3
Should a young actor prioritize his career? Or his love life?
Like the first season, the second outing for At 25:00 in Akasaka delivered solid, if unspectacular, BL entertainment. In fact, in every respect other than the romantic, it is an improvement. The new season continues the story of actors Shirasaki Yuki and Hayama Asami from the point where they enjoy the professional fruits arising from the success of the BL series in which they starred. Though lacking an equal measure of the humor and sweetness that made their S1 courtship memorable, with regard to character development and world-building the sequel proves more compelling than the original. That assessment especially holds for the viewer who wished to see the story dive deeper into the characters. The series takes the time to plumb the psyche of our aspiring actors and lovers, at the expense, perhaps, of deepening their relationship. Accordingly, the viewer who consumes BL to wrap themself up in cuddly moments will be more likely to regard the follow-up as a let down, given that the burgeoning romance established at the end of S1 takes a backseat in S2 to the main characters’ burgeoning careers.
We become reacquainted with Shirasaki and Hayama as the duo navigates how to sustain a clandestine romance that, if publicly known, might be detrimental to their careers. Determined, nevertheless, to cohabitate, this series takes the pretense of the fake relationship from S1 and delivers the real thing in S2. This go around, the test will be whether their cozy domestic life can withstand the pressure imposed from working apart. Just as the characters’ commitment to each other has become serious, so too does the subtext. That is certainly a fair outcome in a series that has centered itself around the characters’ professional development. Yet, it also leeches away much of the joy for the viewer who came to watch the couple bond.
The second season elevates Shirasaki and Hayama from aspiring actors to seasoned professionals ready to take the next career step. Originally cast as co-stars in a BL series, the duo make their TV avatars’ fictional relationship real during S1. Season 2 dispenses with the ploy of the BL-within-the-BL by splitting the pair’s professional endeavors apart. Hayama’s movie career takes off when he is cast in a film, while Shirasaki lands a lead role in a stage play helmed by an auteur director. I wrote of S1 that Shirasaki’s character, new to professional acting, suffered from Imposter Syndrome. S2 perpetuates this theme in most unvarnished fashion: his theater character is a literal imposter, having stolen someone else’s name and life. Shirasaki strugles to discover the right notes to play the emotional trauma presented by this challenging new role. As in S1, his professional insecurity provides much of the tension to S2. Shirasaki imagines himself inadequate when compared to Hayama (who absolutely does not regard their dynamic as competitive in the same way), and that note is perhaps overly wooden in the script. Overall, Shirasaki’s self-doubt is a drag on the plot. Playing out this thread certainly holds back the series’ romantic beats, a frustration that will exacerbate discontent with the sequel for a portion of the audience.
I praised S1 for prioritizing the workaday aspects of show business over the glamor. S2 maintains this emphasis on the craft of acting by once again embedding numerous scenes of the characters rehearsing for acting gigs. One of the treats for viewers in S1 was watching as Shirasaki and Hayama created their TV characters from rehearsal to finished product, even as their secret fake relationship developed in parallel into a secret real one. Similar epiphanies pop up in the sequel, as each character brings real life experience to the creation of a new role while also bringing insight from work back home to sustain the romance. One significant difference: this process now operates with a layer of remove since the pair no longer work together. As noted, Shirasaki’s problems occupy the lion’s share of screen time. Hayama’s issues burble into the open only late in the proceedings, which is rather a shame as I find his character more compelling. I’d have been happy to explore his inscrutability earlier and oftener. In episode 9 each actor is exhorted by his respective director to bring deeper emotive beats to the performance. In that fashion, this directorial note mirrors the formula that made S1 a good watch because it ties the disparate subplots back together: what happens at home informs creative choices at work; what happens in the creative process at work informs the home life.
Fans come to sequels to reexperience aspects of the original they enjoyed. Season 2 of At 25 in Aksaka provides ample callbacks. Returning from Season 1 are the co-stars from the faux BL, Sakuma Hajime and Yamase Kazumo. These two continue to operate as sounding boards for our lead characters, especially in their approach to their career choices. The camaraderie they built last year as co-stars grows here into friendship not rooted in work. Meanwhile, Kuroki Keita is a newly introduced character in S2, cast opposite Shirasaki in the play-within-the-BL. This figure might have been written as a source of dramatic tension by making him either a career rival or a love rival. (Shirasaki, after all, has a track record of falling for his co-star, a point Yamase humorously makes to Hayama as they commiserate at a bar.) Instead, the writers not only eschew both obvious tropes, they opted to describe a collaborative dynamic between Kuroki and Shirasaki. That choice freshens the plot and adds a great deal of warmth to the proceedings that the series might otherwise have lacked. The way all three support characters and the two leads trade advice on their shared craft makes this series an exploration into the profession of acting. In that aspect, it seems to me that S2 exceeds S1. In fact, not since Double in 2022 has any series about actors offered such an extensive seminar on theories of performativity. Another recurring plot element in S2 is the use of a secret to inject charm. In S1, Hayama’s preexisting crush on Shirasaki supplied the secret. Here, the duo’s clandestine relationship serves the purpose. The actors’ respective managers know the truth, but for al 10 it remains invisible to others around them. (Count that as another tired trope avoided. I am so weary of BL series about entertainers where simply having a relationship creates story tension.) Well, perhaps not completely invisible. One suspects Yamase knows the true score, but he allows the pair the illusion of maintaining their secret.
The most important element in a BL sequel is the romance between the main characters. One reason BL sequels seldom outshine the original is that watching two people court one another is inherently more fun than watching two people undertake the serious labor required to sustain an ongoing committed relationship. My first paragraph reflects this reality, having pronounced S2 less fun and less sweet than the progenitor. Having several times in this review remarked on how the script stunts the growth of the Hayama-Shirasaki romance, I wish to conclude by praising how this version of the story introduces its own brand of sweetness. These two communicate regularly. They look out for each other. They are alert to signs that their partner feels distress. Perhaps such moments are less thrilling than the pursuit inherent to courtship; yet, these are the very comfort actions by which committed couples stay committed. A recurring example of “comfort” arises from the simple salutation with which Hayama greets Shirasaki when the latter returns home from rehearsal every day: “Welcome home.” These words signal to the stressed out Shirasaki that he is safe, that he can relax, that he is loved. This greeting is a small touch in a big series. Yet it warmed this jaded old reviwer’s heart. May we all be so lucky as to have someone welcome us home every day.
Link to my review of S1: https://kisskh.at/profile/8984637/review/369133
We become reacquainted with Shirasaki and Hayama as the duo navigates how to sustain a clandestine romance that, if publicly known, might be detrimental to their careers. Determined, nevertheless, to cohabitate, this series takes the pretense of the fake relationship from S1 and delivers the real thing in S2. This go around, the test will be whether their cozy domestic life can withstand the pressure imposed from working apart. Just as the characters’ commitment to each other has become serious, so too does the subtext. That is certainly a fair outcome in a series that has centered itself around the characters’ professional development. Yet, it also leeches away much of the joy for the viewer who came to watch the couple bond.
The second season elevates Shirasaki and Hayama from aspiring actors to seasoned professionals ready to take the next career step. Originally cast as co-stars in a BL series, the duo make their TV avatars’ fictional relationship real during S1. Season 2 dispenses with the ploy of the BL-within-the-BL by splitting the pair’s professional endeavors apart. Hayama’s movie career takes off when he is cast in a film, while Shirasaki lands a lead role in a stage play helmed by an auteur director. I wrote of S1 that Shirasaki’s character, new to professional acting, suffered from Imposter Syndrome. S2 perpetuates this theme in most unvarnished fashion: his theater character is a literal imposter, having stolen someone else’s name and life. Shirasaki strugles to discover the right notes to play the emotional trauma presented by this challenging new role. As in S1, his professional insecurity provides much of the tension to S2. Shirasaki imagines himself inadequate when compared to Hayama (who absolutely does not regard their dynamic as competitive in the same way), and that note is perhaps overly wooden in the script. Overall, Shirasaki’s self-doubt is a drag on the plot. Playing out this thread certainly holds back the series’ romantic beats, a frustration that will exacerbate discontent with the sequel for a portion of the audience.
I praised S1 for prioritizing the workaday aspects of show business over the glamor. S2 maintains this emphasis on the craft of acting by once again embedding numerous scenes of the characters rehearsing for acting gigs. One of the treats for viewers in S1 was watching as Shirasaki and Hayama created their TV characters from rehearsal to finished product, even as their secret fake relationship developed in parallel into a secret real one. Similar epiphanies pop up in the sequel, as each character brings real life experience to the creation of a new role while also bringing insight from work back home to sustain the romance. One significant difference: this process now operates with a layer of remove since the pair no longer work together. As noted, Shirasaki’s problems occupy the lion’s share of screen time. Hayama’s issues burble into the open only late in the proceedings, which is rather a shame as I find his character more compelling. I’d have been happy to explore his inscrutability earlier and oftener. In episode 9 each actor is exhorted by his respective director to bring deeper emotive beats to the performance. In that fashion, this directorial note mirrors the formula that made S1 a good watch because it ties the disparate subplots back together: what happens at home informs creative choices at work; what happens in the creative process at work informs the home life.
Fans come to sequels to reexperience aspects of the original they enjoyed. Season 2 of At 25 in Aksaka provides ample callbacks. Returning from Season 1 are the co-stars from the faux BL, Sakuma Hajime and Yamase Kazumo. These two continue to operate as sounding boards for our lead characters, especially in their approach to their career choices. The camaraderie they built last year as co-stars grows here into friendship not rooted in work. Meanwhile, Kuroki Keita is a newly introduced character in S2, cast opposite Shirasaki in the play-within-the-BL. This figure might have been written as a source of dramatic tension by making him either a career rival or a love rival. (Shirasaki, after all, has a track record of falling for his co-star, a point Yamase humorously makes to Hayama as they commiserate at a bar.) Instead, the writers not only eschew both obvious tropes, they opted to describe a collaborative dynamic between Kuroki and Shirasaki. That choice freshens the plot and adds a great deal of warmth to the proceedings that the series might otherwise have lacked. The way all three support characters and the two leads trade advice on their shared craft makes this series an exploration into the profession of acting. In that aspect, it seems to me that S2 exceeds S1. In fact, not since Double in 2022 has any series about actors offered such an extensive seminar on theories of performativity. Another recurring plot element in S2 is the use of a secret to inject charm. In S1, Hayama’s preexisting crush on Shirasaki supplied the secret. Here, the duo’s clandestine relationship serves the purpose. The actors’ respective managers know the truth, but for al 10 it remains invisible to others around them. (Count that as another tired trope avoided. I am so weary of BL series about entertainers where simply having a relationship creates story tension.) Well, perhaps not completely invisible. One suspects Yamase knows the true score, but he allows the pair the illusion of maintaining their secret.
The most important element in a BL sequel is the romance between the main characters. One reason BL sequels seldom outshine the original is that watching two people court one another is inherently more fun than watching two people undertake the serious labor required to sustain an ongoing committed relationship. My first paragraph reflects this reality, having pronounced S2 less fun and less sweet than the progenitor. Having several times in this review remarked on how the script stunts the growth of the Hayama-Shirasaki romance, I wish to conclude by praising how this version of the story introduces its own brand of sweetness. These two communicate regularly. They look out for each other. They are alert to signs that their partner feels distress. Perhaps such moments are less thrilling than the pursuit inherent to courtship; yet, these are the very comfort actions by which committed couples stay committed. A recurring example of “comfort” arises from the simple salutation with which Hayama greets Shirasaki when the latter returns home from rehearsal every day: “Welcome home.” These words signal to the stressed out Shirasaki that he is safe, that he can relax, that he is loved. This greeting is a small touch in a big series. Yet it warmed this jaded old reviwer’s heart. May we all be so lucky as to have someone welcome us home every day.
Link to my review of S1: https://kisskh.at/profile/8984637/review/369133
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