Frieren is, at its best, a story tightly written about time; its passage, how different people perceive it, and the tangible marks it leaves in the world and its inhabitants. Its anime adaptation is a beautiful spectacle, but what makes it truly extraordinary is how it imagines that setting and people beyond the original boundaries, solidifying their existence so that you can feel their aging almost physically.

Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End ventures to find what lies beyond the traditional ending to a fantasy tale, but to properly understand its extraordinary adaptation, you’re best off taking a small detour to explore what happened before that trip; projects like this one aren’t something you see every day, month, or even year, so how did we get here?

Producer Shoichiro Taguchi of TOHO, one of the two planning companies for the anime alongside original publisher Shogakukan, explained that their relationship with the series was abnormal since the start. Speaking to Mantan for a brief interview, Taguchi revealed that he found himself drafting an animation proposal after the very first chapter in 2020, something that usually takes a much longer time as new works—through their own content, or through their popularity—first have to inspire confidence to potential producers. Incidentally, this is also a good reminder that the production process is a somewhat fluid, vague process, for as much as fans sometimes desire clear-cut timelines; Frieren certainly hasn’t been in active production for 3.5 years, but to some degree, this project began forming that long ago.

Taguchi’s actions began gathering a team, as if knocking a single domino piece that eventually sprawls into paths towards stunning creators all over the world of anime. In that same interview, he noted that his experience within an anime studio—he was on his way to becoming an important producer within Studio Trigger before leaving for TOHO—had made him aware of just how important the influence of a project’s Animation Producer is. And he’d always known that when it comes to renowned AniP in the current industry, Madhouse’s Yuichiro Fukushi is certainly up there with the best leaders of production lines in Japanese television. It’s no coincidence nor mere inertia that he keeps being surrounded by brilliant artists, who recognize his tremendous effort to get them the help they need and his attempts to carve spaces to do what they love, in an industry that rarely guarantees those; even if sometimes, the price to pay for personal expression on the level of Sonny Boy is to make half of Takt Op Destiny.

In the same way that Taguchi had been looking for an excuse to work with Fukushi, the latter had repeatedly pitched projects to rising directorial star Keiichiro Saito. Although we have already introduced him at length across various articles, we mostly framed his rise through his relationship with other creatives, so it’s worth adding that he had just as strong of a bond with Fukushi. On top of being a regular contributor to multiple Shingo Natsume works that Fukushi managed, Saito went as far as taking over one of them for his actual kantoku debut—the ACCA 13 OVA back in 2020. As Saito revealed in the November issue of Nikkei Entertainment, Fukushi had kept pitching him various works to direct on his own, but he kept declining them because they were too bombastic for his tastes. When he approached him with Frieren, then, he felt that he might have finally gotten his taste right; mind you, he was aware that the series does have an action component, but trusted the flashy animators that always gather around Fukushi to be able to handle that properly.

Once you have a series directorSeries Director: (監督, kantoku): The person in charge of the entire production, both as a creative decision-maker and final supervisor. They outrank the rest of the staff and ultimately have the last word. Series with different levels of directors do exist however – Chief Director, Assistant Director, Series Episode Director, all sorts of non-standard roles. The hierarchy in those instances is a case by case scenario. and animation producer with this much magnetism, the snowballing effect cannot be stopped—though the fact that Saito was also due to direct Bocchi the Rock meant that there was no time to spare, and as we’ll see, also caused him to delegate tasks in a way he didn’t do for his first TV show. To see how that actually manifested, let’s delve into these first few episodes.

To be more precise, let’s first delve into how these first episodes were broadcast, because those are some important details as well. Although streaming platforms have gotten the first 4 episodes of the series separately, they first aired together in NTV’s prestigious Friday Road Show slot; which is to say, the type of nation-wide, mainstream platform that TV anime is rarely granted. While animated works do earn that honor sometimes—shoutout to the Minions movie that will follow up Frieren this week—it’s quite rare to see anime in there, other than iconic films such as Ghibli’s works. Another recent exception to the norm would be Violet Evergarden, which took over the slot for multiple weeks and at one point had the TV show re-edited to fit its length. What makes that even more relevant, as you might have already guessed, is that Frieren’s composer Evan Call was appointed because people like Taguchi were fond of his work on that series.

There’s more to be investigated about how an extraordinary broadcasting decision like this happens; for example, that it was Shogakukan themselves who pursued the idea, the likelihood that they’re chasing the popularity of recent special premieres, the fact that this is all a smoother process because NTV themselves are involved and own studio Madhouse, or their investment in the series showing in their creation of a new, slightly less glamorous slot to dump the rest of the show. What I find most interesting, though, is the effect that those marketing decisions can have on the creative side of things. And in this case, one of the first things you might notice when watching these episodes is how well the music accompanies every scene. It’s almost like it was composed specifically for each of those situations. Actually, scratch that almost—that’s what happened.

Given the time constraints, it makes sense for most TV anime to rely on after-recording (アフレコ), which is to say that audio and in particular the dubbing process is done after the animation; although, as schedules continue to worsen, that is done with increasingly rougher, more unfinished materials. The opposite process when it comes to the soundtrack, seen somewhat more commonly in movies but seldom in television, is referred to as pre-scoring or film-scoring. Its situational upside is clear, which is why particularly ambitious projects will attempt to integrate some of those processes into their workflow, even if they can’t afford to go all the way with the film-scoring.

In Frieren in particular, a production that as we said had to be mindful of time with its busy series directorSeries Director: (監督, kantoku): The person in charge of the entire production, both as a creative decision-maker and final supervisor. They outrank the rest of the staff and ultimately have the last word. Series with different levels of directors do exist however – Chief Director, Assistant Director, Series Episode Director, all sorts of non-standard roles. The hierarchy in those instances is a case by case scenario., that partial implementation was meant to boost the harmony of these first 4 episodes by attuning the music to the dialogue. To make it possible, sound director Shouji Hata sent Evan Call video storyboards for the episodes that included all the dialogue lines, allowing him to arrange themes situationally. In that same Nikkei Entertainment issue, the composer himself highlighted the heroes’ return right at the beginning as an example of that, and it really does set the tone for the rest of this special broadcast.

Speaking of special broadcast, it’s worth noting that it had a special ending by Kou Yoshinari—who also appeared multiple times across episodes, and whom Saito is clearly a fan of. Keeping a sequence by an artist of his caliber locked to a version of the episodes most people won’t see is the type of luxury that only a production like this can afford, though to make up for it, everyone will be getting special endings moving forward. 

What is Frieren really about, though? Saying that it’s a story set after a traditional fantasy party defeats the demon lord, and that the titular character is an elf with a near-eternal lifespan, hints at what the real theme is: time. Especially during its early, more episodic stages, the series excels at weaving stories about its aging, memories, and how human connections leave just as physical of an imprint on the world as time itself. What I don’t find the original particularly good at, though, is fully capitalizing on the potential of those scenarios, in no small part due to the manga’s art. Saying that it’s poorly drawn wouldn’t be right, but its paneling doesn’t flow gracefully, can be puzzling about what it emphasizes, and is so limited in perspectives that sometimes it feels like it’s shot like a sitcom with a limited budget. We know certain moments are life-changing for the characters because they say and imply as much, but those aren’t always framed accordingly, and the sparse looks at the world—which is remarkably compelling on a conception level—don’t quite manage to connect its themes and execution. And if that made it a diamond on the rough, Saito found the polishing tools.

Right off the bat, the anime makes a point about its feeling of physical existence; one that I caught whiffs of with the teaser videos already, and that I was happy to see smart creators immediately bring up as well. There’s an obvious feeling of tranquility to the aesthetic of this adaptation, befitting a world that is now beyond its big crisis. The soft but very diverse colors and painterly art direction aren’t decadent then, but they’re not divorced from time either. Before the heroes have even made their way back to the city that awaits them, all we see is roads that genuinely feel like they’ve been there for decades if not hundreds of years, books that may not be falling apart but still have significant wear. Things exist, and age.

And once they do reach that celebration, we see the natural consequence of crafting a world that implies continued existence: their people must have been around for a long time too, even when the heroes aren’t looking, so they have their own customs, mundane routines, but also distinct special moments. The Frieren anime doesn’t need to go all the way into exploring the intricacies of each society they’ll come across, but by gradually building up the routines and patterns of its world, your mind fills the gaps to complete a setting that feels continuously alive.

It’s worth exploring how those feelings are being evoked, not just because of how important they are to Frieren’s excellent start, but also because the mechanics behind it are telling about the staff’s leanings and the situation they were in. Although Saito’s directorial career has barely started, it’s already safe to say that he’s very involved in his position. Bocchi the Rock showed that he’s one to lead by example, with not just a handful of storyboards, but also personally bookending the episode directionEpisode Direction (演出, enshutsu): A creative but also coordinative task, as it entails supervising the many departments and artists involved in the production of an episode – approving animation layouts alongside the Animation Director, overseeing the work of the photography team, the art department, CG staff... The role also exists in movies, refering to the individuals similarly in charge of segments of the film. duties that busy series directors tend to dodge; in that regard, he was lucky that his partner was speed demon Kerorira, whose idea of design and chief animation directionAnimation Direction (作画監督, sakuga kantoku): The artists supervising the quality and consistency of the animation itself. They might correct cuts that deviate from the designs too much if they see it fit, but their job is mostly to ensure the motion is up to par while not looking too rough. Plenty of specialized Animation Direction roles exist – mecha, effects, creatures, all focused in one particular recurring element. was to exemplify everything first himself and then animate a massive chunk of the show by his own hand.

It’s easy to tell that Saito sees it natural for series directors to have a hands-on role in setting every pattern; despite providing the storyboards, he still felt it necessary to justify why he had to delegate the episode #01 direction duties to Ayaka Tsuji, and he also praised episode #02’s Tomoya Kitagawa for doing such great work “while still not having gotten a clear taste of the show’s overall atmosphere”. In that regard, and despite also having its own scheduling preoccupations, the approach he was allowed to take with Bocchi might be closer to Saito’s vision of how a production ought to work. After all, it was his own storyboards for the first episodes that perfectly defined the protagonist’s relationship with the world, and his direct input as episode (and series) director that began breaking the boundaries of commercial animation so that other creators in the team were encouraged to follow suit; now mind you, Saito seeing that as natural doesn’t mean that it’s common, as he’s in many ways a unique director.

Given the specific constraints of Frieren as a project, as well as his admitted struggles in verbally communicating everything he needed the team to grasp, Saito had to let someone else’s paintings do a lot of this work. People in the team have gone as far as saying that the world of Frieren’s anime wouldn’t even exist with Seiko Yoshioka, which isn’t much of an exaggeration. Saito, who was well acquainted with her thanks to projects like ACCA, encouraged her not just to paint its world, but to imagine what lies beyond, how people live in it, and what those society make and imagine. Yoshioka is credited as the concept artist for the whole show, as well as layout designer for every episode so far; the third one, which directly incorporates her paintings to depict rapid human progress, also lists her as worldview illustrator accordingly. Internally, I’ve seen some of her sheets referred to as color script as well. There are all sorts of technical terms they can use to give a name to the work she has been doing, but at the end of the day, it all comes to a simpler word: storytelling.

Saito exemplified the type of work she did with the expansion of the world’s faiths; symbology and customs that are already much more visible in this first episode, compared to the barebones if not entirely missing framing of the manga. Taguchi took it a step further and explained that Yoshioka would as easily provide visual references of which plants grow in each corner of the world, as she would depict the tools one particular village’s inhabitants use in their daily lives. To craft a world that ages alongside its people, you first need to solidify its existence, and her input when it comes to this is invaluable. And when you do that while also helping a show be downright gorgeous, you deserve all the props in the world.

Although much of the conceptual work is by Seiko Yoshioka, we can’t forget about the team actually painting the show’s gorgeous backgrounds, led by Sawako Takagi at studio Wyeth. Yoshioka herself is reminding people that much about their beauty—and I would argue of their great execution of the show’s themes—is on Takagi’s team.

Going back to the first episode, and after celebrations that demonstrate all these qualities, we see the introduction of arguably the biggest piece of friction in the narrative: the mismatch between Frieren’s perception of time and her friends’. Their adventures have spanned just 10 years to her, the blink of an elf’s eye, something barely worth of note—or so she feels at this time. Her casual promise to meet the crew again 50 years later to witness the next meteor shower embodies that attitude, and so does the first of many montages, a trick this series loves to use to emphasize that loose perception of time.

A speedy timelapse attuned to Frieren’s elf sensibilities leads to a cute montage that compiles snapshots of her now solo adventures, the few notable events that stick to her through a nearly endless life. Across these first episodes, we’ve already seen how various directors approach these sequences, and I have to say that no one does it quite like Saito. Though the events in the montage mostly come from panels in the manga, his added details add to that lived-in feeling of the world; be it some rabbits copying her pose as they stare curiously, or a looming threat Frieren won’t see because she’s too busy reading to actually care about fish. And while it’s only seen in brief cuts, these are also a good example of how much more joyful the depiction of magic is in this adaptation, which feels quite important given that the protagonist is now traveling the world to keep collecting spells.

The elf’s return to town immediately has her noting that things have changed, which adds an important bit of nuance to the issue of misaligned perceptions of time. Frieren does perceive change, especially when it’s palpable, but struggles to perceive internal ones caused by accumulations of experience because she operates on such a different scale. After gathering the original group, where leading hero Himmel is now an affable grandpa, they take off on a trip to fulfill their promise to witness the meteor shower one last time. This final adventure is presented in charming fashion, and also appears to nonchalantly drop the first Shinji Otsuka TV anime work in 24 years. Otsuka is a theatrical animator of the highest caliber, and his presence in this show is a feat that can be traced back to Takashi Nakame—another theatrical animation mainstay, who is helping Fukushi as a freelance animation producer on this title. Nakame explained that, regardless of what the credits say, Fukushi is essentially a full-blown producer in this title, which leaves him room to pursue crazy goals like an Otsuka stint with more freedom.

Once they reach their destination, the spectacle turns out to be well worth the price; which is likely a few hurt bones, as Frieren’s nonchalant view of time meant that she didn’t blink twice before sending old men into a full week of hiking. The depiction of the one meteor Himmel focuses on appears to be modeled after a senko hanabi, the famous sparklers among Japanese fireworks that have traditionally stood as a sign of ephemeral beauty and to evoke the cycle of life itself. After burning bright, it fades, as does Himmel’s life; no longer reflected in the cabinet where he stored his adventuring gear, with which he’d wanted to travel alongside his friends for one last time.

Another theatrical guest appearance we can credit to Nakame is Ayako Hata, who animated the first few cuts of the opening as he saw her fit for a lineart-only sequence. Although it’s not as extraordinary as breaking Otsuka’s multiple-decade TV drought, she hadn’t worked on a project like this for several years as well.

More than Himmel’s death itself, what hits Frieren is the feeling that she lost a friend she didn’t manage to know as much as she’d wanted to. From now on, her quest will be to learn about the people she encounters—and while she’s not aware of it when she proclaims that, it’s also a quest to realize that she already spent very meaningful time with them, that those experiences changed her more than she knows. Frieren leaves town through the same road where they arrived decades ago, though now it’s ever so slightly more disheveled, because time spares no one. By its side, we see a rock with a recurring symbol in this human culture, the same one we’ll later see across various places. This is how, little by little, the Frieren anime builds a real, aging world.

Moving forward, this relationship with time is so explicit that every single chapter in the story begins with a sign explaining not just where we are, but how long it has been since Himmel’s death. And two whole decades after it, Frieren comes across beloved corrupt priest Heiter, who is now taking care of an orphan named Fern as his days wind down. Heiter’s scheme to have Frieren adopt Fern as her disciple when she’s ready to survive out there should be obvious to everyone but her, but once again is the focus on how people live in this world that I find most interesting. Across the ending of Saito’s first episode and the second one, directed and storyboarded by the aforementioned Tomoya Kitagawa, you may notice meticulous depictions like the way she prepares food while the other two have a serious conversation. And, as is the norm with this show, it always comes back to time: the recurring layouts across episodes make for an obvious contrast about growth, with cheeky details like the candle mirroring Heiter’s extinguishing life.

Across seasons and years, we see Fern grow and come closer to the goal that Heither had set for her: piercing a rock on the opposite side of a chasm, similar to the one where he rescued her when she thought she had nothing to live for anymore. Fern’s understanding of time and mortality resonates with Frieren, who gives her the final push to achieve that goal. This entire trial seems to be one of the most straightforward statements about the show’s thesis: the passage of time is inexorable, it will not spare any tree nor stone, but it’s personal bonds that can most quickly leave a meaningful mark behind—physically so in this case. Heiter has passed now, but he lived long enough for Fern to clear that trial, and for the two of them to part ways with no regrets.

For all the big names in the production, the most thorough showcase of animation prowess in the second episode might come from a relative newcomer like Masaho Hori. Delicacy, enchanting detail, charming drawings, and more cel pumpkins than anyone should ever draw. Very charming idea behind the first shot that plays nicely with the overarching attempt to make the world feel lived in, so credit should go to Kitagawa as well—and to animation director Ayaka Minoshima, a stunning character artist I can’t imagine not having a hand in these cuts.

As Frieren and Fern’s trip together begins, we see them visiting towns where there’s always something going on beyond the odd jobs they do in exchange for satiating the elf’s hunger for new spells. Receiving a quest to clean up a decayed Himmel statue isn’t just another blatant encapsulation of the theme of time, but also an opportunity for them to know each other more deeply, which at the end of the day is Frieren’s real goal. Fern’s first taste of her mentor’s nonchalant willingness to spend decades looking for one specific flower from Himmel’s memories earns Frieren a reminder about human perception of time, but at the same time, it proves her consideration and sometimes keen eye. While Fern doubts that the two of them approach magic in the same way, feeling that she just so happened to learn it and might be lesser for it, Frieren notices that their drive is the exact same: they both pursued magic because, at one pivotal moment in their lives, that brought joy to their loved ones.

Those points are made across two episodes, with the second chapter in Kitagawa’s #02 and the first one in Daiki Harashina’s characterful episode #03 underlining similar qualities to Frieren. After spending way too long looking for specific flower seeds, which benefits from the fact that Yoshioka painted seasonal variants for most of the world’s settings, the two are brought together by a moment of catharsis. As Frieren had correctly interpreted, just like how she cases silly magic tricks because they made Himmel and company smile, the real reason Fern put so much effort into training was the memory of Heiter’s reaction at the magical butterflies she once cast. The point the following chapter makes, however, is that Frieren is much denser when it comes to herself. After her amusing struggle to get Fern a birthday gift, we see that her worries that she doesn’t understand her loved ones might be a bit misguided, as she simply doesn’t process how much she has already absorbed from them; the gift, of course, is a hairpin in the same butterfly shape that got Fern to pursue magic. Tenderly animated by Shinashina himself, who drew all the layoutsLayouts (レイアウト): The drawings where animation is actually born; they expand the usually simple visual ideas from the storyboard into the actual skeleton of animation, detailing both the work of the key animator and the background artists. for the first half of the episode.

After such a delicate and cute chapter, Shinashina had to change registers for the most action-heavy story so far. This assignment is no coincidence: he’s also the show’s monster designer, and had already animated a flashback to one of them in the previous episode. Despite a higher emphasis on the spectacle, though, this episode is still tightly connected to the passage of time. Frieren returns to one of their biggest foes during the quest to subjugate the demon lord, one so strong they saw it fit to seal him rather than risk a duel to the death. Unfortunately, that sealing spell is now decaying, a physical aging that is conveyed with tremendous tactility by Shinashina and also by Yoshiko Matsumura; the latter having been very adamant about this decaying texture to the animation, according to the director himself.

The ensuing battle does have flashes of spectacular animation, but it’s beautifully undercut by the realities of this world. 80 years might be no time at all for creatures like this being and Frieren herself, but it was enough for humanity to analyze his once-unstoppable magic, find ways around it, and even adopt it as their own—to the point that his then deathly piercing spell is now seen as an average attack. In contrast to his pathetic defeat, the anime emphasizes that Frieren is getting better at adapting to such rapid change; after all, she also learned to fly in the meantime, which she couldn’t do when they first fought.

Giving closure to this prologue to the story, we have episode #04, storyboarded by veteran Yoshiaki Kawajiri and directed by Kento Matsui. To say that it offers more of the same sounds like backhanded praise, but in this case it means that it continues to be perfectly focused, beautiful, and simply a joy to watch. Across the first half, we see the traveling duo reach another village with an upcoming festivity of their own that they could use help for. Given that it’s kind of a cold place, and that they have to wake up early to get the job done, this is an excellent opportunity for animators to compete to draw the cutest slob of an elf; Toshiyuki Sato is a known champion when it comes to animating lazy gremlins, but do not underestimate the ability of newcomers like Ryugusan to draw excellent, good for nothing elves. The ultimate prize is a series of Hironori Tanaka sequences, which show that even a sleepy elf can fulfill a goal for the community. That, and her realization that Himmel was right in his recommendation to attend that special sunrise with her party; the act itself might not mean much to her, having seen countless days start and end, but a moment that brings joy to her friends is one that brings joy to Frieren too.

That relay of excellent animation continues with the second half of the episode, with Norifumi Kugai as its star, though once again the understated quality that I would highlight is how good of a job people like Yoshioka have done in expanding Frieren’s world. The next stage of this story begins with meditations about the afterlife, and ultimately makes the titular character follow both her late master’s words and her old party’s path: a trip to the northern lands, where one can allegedly speak with the dead, as means to meet Himmel and company again.

What is once again a solid scenario on paper is made even better with the anime’s meticulous execution. The last member of Frieren’s party is Eisen the dwarf—now older and scrawnier than in his heroic days, but as a member of a resilient race, still very much alive and kicking. In an old conversation with his party members about whether there is an afterlife or not, we see him praying to his fallen family; haphazard piles of dirt in the manga, but unique gravestones in this animated adaptation.

These are entirely different from the more traditional resting places for humans that we’ve also seen, and feel very much in line with what we hear about dwarves in these first few episodes already; Eisen mentions that they value their traditions, and we know that they’re sturdy like a rock, so it immediately feels right to see this specific custom. Not only that, but revisiting it in the present time shows a more elaborate version of them. Is it a dwarven tradition to make increasingly more ornate monuments to the dead? Did Eisen’s retirement give him enough free time to decorate them further? That is the type of question I want this show to continue to evoke, even if I don’t particularly care for a specific answer. The real joy of moments like this is feeling like we’re witnessing a story set in a world that exists beyond the visible boundaries, across years upon years. That is where Frieren is at its best for me, and what these episodes completely aced.

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