl says to another. “Spoiled rich kid” is decipherable amongst the murmurs. He’s a shy, social outcast – his academic success weighing on him in the form of indubitable pressure, and ostracism from his peers. Then, after he rejects an attempt from a fellow student to engage with him, it becomes clear: Kaoru is lonely. He’s lonely because he keeps society at an arms-length. It’s more than just arrogance, or the belief that he’s better than them – although that is part of it. This is his way of defending himself against the slew of unkindness and social exclusion demonstrated earlier.

Kaoru meets his class, Kids on the Slope episode 1: Moanin'

Then there’s Sentaro. Before we even see his face, his reputation precedes him. “It’s not a good idea to mess with the guy who sits behind me,” a boy says. “He’s a notorious thug that even the teacher can’t handle.” Kaoru’s crippling anxiety sets in as he imagines the despicable despot he has yet to meet.

He’s got a scar on his face and a plaster above his left brow. Within minutes of having been on screen, he’s already in a fight, taking on three, burly third-years. He seems altruistic at first, fighting on Kaoru’s behalf. That is, until he reveals his true motivation: to extort money out of the dorky new kid. Therein lies Sentaro’s situation. Like Kaoru, he is an outcast. He’s lonely. Only his loneliness is a symptom of his violent nature and bullyish antics. He’s feared, above all else.

Sentaro gets into a fight, Kids on the Slope episode 1: Moanin'

What Kids on the Slope provides us with - as early as the first seven minutes of the pilot episode – is a more detailed portrait of the characters, and how the caveats of their personalities contribute to their drama. It is here that Carole and Tuesday is most lacking.

I drew obvious attention to the lonely aspect of Kaoru and Sentaro’s story because there’s a clear parallel to be drawn to Carole and Tuesday. Loneliness is something of a leitmotif in C&T – the two meet as Carole plays the melody for her song titled The Loneliest Girl, like a machination of destiny. It is the first melody they practise together. It is also the same song which wins them acclaim in the finale of Part 1.

Obviously, the show is making some kind of effort to convince us that they’re lonely, just like Kaoru and Sentaro. But WHY are they lonely, beyond circumstance? Or, to put it more accurately, how has their circumstance affected their personalities and caused them to become lonely? What about their actual characteristics has resulted in loneliness? It brings us right back to those questions I posed a few paragraphs ago. Perhaps Tuesday’s sheltered lifestyle has caused her to lack certain social skills, or Carole’s upbringing as an orphan has resulted in insensitivity that keeps others at bay? Something, anything to give these characters a little more nuance.

Carole and Tuesday watch the sun set, Carole and Tuesday episode 7: Show Me the Way

By no means are the characters terrible. They’re still charming, and mostly likeable. But this absence of depth leaves me questioning the show’s massive popularity within the anime fandom, especially compared to Watanabe’s previous work.

There’s really only one thing left that I'd like to cover. I’ve left it until last because, really, there’s not much comparison to be made with Kids on the Slope. Nevertheless, I feel it necessary because it embodies my total disenchantment with the show towards the end of the first Part. I also believe it exemplifies all my issues with the show in a single take.

The entire second half of Part 1 is basically a miniature tournament arc. Carole and Tuesday enrol in a televised talent show, à la Britain’s Got Talent/America’s Got Talent or The X Factor. The only difference is that the contestants are squared off, one-on-one. So what does this small arc encompassing six entire episodes give us?

Carole and Tuesday meet an irrelevant character who amounts to nothing, Carole and Tuesday episode 7: Show Me the Way

It gives us a bunch of pointless, throw-away characters, with literally no other reason to exist that to be obstacles. It gives us a showcase of music that, while great, is shallow. It has no deeper connection to the story beyond the ham-fisted exposition before every performance. Disposable characters sing their songs and deliver their life story through hammy, over-baked monologues. Most of all, it gives us a bunch of factory-farmed conflict to keep the plot alive, like some narrative iron lung. After all, it’s much easier to introduce a bunch of two-dimensional bowling pins to plough through, week after week, than write a compelling story. Not to mention the sheer formulaic laziness of the tournament arc as a trope.

Closing thoughts…

I imagine I might get some hate for criticising Carole and Tuesday so much. Or, that’s what I would say if I had an audience. Thankfully I don’t, ha ha…ha…

*Cough*

In either case, it’s not like I went into the show wanting to dislike it. To reiterate my opening comments in part 1, I love Shinichiro Watanabe. I was so ready to love Carole and Tuesday. Unfortunately, that love was never realised.

I also have my fair share of tiny, niggling complaints. The mean-spirited depiction of transgender/non-binary characters, for example; in the form of the antagonist's overbearing guardian, or the barbershop group whose songs are comprised entirely of English swearwords. I could go on about that latter example for longer than I should - the completely baffling attempt at humour was so disastrous, it was like watching a close friend embarrass themself on stage. But, at the end of the day, it’s the characters and the shallow attempts at drama which made it such a let-down. It’s a betrayal of the kind of emotional depth Watanabe is so familiar with – the kind of substance you’ll find in Cowboy Bebop (1998), Samurai Champloo (2005), Space Dandy (2014), and Kids on the Slope – but not here. Perhaps the second half of season 1 is better – and I’m certainly going into it with cautious optimism. But honestly, the vacuousness of the first half is enough to warrant criticism. The Carole and Tuesday ticket is a little spent.

Carole and Tuesday shout their dreams into the city before them, Carole and Tuesday episode 1: True Colours

Carole and Tuesday calls for discussion concerning the medium at large, though. That is to say, Carole and Tuesday's prioritisation of crisp, aesthetic presentation over nuanced storytelling invites surface-level engagement from its audience. What I am not saying is that it’s too pretty. Yes, the show looks wonderful. I have no complaints as far as the technical aspects of its presentation are concerned. But too often, shows like Carole and Tuesday with painfully mediocre scripts are overrated because gorgeous audiovisuals lull us into overlooking their shortcomings. If Carole and Tuesday’s beauty runs only as deep as its skin, what else is there to say? It doesn’t have the long-lasting, mature, emotional resonance of Cowboy Bebop. It doesn’t have the creativity, humour, or insane philosophy of Space Dandy. Suffice it to say, it doesn’t have the depth that makes Shinichiro Watanabe’s work so extraordinary.

And that’s why Carole and Tuesday is just sad to behold.