In a world where good anime are frequently ignored and underrated because or what they lack in terms of commercial pandering, Piano no Mori takes it to another level.  This show continues to toil in almost complete anonymity, which I suppose is fitting in the sense that Fukushima Gainax is doing the same thing generally.  I don’t get as upset by this sort of thing as I used to, but it’s still a bit of a downer.  Piano no Mori is doing an awful lot of things well, and in the end I guess that has to be its own reward.

I would probably be in the minority in stating that I actually find Shuuhei to be the more interesting character between the two leads.  Kai is the hero of this series, but I think Shuuhei is the more compelling protagonist.  I don’t know if I would call it “prodigy” vs. “talent” – which the snarky competition judge does this week – but Kai’s status as a natural-born genius is a bit stagnant in character terms.  He’s already effectively God’s hand on the piano keys (even Shuuhei acknowledges this) and his quest to be recognized is all well and good, but Kai is pretty much where he wants to be artistically.

Shuuhei, by contrast, is someone I find much more sympathetic.  He’s the one with the quest – he knows how to play anything and everything, but not how to express himself while doing so.  Well – metaphorically speaking, isn’t that something almost all of us have gone through at some point?  That’s why I found Shuu’s conversation with Ajino-sensei to be really powerful.  Ajino has, frankly, been a total dick to Shuuhei as far as I’m concerned – not just refusing to teach him (that’s his right) but refusing even to acknowledge him as an artist.

Perhaps Ajino finally redeems himself a bit by giving Shuuhei some good advice – learn to love your own playing more.  There are very few people indeed – never mind 11-year olds – who can do what Shuu does.  He’s a remarkable talent and he needs to glory in that more – in the process hopefully liberating the part of him that will allow him to express joy through the piano.  The fact is that the truly great pianists – Lupu, Solokov, Lipati, Rubinstein at al – are mostly equal parts Kai and Shuuhei.  It’s not an either-or proposition – merely a near-impossibility to find anyone who has both skill sets inside them.

Sadly, that advice from Ajino-sensei was parting advice, as Shuuhei is moving back to Tokyo.  He and Kai are obviously close, and there’s genuine sadness for both of them – Kai, especially, has never had a friend like this before.  But a part of Shuuhei is relieved that he’ll no longer have to have Kai’s presence remind him of his own self-perceived shortcomings every day.  Kai is forever changed by his friendship with Shuuhei – not only does he long to play the piano now, but he’s heard the roar of applause and can’t get it out of his system.  That will have to wait of course, as he’s not part of the finals – and to boot, his forest piano has decided it no longer wants to play for him.

That competition (two of Chopin’s most beautiful short pieces) essentially boils down to two relevant pianists with Kai out of the picture – Shuu and Takako-san, who’s decided that she has Wendy’s spirit guiding her hands as his official proxy in the finals.  Fittingly she plays with inspiration but flubs the difficult bits, while Shuuhei (very much in character) delivers a performance that’s “beyond perfect”.  There’s never really any question who’s going to win here, but Takako does net herself an honorable mention award (thanks to the snarky judge).  She, too, is a partially-completed puzzle as an artist – like Shuuhei and Kai, she has to become a complete pianist before she can seriously contend for greatness.