I will probably not be the first to admit that I started this show because I found the invisible man to be hot. Who would’ve thought! As a viewer who hasn’t dabbled in fantasy stories in a long time, though, I wasn’t too sure the allure of the main character would be enough to immerse me in this world teeming with mythical entities. But the cozy story of The Invisible Man and His Soon-to-Be Wife ended up being much closer to reality than I expected.
Akira Tonome, the titular Invisible Man, runs a private detective agency helping clients of any and all species with their troubles. Under him work Yako Shizuka, a blind woman responsible for organizational duties in the office, as well as the playful anthropomorphic bobcat Jarashi and stern human Kikira. As romance blossoms between Tonome and Shizuka, the two figure out how to navigate their new lovey-dovey dynamic both inside and outside of work.
More than anything, I am amazed at how easily this production convinces viewers of Tonome’s romantic appeal. The animation is one thing — I have to imagine it was difficult to animate while keeping in mind the spaces where Tonome’s invisible features were, especially in his more intimate embraces with Shizuka. But the anime elevates his character so much more with what we can experience with our senses, such as the tailored fit of his beloved suits and the suave flirting delivered through Yohei Azakami’s mellow musings. The uncontrollable giddiness in Tonome’s voice when he’s with Shizuka supplies the emotion we’d usually get from facial expressions, without exaggerating to overcompensate for this lack of visibility. Azakami’s performance balances out Yuka Nukui’s blushy squeals that do exaggerate Shizuka’s reactions, though this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Shizuka’s cute, even when she’s scolding, and their differing levels of expression elevate the main couple’s chemistry.
Had the only reason for the main couple’s compatibility been that “Tonome invisible, Shizuka blind,” this love story would’ve lost its appeal pretty quickly. But just like everyone else, their physical traits are one aspect of their more complex identities, and navigating the world from their perspectives has led them to mature into the thoughtful adults they are. Perhaps the best example of this is their directness. Shizuka is very perceptive of Tonome’s feelings, attuned to his mannerisms through her other senses, and is an open book herself when it comes to what direction she wants their relationship to go in. She’s especially sharp when she senses Tonome being awfully considerate toward her, putting her foot down about being too pampered in a way that implies she’s had experience with this growing up. And he is too considerate sometimes, chivalry baked into his bones from a young age while being on his best behavior. But Tonome’s consideration also means he addresses his worries swiftly, such as his concern about their potential power imbalance as boss and subordinate. The two aren’t compatible because they naturally understand each other better than anyone else; they’re compatible because they put in the work to get there.
I love the more trivial adult joys they share, too, like becoming regulars at their local bar, Shizuka growing an affinity for roses after the first time Tonome bought them for her, and planning what to make for dinner together. The way their lives so easily fall into step, and how clearly infatuated they are with each other. Just like everyone else, they’re navigating how to cherish the relationships in their lives and be the best person to each other as they can be.
I don’t know whether Shizuka’s blind representation was done perfectly, as someone who is not blind, but what I can say is that there was definitely a lot of thought put into her character. On top of Shizuka’s accessibility resources like her keyboard and the sped-up speech function on her phone, the anime includes moments where it cleverly withholds visual information from the viewer until Shizuka herself becomes aware of it. The instance that stuck out to me most was in episode 10, when Shizuka sniffs and asks Tonome if he brought her roses. Only after her question does Tonome lift the bouquet into frame, letting us delight in the surprise gift at the same time. Little inclusions like these make me appreciate how much the animators prioritized expressing Shizuka’s perspective, even with anime being a visual medium.
The show also includes a lot of candid conversations that highlight Shizuka’s point of view that other characters (and I) had never thought of. Many of these are with Tonome, such as their discussion one night while on a night stroll: Why is the full moon considered pretty? If a yellow ball in the pitch-black night sky is considered pretty, does that mean a ripe yuzu atop a sheet of nori is also considered a worldly beauty? Their ease in discussing these menial topics allows them to open space for more serious questions, like why it matters so much to those with sight that Tonome is invisible when to Shizuka there’s no recognizable difference. Neither is embarrassed by their ignorance, or being perceived as such, because their natural inclination is to learn from their partner and love them more fully. There’s a lot to learn from their demonstrations of care.
I also love how even though there’s a lot of conversation about the microaggressions different species experience, The Invisible Man and His Soon-To-Be Wife is a story that finds their society’s diversity so normal and special. Jarashi has long been insecure about her striking fur patterns that don’t look as cute as conventional, plain fur, but thankfully, she finds a friend who shows her how to accentuate the beauty of her patterns through complementary clothing. The no-BS Kikira and his sunshiney partner Madaraito show the comfort of a long-term gay relationship, and the others delight in their high-school-sweethearts love story. These friends mix and mingle in different pairs, all so different but all so comfortable and curious about each other because of it.
It’s because this show excels in diverse representation that it was impossible for me to ignore the one character they missed the mark with: Karma, the dark elf who runs a tea shop with his white elf wife, Light. Though they are both elves, they are from different lineages, with Light’s species having the power to bless others and Karma’s species having the power to curse others. The elven couple ends up appearing much less frequently than I expected, but when they do, it’s either a scene where Karma is scared that his species’ curse powers will harm Light in some shape or form, or a scene where Karma bugs Tonome in a slapstick manner before helping him with his detective cases.
There’s a clear model for how Karma’s character could have been handled, and that model is none other than our invisible man, Tonome. The species of invisible people has a long history of discrimination due to their outward looks (or lack thereof), relegating them to work mainly as spies throughout history because it was the only job they seemed fit for. Though Tonome remains in a similar line of work as a detective, he and his invisible peers have long fought against these prejudices. His friend Kiriguro broke stereotypes by becoming the first invisible model; Tonome similarly expresses himself through fashion, something that many invisible people don’t do but that he feels more comfortable doing due to growing up in the city with mostly visible species. Still, self-expression doesn’t automatically lead to acceptance. Tonome opens up to Shizuka about his previous girlfriend, whose fear of not being able to see him overpowered her love for him. There’s a recurring conversation about how this genetic quality doesn’t mean these stereotypes about being creepy hold an iota of truth.
But with Karma, the assumptions about him are true. Invisibility doesn’t make Tonome inherently creepy, but curse powers make Karma inherently dangerous to be around. Sure, he uses it to help the detective agency during some of their missions, but in daily life, Karma’s dark elf power is still seen as a negative trait. It’s to the point that Karma experiences intense emotional turmoil, scared of hurting his wife and future kids because of his predisposition. The rambunctious, cutieful persona he flaunts masks the gnawing worry about the destruction his energy causes. His friends still love him — Tonome even admits he’s jealous of Karma’s unabashed expressiveness — but they too are not the biggest fans of how his abilities affect them.
Especially in comparison to Light, whose powers are literally called “blessing powers,” the language in which Karma’s abilities are described leaves a bad taste in my mouth. As his wife, Light worries much less than Karma and just wants him to stay by her side, but it reads very much as her loving him despite his power, rather than an embracing of it. Objectively speaking, Karma’s powers are bad, and his tendency to make things worse gets used as a punchline even up to the last episode, when a little curse cloud remains with Tonome as he helps Shizuka pack her belongings. He’s by no means a static character, which I appreciate given his shorter screen time, but it also doesn’t feel like his identity troubles get fleshed out as sincerely as some of the others’.
I’m not too familiar with the history of dark elves as a fictional race, though I am aware they appear often in other fantasy stories, so perhaps I am missing some context. I also don’t think every person of color needs their story to center around their experiences with discrimination. But in an anime that’s all about the way different species with different abilities have to navigate a world that doesn’t always cater to them, I found it odd that the one dark-skinned character didn’t receive more nuanced exploration.
Twelve episodes is a tight space to fit in everything you want to show, especially when you have to place the protagonists’ romance front and center. Given that this was also Mitsuho Seta’s directorial debut, I still have so much praise to give this show, and also a lot of hope that Karma and Light can be given a more fleshed-out arc if a season two were to be greenlit. There’s definitely also more animation-based prowess yet to be seen from the entire team, if the experimental direction of episode 11 (led by the One Piece staff member CHAFIK) is any indication. The queasy, floaty pastel interpretation of Shizuka’s nerves while meeting her future in-laws, the marker texture of the coloring during Kiriguro’s modeling backstory — it was a daring choice to alter the animation styles for these sequences, but it mapped onto the specific emotions of those storylines so well that I couldn’t even complain. There’s so much potential still left in this story and this team; I can only hope this isn’t curtains for them.
