And LWA’s nuance comes in the form of tackling the one subject that Harry Potter actively shied away from really addressing: the way magic interacts with the increasingly modern world. What you do need is nuance, some unique element that provides a specific texture to the story you’re telling and makes it feel like a worthwhile journey with something to say. See, if you’ve really got your storytelling chops down as well as this show does, you don’t need much in the way of depth to keep things interesting. It’s a straightforward fantasy lark in a straightforward world with straightforward characters talking about straightforward themes. LWA isn’t setting out to break any storytelling boundaries or reach new depths of content.
Akko can’t attend the big party because she needs to learn magic! Lotte wants to go out to town to meet this best-selling author, but her classmates’ antics land her detention that day! Akko and Amanda get in trouble by butting heads, but a sudden new threat forces them to work together to solve things! This is all very familiar Magic School territory we’re dealing with here, right down to the reveal of a giant furry monster behind a sealed door to a magical artifact. Her fiery temper and scattershot passion leads to a lot of chaos and consequences, and a good chunk of the episodic plots follow her attempts to escape those consequences or make up for them. She gets in petty squabbles with her more antagonistic classmates that drive home how immature these teens still are, rising to the bait time and time again. You can always count on Akko’s lack of talent screwing her over, getting her in trouble in a way that conflicts with the things she and her friends actually want to do, leading to a scenario where she bucks against the school’s authority and tries to sort things out on her own, with incredibly mixed results. Its themes thus far are incredibly broad, its characters simple and approachable, its conflicts mostly predictable. Little Witch Academia is far from the most complex or original story in the world. That’s been the entire basis of my love for shows like Blue Exorcist sometimes, execution really is everything. There is no cliche that can’t be made to work in your favor, no formula that can’t still be executed effectively, no story that can’t be told well. And I’ve encountered no shortage of incredibly simple stories of friendship and courage that I’ve adored as much as, if not more than, more complex stories solely because of how well they were told. As weak as Zankyou no Terror’s actual plot was, its stunning presentation affected me so deeply that I still can’t stop thinking about it even after all this time. But one thing I’ve discovered across my massive anime-watching undertaking is that often times, the storytelling can matter a hell of a lot more than the story itself. A weakness on one of those ends will negatively affect the other’s ability to work as well as it needs to. Both of these elements need to work well in order to create a truly lasting story: a strong texture with a weak text will leave you with the confused, if awe-inspiring, Zankyou no Terror, while a strong text with a weak texture will give you One Punch Man’s second season. Texture is how it’s presented, how it’s dramatized, what tools of the medium in question are used to bring the emotional core of the text to life. Text is the plot, what literally happens over the course of the story. Stories are generally is composed of two different considerations: text and texture. The dichotomy between content and execution is one of the most important contrasts to consider when writing about fiction.
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