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So Death Note is one of the most popular anime and manga series from the 2000s, and probably of all time. If an alleged "anime fan" said they hadn't watched it, I would hesitate to believe them, and if they said they hadn't heard of it, I just wouldn't trust them. But where does that put the anime itself?
I believe it's safe to assume a majority of people reading this would have already seen the series. As for many, Death Note was one of my first anime series, and I quite enjoyed it, save for some well known criticisms (we'll get to them). That said, over the years, with both personal maturity and deeper insights into the writing style of Tsugumi Ohba, my perspective on it greatly changed, to the extent it's worth reflecting on.
Reviewing Death Note
For formality's sake, let's get a review in. Death Note is best known for its memorable characters, themes of good and evil, and dynamic plot. The latter in particular is noteworthy, as the constant twists and turns, coupled with crisp pacing, make for an extremely binge-worthy watch.
Death Note definitely owes a large portion of its mainstream popularity to the relative simplicity of its premise (helped by the lack of explicitly Japanese concepts or norms) and the engagement factor of a constantly evolving narrative. Most people—including my mother—are quickly sucked in by the suspense and thrill, as there's straightforward beauty to how it plays with the typical "catch the criminal" premise.
There's definitely a misconception that Death Note is an inherently "brainy" anime. For all the clever writing, there is little demand on the viewers to apply themselves mentally. Not that this is a bad thing: there is a fine line between spoon feeding and effective communication of concept, regarding which judgement is subjective.
This is also home to some of the most iconic characters in anime, regarding whom you'll find abundant praise. And to their credit, the mannerisms and states of mind of the characters are fleshed out well, making them feel more organic. However, character development really isn't the series' forte: singular focus is given to the progression of the cat and mouse game at the expense of character growth, so if you don't like someone from the get go, you probably never will. Fortunately, the consensus indicates this won't be a problem with the leads.
An engaging plot, check. Interesting characters, check. But I really have a bone to pick with the themes and ideology of Death Note. Put simply, there wasn't enough of it. A series that is often hailed for its depiction of morality was, according to me, spectacularly short on commentary. Strip away the specifics, and it's just a straightforward Fall of Man story that ropes in the idea of justice.
Good and evil aren't clear cut labels in real life. They are subject to endless debate and no definitive answers, but these debates aren't addressed enough in Death Note. The discussion of Kira's morality, for example, was slowly abandoned as the story progressed. By leaving such questions unanswered, characters and beliefs are firmly entrenched without the all important "grey area".
Before this point is contested, let me make clear that moral discussion is present, chiefly in the varying motivations of different characters, but the plot ultimately fixates not on motivation, but where it leads them. Broadly speaking, Death Note was full of blanket terms.
That said, this is assuming you read that deep into the media you consume. I definitely didn't think this far into it while binging it. However, it does highlight that the series, for all its focus on tone and duality, is fundamentally shōnen, and has an explicit message to show for it.
OK, so I'm nitpicking about themes and commentary, when in fact Death Note was an overall great series. I know it, you probably know it, and there's little rationale to elaborate beyond mentioning it's highly engaging, has suspense and intrigue down to a T, and is technically sound (great animation, poignant music direction, excellent sub and dub performances). If you're a numbers person like me, Death Note is a solid 7/10; watch it if you haven't already.
Spoiler alert: the review ends here, and there will be major spoilers for pivotal plot points and especially the conclusion moving forward. You have been warned.
Trajectory and the Conservation of Detail
Anton Chekhov famously said that a gun shown at the beginning of a story must be fired by the end of it. This leads to the famous "Chekhov's Gun" trope, and reiterates the Conservation of Detail in storytelling. If it isn't important, it needn't be there.
Even outside of Death Note, Ohba's style of writing is technically inclined. A great emphasis is put on the specifics of a situation, and on the mechanics of a system. Evidence is plentiful in Bakuman's use of the Shōnen Jump publication system, and the focus on the superpowers themselves in Platinum End.
As a result, details breed details to create a complicated net of possibilities. Ohba's stories exert a firm control over those that matter and throttle their relevance to generate a cohesive narrative. This is a system that worked exceptionally well in Death Note, as an investigation is an ideal way to uncover specifics.
However, the progression of Death Note's narrative presents a clever illusion. Constant motion creates the deceit of a methodical plot when, in fact, it moves in leaps and bounds, like most shōnen. Just because something is constantly happening doesn't mean that everything carries the same narrative weight, and this is the trick behind Death Note.
Pivotal plot points that shift the narrative are usually (but not necessarily) characterised by buildup. Given the abundance of technical detail and shifting plot points in Death Note, there is immense potential for this, but notice how rarely this actually transpires. Take, for example, the somewhat controversial death of L in episode 25.
Broadly speaking, this was the most significant event since the opening act, but the only details that actually contributed to it were the story of Gelus in episode 12, Rem's love for Misa, and Light incriminating Misa in that very episode. The shock factor was palpable, but only because of how sudden the reveal was.
(Bear in mind that this is my opinion, and I might make some logical leaps and assumptions.) I believe the use of shock is a trend in Ohba's works, but these are often meant more for enhancing reader/viewer engagement than it is for moving along the wider plot. If we can treat Bakuman as a self-insert that somewhat accurately reflects the dilemma of mangaka, we can assume that such "bangers" in the story are needed to keep audience interested.
However, these momentary shock elements don't often play into the general plot, and come across as improvisational in the long run. It always seemed to me that the Fall of Man theme made the overarching focus of the series the declining morality and ultimate downfall of Light. From this perspective, L—or rather, the detective—was meant to play the rival that achieves this objective by opposing Light.
This objective was likely predetermined. Death Note's black and white morality reveals its didactic narrative. Light Yagami was never going to come out on top, but how was he going to fall without the detective, the countering force? The straight answer is that he never was.
Enter Near and Mello. Near in particular is criticised for being a pale imitation of L, but that's because there's little to differentiate them. They play the exact same narrative role; Near is a consequence of L's death, meant to pick up almost exactly where L left off. With this consideration, it's possible to say that L never really died. Ohba played on our attachment to a character without altering the narrative by all that much: the impacts of Near's introduction were superficial at best, after which he served as an L substitution.
Which is possibly why I preferred Mello as a character. Irrespective of his contribution to the overall plot, his morally grey deeds were a refreshing change, and he felt like his own character. All the same, he ended up dead, which to me reinforced how binary good and evil were being depicted as. The fact that one of the only characters walking between good and evil died (even if the bad guys did the killing) says something about Death Note's message.
But going back to Near and L, we see a failing in the use of detail, for although it moves the plot at specific points, it has little bearing on turning points in the plot. The best example, for me, is Light's ultimate defeat due to Mikami's mistake. This completely fails to deliver on the Fall of Man premise, as Light's hamartia (arrogance) wasn't the real cause for his downfall.
An apt comparison would be if One Piece ended with Usopp finding One Piece and giving it to Luffy. The objective is fulfilled, and if we read into it we can find a message about the importance of comrades, but it just won't feel right. It's too arbitrary in relation to the premise.
It's here that I point out that the anime adaptation did itself a huge favour with the final episode, where a fleeing Light wordlessly reflects on his journey. Compared to the manga ending, where a grovelling Light swears and dies a pathetic death, his ruin in the anime is so much more meaningful as he shows self-awareness towards the path he took. A simple, sombre moment with himself before dying alone with the memory of his rival takes the cake for my favourite scene in the anime because it gets the point about self-destruction across better than all the conversations in the series put together.
The narrative to Death Note had dozens of moving parts, but it feels like the best ones weren't used in the most important moments. Reflecting on the inclusion of detail, it becomes quite clear that a lot of "plot points" were only introduced to move along that story at that particular point of time, with little consideration for foreshadowing. The result is that in some scenarios, it feels like Ohba himself is problem solving to find the right path to maintain a predetermined trajectory (like Light eventually losing), to varying degrees of success.
Evaluating authorial choice
In summary, a clear trajectory and a struggle to guide events in that direction. Such a writing style would be littered with potential pitfalls, but Death Note steered clear of them with an ideal synergy of suspense generated from intense stakes and attachment to the characters. But Platinum End, for one, shows how this formula could easily go wrong when bland characters fail to sell us on the stakes, robbing the audience of any and all tension.
Conversely, Bakuman accentuates suspense by stripping away the stakes. There is an underlying understanding that no loss is permanent, and there will usually be a chance to bounce back, so there is greater liberty to have characters suffer and fail, making the progression unpredictable. Once again, this only succeeds in keeping us engaged because the character writing is solid and endearing; we are forced to care for the journey and not the (predetermined, of course) destination.
Comparatively, highs and lows are harder game in Death Note, where wins and losses are more permanent. Given this restriction imposed by greater stakes, nominal "high points" are only achieved through the introduction of narrative details, or impacts on high profile characters, both of which can go terribly wrong, killing audience engagement or making the story convoluted. As such, the final product is a celebration of Ohba's writing style—normally treacherous in high stakes—when handled well, but it fails to hide its inherent weaknesses.
Please do understand that this entire section is criticism for the sake of criticism. I can't even begin to comprehend the difficulties in publishing a weekly manga while striving to maintain quality, and objectively speaking, Death Note was a grand success in doing so. That said, the infamously deteriorated second half of the series never sat well with me, and I couldn't help but feel I finally understand why: it wasn't Death Note getting that much worse, just some of its worse aspects at the forefront.
I should also acknowledge that I was reaching in certain places, and such an authorial analysis wouldn't be possible for any other creator. Some facets of Ohba's writing style could be distinguished through Bakuman if and only if one assumed Takeshi Obata and Tsugumi Ohba to be the real life Muto Ashirogi.
Opinions and response may vary, and for good reason, but this was my sincere reflection on the creative genius behind Death Note, and my understanding of the line of thought that ultimately gave us this beloved anime classic.
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