Matches are shown in these constant close ups of the characters slowly gliding across your screen as you hear the play happening in their head. But the biggest and most heinous animation problem are the still frames filled with exposition that completely ruin the flow of each play.
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But most importantly, the actual animation of the football? Really? For the people complaining about the work of the CG in another popular series that aired the same season that I just so happen to adore–You should be up in arms here with knives and pitchforks screaming “Sic ‘em!” it’s hideous. The characters are drawn decently and the food looks realistic enough. For some surreal reason, some people actually think the animation in this show is good. Instead, this review will focus more so on the myriad of reasons why this show doesn’t even work in an entertaining sense.įirst and foremost, it’s the animation. But I understand there should be an expected level of plot armoring and suspension of disbelief afforded when it comes to these shows so I will give it some leeway. Or the absurdity of fielding a striker in goal could ever yield effective practice for anyone involved. Or that’s what it seemed at the start, until you realize that no characters introduced get eliminated. A bunch of ambitious teenagers vying for a chance to become Japan’s national team striker through a rigorous and ruthless training regime with one person remaining. The start of Blue Lock was actually bearable, dare I even say interesting. So that’s why he couldn’t save it, he couldn’t damn well see the ball could he? This, this pseudo-thrilling shithousery is Blue Lock to me. His mom notices and explains how she doesn’t let her son wear glasses on the pitch in case a ball hits his face. His mom says: “hey, that was a great goal, my Kev could have never saved that.” You look at the child in tow, weird, you don’t remember a kid with glasses on the pitch. Strange, you can’t quite pinpoint him from the coagulate of jerseys until one of them walks up to you with his mom. You take a look at the other teams bleachers, trying to find the goalkeeper you just styled on. He had to drive your ass for an hour and a half at 6am to watch a little league football game on a Saturday morning.
“JORDAN, how many times do I have to tell you, don’t sleep during your son’s game.” You’re not mad, you understand. Your mom sees where you’re looking at and gets mad. It’s because your dad was dozing off in the middle of the game. You pinpoint exactly why the crowd was quieter than usual. You take a comforting sip and look around. You run to the sidelines and your mom hands you your favorite drink, a scrumptious blackcurrant Ribena that was in the cooler only seconds ago. A little quieter than normal you note–Probably cause you’re at an away The goalkeeper doesn’t see it coming at all. You take a clean touch, fake a shot to the left, and whip the ball into the top right bin.
You’re in the penalty box and your best bud passes a beautiful through ball to you. Everyone’s sweaty and knackered, rightfully so, the scoreline is 6-6, or at least that’s what you think cause you never really keep track of the score during games. Picture this, you’re in extra time and it’s the final play of the game. Putting aside his ethical objections to the project, Isagi feels compelled to fight his way to the top, even if it means ruthlessly crushing the dreams of 299 aspiring young strikers. To find the best participant, each diamond in the rough must compete against others through a series of solo and team competitions to rise to the top.
The project's ultimate goal is to turn one of the selected players into the star striker for the Japanese national team. Through an arbitrary and biased decision-making process, Isagi is one of three hundred U-18 strikers selected for a controversial project named Blue Lock. When the young striker returns home, an invitation from the Japan Football Union awaits him. Bitter, confused, and disappointed, Isagi wonders if the outcome would have been different had he not made the pass. Yoichi Isagi was mere moments away from scoring a goal that would have sent his high school soccer team to the nationals, but a split-second decision to pass the ball to his teammate cost him that reality.
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