FLCL was originally released on April 26, 2000 in Japan, making its way stateside 3 years later. Last weekend, the stateside release of the sequel, FLCL: Progressive, aired. Well, 18 years certainly feels like a long time. Kids born in 2000 have already been through the brunt of puberty and are now becoming legal adults. By now they have most likely lived through their own Fooly or Cooly. So, I suppose the real question is has FLCL evolved into its own version of adulthood? But before we get to that, a question with no real answer, the one consistent commentary on the original FLCL’s run has boiled my blood for years. Time after time, fans have levied a single criticism that they seem to love about FLCL, as if it were a badge of honor. Well, I am here to refute this claim, and as an old man it is my right to begin yelling at this dense cloud of musty conformists as I proclaim that FLCL is not a “mindfuck”.

Asking The Wrong Questions

So, Google, What is a “mindfuck”?

Noun. mindfuck (plural mindfucks) (slang, vulgar) Something that intentionally destabilizes, confuses or manipulates the mind of another person. (Wiktionary)

This is exactly where I have always found a problem with the greater convergence of opinions on FLCL’s status as a mindfuck. The term would be more aptly applied to shows like Neon Genesis Evangelion or Satoshi Kon’s Paprika. I think the key difference between the FLCL and the latter is the intent. With Evangelion, it was created with the intent to destabilize and confuse the senses, to make you uncomfortable. However, in FLCL, the show displays its story with flair, but doesn’t appear to intend to deceive its viewer. If anything, all of its information is laid bare, adding new tidbits in each episode. It has become apparent to me over the years that fans of the show might either not being paying attention due to the shows seemingly whip-fast pace, or unwilling to make small leaps of logic based on information that becomes available over time. They end up asking questions that either have no answer, ones that have no consequence, or ones that could be answered with a little bit of critical thinking, all the while getting caught up on their inability to get a concrete answer.

For example, questions with no answers, “What powers does Atomsk possess?” This is an unnecessary question. The show doesn’t define this any further than to say he is powerful, displaying this power at the shows climax. His specific ability isn’t important, what is important is that people want to possess it. Questions with no consequence, “Who is in charge of Medical Mechanica?”. I have always felt that any questions related to Medical Mechanica as to the specifics of their inner workings are a fool’s errand. There is little to no benefit to the story to expand upon it, and the author is aware of that. Questions that have answers but aren’t apparent, these are probably the most important to the story, but often I feel some fans have a hesitance to answer them, either or afraid to be wrong or afraid to see the man behind the curtain. “Who is Haruko talking to in Naota’s room when no one is around (but the cats)?” The answer to this isn’t crystal clear, but I have always felt that the evidence points to one of two options. First of all, Haruko is an unreliable person, so it is unlikely that she is a “First Class Space Patrol Officer” and much more likely to be a pirate or thief, a space Jack Sparrow with a darker heart. Because of this, she is most likely talking to her pirate partners. My other theory is much more simple and I think more effective. I think she might be talking aloud to herself knowing that Naota might be just around the corner, creating a sense of mystery that she believes young boys want in a girl. This will cause Naota to be curious and inquire about who she is exactly, giving her an opening to spout her space officer routine. But in the end, it’s matters little because the story is about Naota and his adolescence, not Haruko and her origins. It just so happens that his adolescence coincides with girl who opens a wormhole into space in his head. Or, to follow the metaphor, opens his mind and broadens his horizons.

Paying Attention To What Matters

At this point I would like to breakdown the episodes as I have always seen it, just to give you a bit of background on my perspective. Much of FLCL’s exterior edges are left intentionally vague, though not to confuse you, but instead to focus your attention on what is important. The first episode is probably the most important because it introduces us to the most important characters, outlines their positions, and the town of Mabase, a sleepy Japanese factory town somewhere in interior japan, isolated from the bigger cities by fields and farms.

In the first episode, titled “Fooly Cooly”, we meet a girl and a boy out by river. Naota is trying to study, but Mamimi is trying to distract him with nonsensical conversation, snapping pictures, and kisses. We subsequently learn quite a bit from this interaction. They are reluctantly an item, that Mamimi feels unable to control herself around Naota, and that she used to date his older brother. On the walk home, we are introduced to the larger than life source of all the supposed mindfuckery, Haruko, who runs over Naota with her iconic yellow scooter and then wallops him in the head with a guitar. With this, we are given a bit more information, but this time about the universe. First, cartoonish violence and hyperbole cause little physical damage to humans, allowing us to float weightlessly above realism and consequence. This alleviates the viewer from certain questions. Like, “How can that motorcycle blast cars out of its way?”, “How does she jump so high and swing a guitar like a weapon?”, and generally gives us permission to let go. So any question that derives from the construction of the universe in relationship to our own are out the window. The relationship is not 1-to-1.

The next scenario introduces more characters and construction. You meet Naota’s classmates, of which the boys seem to be obsessed with sex and dripping with puberty. They tease Naota about his hickeys and marks. This in conjunction with Naota and Mamimi’s canoodling start to create the structure of a theme, specifically of adolescence and budding sexual maturity. From here, Naota finds himself stalked by Haruko. Seeing her near school, at the hospital, and finally, to his disbelief, his own home. Through a cacophony of manga sights and sounds, we are given more information. Haruko has moved in as the live in maid to make up for hitting Naota’s father, Kamon, in the exact same fashion as Naota. We also learn that Kamon is completely aware of his son’s situation with Mamimi, his older son’s ex-girlfriend. Kamon asks if Naota has been in a “fooly cooly” relationship with Mamimi, prompting Haruko to lie and tell him that she’s already in that kind of relationship with Naota at this very moment. This is Haruko’s first identifiable lie. Its outright, you know she isn’t in that kind of relationship with him at all. Later, upstairs in Naota’s room, she spins a yarn about herself being a first class space patrol officer. Both dubious and suspect claims at best, but we can put that aside for now. When prodded about why Haruko is staying at in his room, she replies, “You’re the one I saw first, Ta-kun”, using the nickname Mamimi uses for him affectionately. This too may be a lie. It is much more likely that she hit Kamon before hitting Naota, seeing as we already saw her spying on him before they ever meet and she spends the rest of the day stalking him. Basically, Haruko’s lies, from the viewer’s perspective, seem to be piling up. She’s unreliable. From this point, if you have to ask, “Is Haruko telling the truth?”, most likely, the answer is no. Any question that stems from her credibility is at best suspect.

Downstairs, Kamon is lamenting his son’s success with women, pondering his relationship with Mamimi. Kamon suspects that Mamimi is poor because she drops by for day old bread every day. With a crazy woman in his room and the sudden realization that Mamimi may have seen Haruko there, he rushes to her favorite spot, hoping to find and help her. Naota has a few things on his mind after his talks with Haruko, his father, and his grandfather. He decides that he needs to be honest with Mamimi. Knowing that Mamimi is in love with his brother, a baseball player who has moved abroad to play in America. Naota reveals that his brother has moved on and has an American girlfriend. This causes Mamimi to break down, in turn causing Naota to break down. Hoping that she was more interested in him than his brother, he is overcome with jealousy and sadness, releasing a Medical Mechanic robot and Kanti from his head. In this same episode, we see Mamimi say “I am going to overflow” twice. First in relation to her overwhelming need to express her feelings of lust and again when she finds out that her former boyfriend has moved on. Her words and what happen to Naota are metaphorically and thematically related. When she is overwhelmed by her emotions, so is Naota. This interconnected reactions imply that one person’s emotional state causes waves that might consume another. Coming to terms with their racing emotions, Mamimi is disappointed that a boy she loved is out of her reach and with a new lover, Naota because he was just a placeholder for her affections for his brother. This overflowing of emotion causes Naota’s pubescent mind to open a hole in space and time from the center of his injured forehead. Springing forth like an an unintentional erection, its design obviously intent on driving that point home, two robots spring forth in what appears to be mid-battle.

What Does It Mean?

It is at this point that we might be asking ourselves how does this inter-dimensional portal work, or why does Haruka not know who it will work on, even after trying her head smashing method on multiple people? But there is no definite answer to this, not in a definite or scientific sense. The show, as we have discussed, is built on a dense metaphor, in the thick of allegory. You are not meant to know the “truth” on the surface of the FLCL universe, but not because there was an intent to obfuscate or confuse, because the universe subsists in the abstract, growing and changing with our characters. Instead, I would argue this method’s purpose is to create focus. The questions isn’t how it works or even why it happens. The question is “What does it mean?” The only way to find the answers to any questions in this show is to tug at the concepts just below the surface. The thread that will unravel the mysteries are found in questions like:

• “What do Amarou’s seaweed eyebrows represent?”
• “What does him becoming or being a special agent of the Bureau of Interstellar Immigration mean?”
• “How does Naota’s family dynamic play into his pubescent growth?”
• “What does burning down the school mean?”

You might be thinking that these questions are completely speculative, but I would argue that is exactly the point. What you get out of FLCL is entirely related to your perspective on these kinds of questions. However, if your focus is solely on the structure of the story and the universe it creates, you are going to lead yourself astray, at no fault of the show. Another thought might be, “Why construct a show relying so heavily on the abstract?” Well, animation’s greatest strength is found in all the ways we can bend realism and FLCL succeeds at creating an engrossing and entertaining world. You might also find value in learning something about yourself. Maybe you prefer shows that are more direct, concise, or grounded.

Finally, what are we to think of the creator’s intent? If everything is so speculative, how are we supposed to know the “true” meaning behind the art? I would argue that most art that follows a narrative is bound by limited speculation. The narrative might not move in a straight line, but it is still bound to limitations, like stretching a rubber band. The narrative is meant to guide you through a series of possible conclusions while cutting through or moving past elements that are not of consequence. For example, FLCL is limited to 6 episodes and essentially 6 scenarios. Within those scenarios, you follow the characters through their decisions, concerning yourself only with a limited number of choices the character is willing to make.

In episode 3, “Maru Raba” (マルラバ), we find Eri Ninamori is caught up in a scandal caused by her father the mayor. The narrative guides her to a sleepover out Naota’s. Now, at this point, every decision the story makes for her, choices out the character’s control, are not meant to be debated for their lost opportunity, but for what it means for Ninamori, Naota, and any other surrounding characters. However, speculating what it means that the character choose to cheat and give herself the lead role, is up for debate. What would she have lost or gained is within the bounds of the creator’s intent because the author penned the character’s choice at the heart of her delima. A valid question, though one without definite answer, is “Are we bound to make the mistakes of our parents?” Ninamori cheats presumably because her father is also a cheater, though in a slightly different context. Is she a different person by the end of the episode? That is entirely up to the viewer to determine, but the author laid the groundwork for you to ask yourself this exact question.

Conclusion

To say that FLCL is a mindfuck fundamentally alters the focus of the show from its allegory to its appearance. Calling it a mindfuck opts you out of thinking about what you are watching beyond the direction the story takes its characters. While it may be possible that some stylistic choices have no inherent purpose, like why Haruko rides that iconic yellow Vespa or why does she wield a specific bass guitar, that wasn’t meant to confuse or obscure the metaphor of growing up. Sometimes a spade is a spade and nothing more. Sometimes magic robots sprout from your head. But if you alter your focus to follow the consequences of the actions, you will find that the show follows a very simple narrative in which a picky, angry boy slowly accepts the things he can change and those that he cannot in his life and steps forward to into adulthood, one sour soda at a time. You may wonder forever what Atomsk is, where Haruko is from, if Amarou’s position is the product of nepotism, but it ultimately doesn’t matter because it distract from the main point. Growing up is hard. Sometimes you embarrass yourself. Where you come from can be boring, weird, and exciting. But it’s always a journey. Some are just more fantastic than others.