Well, the actuality of the plot in FLCL (Fooly Cooly) is not that it is entirely flimflam but that people are going to have pretty different reasons about it from what most others might say when they bring up the show in conversation. It is one of those shows that does not give you answers easily, so it is easy to consider this just pointless or confusing random stuff. It has this odd vibe of being pointless and even stupid, but it is not all about the story.

More or less, the way the tale reflects the crazy, confusing experience of adolescence, with intentional messiness to capture that chaotic space of being grown up, unexplainable and nevertheless so intense as to be important, where nothing makes sense. It is not getting the usual way, with no joint tapping. It is all about feeling it, my friends.

FLCL spun by Kazuya Tsurumaki revolves around Naota Nandaba, a small boy in a sleepy little town; in his own words, “nothing amazing happens”. His life continues like any other until he collides with a woman on a Vespa, who strikes him with a bass guitar, and everything falls into chaos. All at once, every boring daily routine he lived would change, and on top of that, robots sprouted from his head. Yeah, it is as weird as it sounds.

To be readable without being bogged down in flowery explanations and tons of side details, the show pushes the whole hog to give one thrilling event after another, with each of the six events being short but whacked out. It might be considered the gentlest part of everything about to whip through. By the end of FLCL, all hell has broken loose.

Yeah, there’s a whole lot of it, and everything seems really fast and layered. People who are watching the show for the first time probably missed half the stuff happening and made wild assumptions. It turns conventional expectations on their heads, truly keeping one confused about the appropriate position.

One either loves it as a deeply layered artwork filled with symbols and complicated emotions or considers it nothing more than mischief and full of chaotic fun; the sensory overload does not need “to mean” anything.

Regardless of their opinion on the subject, anyone who has watched it seldom manages not to praise it somehow or the other, especially regarding the music. With their crunchy, melancholic alt-rock sound that captures the very essence of being young, confused, and restless, The Pillows seem to completely embody the show’s vibe. Even the most uninterested in the plot usually adore the soundtrack.

Another valid school of thought might argue that FLCL does not have a story with a capital “S. ” Rather, it is anti-narrative or at least resistant to being categorized in any neat way, and honestly, arguments for that stance hold up. The tonal and visual shifts, absurdist humor, and exaggerated fourth wall breaks with little to no explanation now seem dispensable.

Plot elements are contrived about as quickly as candy is thrown about, characters manifest and vanish from the one-second plot, and events happen because they “feel” right more than because they are logical.

If you expected a clean story arc fully guided by cause and effect, you are likely to walk out wondering what you just watched. However, it just might be one of those things, an instance where it is not much of a story you walk through but a storm you live through.

With the sheer number of questions that come in after watching, we might nod in confusion after watching this thing once through. Still, it causes us to ponder odd little questions like “What the hell is Haruko Haruhara really after here?” or “What does Medical Mechanica even try to do?” or “What the hell is Atomsk?”

Sure, many of these questions are answerable once you really dig into the show itself, watch it a couple of times, or delve into fan theories and supplementary material. But even in those cases, the show will not always be clear about things. Much is left vague on purpose or open-ended, which can be frustrating or intriguing at the same time.

That is the point of this ambiguity. FLCL does not do it slowly. It throws you into this wide cascade of randomness, sci-fi, and coming-of-age angst and expects you to ride the wave. So even if you figure out what Atomsk is or what Medical Mechanica wants, the show retains some mystery such that you might even question whether that knowledge is worth the effort.

It is the subtext. Here, it gets exciting. The subtext can all be things not said aloud but still sneak in between the lines. The hidden meaning, emotional undercurrents, little hints dropping into the void hinting something deeper is going on under the surface, and when you start noticing these patterns, say a character avoids eye contact, or specific colors pop up at key moments. You have started to understand the larger context.

From that context, oracles of the main themes expressed in the story emerge: identity, power, loneliness, growth, or whatever else this story is wrestling with. So even the clearest shows will cast some sort of broad shadow, and it is under this shadow that you can discover the truth of the form’s subtext and its patterns.

However, the most time-consuming elements are character stories, personal journeys, conflicts, and relationships that tie everything together.

As outlined within the premise of the series, some rather strange and fascinating elements come into play here. Firstly, there is this organization called Medical Mechanica, which, while weird, has something grander behind the scenes. Then you have the “N.O.” portals sending that eerie sense of inner conflict and confusion through Naota’s head and other characters’ heads.

In addition, Atomsk is another one we know so little about. The Bureau of Interstellar Immigration is such a great-sounding sci-fi name that it appears to have the capacity to leverage its plot. However, it ties in nicely with the overarching themes about identity and otherworldly forces that see fit to tinker with the lives of our characters. These aspects knit into the narrative, making it extremely complex and deep but leaving you with many more questions to answer while you try to assemble things.

FLCL is thought of as a show about puberty and the whole shebang concerning growing up, and it nails that excitement completely. Fast-paced, volatile, melodramatic, everything that seems to capture the adolescent experience. Everything is changing, but you cannot quite pin it down. Naota’s crush on Haruko perfectly exemplifies the awkward and confused “I think I am attracted, but really, I do not know” phase.

The other element of confusion is that Naota has no strong role models nearby. He has no one but himself to lean on, which is what growing up means generally: sitting on the edge, wanting to be a kid, knowing you have to grow up, and having no idea how.

Naota revealed his learnings in the second episode, where delving into the matter involves a large portion of nearly all that constitutes a teenager’s strife: finding or deciding what is real and what is not in this, in his case, the adult-dominated world of lies. A young man fighting, for example, to grasp the uncertainties between the real and the fakes all around him, set against the adults, the younger adult who believes dumb things because he sees adults just as immature as himself.

They are all fumbling through life like him, but he is trying hard to escape that and be an adult.

Naota has long been growing up far from being a kid, raising his urgency for the “grown up” part without realizing that he has things to enjoy. That weird adventure, probably the universe or whatever force is behind all this, is trying to teach him and us that it is okay to let go a little and embrace the weirdness, messiness, and even the lies of being young because that is part of it, too. It is learning to enjoy the ride before it is over.

Those plot points, which hold no relevance whatsoever, present a purpose only in the capacity of what they represent, not in terms of the characters themselves. They have nothing to do with what is currently going on in the narrative or what the characters need to understand regarding the plot. They function on a much more metaphorical level, serving the wider themes of the story.

Take Medical Mechanica: they do not do anything in particular. They’re just this vague, looming force representing some sort of unknown, antagonistic power. It’s that idea of something bigger than the characters that they are against, even if all the details are left vague regarding just what that power is.

Likewise, Atomsk follows a parallel reasoning. It is not about who or what Atomsk is but rather what he represents: an elusive, near-mythical wellspring of power that drives the conflict but does not need to be fully explained to hold weight within the story. Both these aspects stand for something much greater than the characters, creating a background full of tension and mystery that promotes the themes of growth, power, and the unknown, albeit with the specifics left somewhat open-ended.

However, in time, every six-episode has to deal with some aspect of the characters and the storytelling, however strange and convoluted that storyline might be. Look at the first episode; it does not explain a damn thing. It does not even tell you that you even throw into chaos.

Then, it builds up to something emotionally climactic. Mamimi Samejima freaks out when she discovers that Naota’s brother has gotten himself a girlfriend in America. It is huge for her, but the series does not exactly spell it out; you must get it alone.

In the second episode, we learn about Mamimi’s past and what made her the way she is, which helps explain a small quantity of her weirdness. The third episode is wholly centered on Ninamori Eri and her battles and point of view, making room for other characters’ plights while strolling down the road of the plot. The series cares more about letting you unravel these characters than telling you a straight-up story.

An old proverb says, “It is not the story that makes a story; it is the telling.” That is true for FLCL. The anime is not about clear-cut plotting or following any of the regular rules of storytelling but works more emotionally and pulls you in through the music and visuals. Boy, have these elements been praised up and down for years! People rave about how it looks and feels and how the soundtrack adds much more to the experience.

But here’s the thing: It looks and feels great, so what? It is good, then, only if it has a great showing and feels so much that it is worth listening to the great story. Eye candy is great, but does the story hold its long leg? Does it haunt you afterward? That is a question worth asking.

Yet, it is an anime, and everything functions as it would in animated images. And man, that is a whole different ball game. It is a manga adaptation, so you can compare it with the original, but such an argument is moot.

The anime is a thing in itself, and in that sense, the thing called it is an extraordinarily well-made thing with all the animation, music, and emotional reactions cranked up to a whole other level. It is not about the story but how it comes across in anime.

You feel it spring to life by voice acting, music, sound effects, animation, direction, and screenwriting. It is all about what makes it not just happening in the plot training: how it all works together to pull you in. If a story can capture the viewer’s interest while simultaneously geemotionally engaging them in any given scene, it has succeeded in its goal.

That is what makes FLCL so special really. It’s not just a decent story—an amazing one—but that’s all. The way that all the animation flows, the soundtrack hits, and the voice actors bring everything into it makes it one of the most impressive works of anime. They have given meaning to every storytelling element and increased its standards, making things complete rather than just a plot.

Tsurumaki and the animators from Gainax have gone for it in six episodes. It was like they threw everything at the wall: creativity, passion, pain, and humor, and somehow, all of it stuck in the best way. Going back to production notes, you can immediately understand that almost every weird, wild, or beautiful moment in the show was either driven by some random personal story one of the creators had or was just done because they felt it would be cool.

Many of the design-wise choices and unconventional gags were put in because someone felt strongly about them. Usually, Tsurumaki himself, and that was the logic: “I think this is awesome, so let us do it. ” The weirder part is that level of unfiltered enthusiasm is the very energy that defines the series. It just goes for it, and that raw, chaotic creativity becomes part of the magic.

Then, the ridiculous action in FLCL makes your jaw drop. Nobody else was doing this at that time, and honestly, barely anyone has caught up since. You would see these insane 360-degree rotating shots that 3D hybridized with 2D animation in a very slick, raw, and pretty cool way for most fully 3D anime, even a year later. It is like they cracked some secret formula and decided to go nuts.

Suppose that was scratching the surface. This show is full of tiny little visual oddities, unexpected shifts in art style, and sight gags that spring material from nowhere, and FLCL thus comes away with this hyper-unique flavor. It looks good, yet it just does not feel good different. It has that specific energy that cannot be explained by electricity. One thing about it is that it does not follow the rules, and precisely for this reason, it stands out.

All that is merely scratching the surface. FLCL is so densely packed with bursts of strangeness and beauty; blink, and you will miss moments with small background jokes, animation that seems completely askew, and zany style changes. Suddenly, the characters look like they belong in a completely different show. One minute, you are watching, and boom, a manga panel sequence or South Park parody, and it still fits. It seems chaotic but never disorganized. The show is rebirthing itself every few minutes for the hell of it.

There it is; the electric vibe is entirely original to FLCL. This thing has a pulse, a rhythm; it is alive beneath. Sometimes, you cannot understand why, but it works. A big reason is that it does not follow through the conventional storytelling. It just throws the whole structure out the window. That loud, rule-breaking spirit is the number one reason why it lingers well after the credits have rolled.

That entire conversation captures the feeling of being hard-pressed to explain precisely what FLCL is. It is a film that’s all over the place yet beautifully crafted. Simple and oddly convoluted, heavy with emotion, and just downright funny. It is incredibly personal yet fully chaotic, and depending on who you are, what you have been through, or even what the mood is when the watching commences, it strikes a thousand different notes. That is why whenever people ask what it is “about.”

If you have not experienced it yet, here is a hint: It is not the kind of show that’s just watched once. You gaze confusedly at it; months or years later, it just clicks for you. Essentially, everyone says, “This is my story,” assigning their unique definition to what “Fooly Cooly” really is. It does not matter if you have the correct answer; it matters how the show feels and what stays with you long after the canvas has been cleared.

References

  • 7mononoke. (2021). FLCL Notes and Analysis (Part 1 of 3). Anime Rants.
  • 7mononoke. (2021). FLCL Notes and Analysis (Part 3 of 3). Anime Rants.
  • Atkinson, R. (2023). FLCL — A Generational Masterpiece Sequels Will Never Surpass. CBR.
  • Beveridge, C. (2010). FLCL Lands at FUNimation. Mania.com.
  • Egan, T. (2025). FLCL Reanimated Is the Ultimate Fan Tribute to a Millennial Anime Classic. Polygon.
  • Kakihara, T. (2017). ‘I Like You’: Desire for the Alien Other in FLCL. The Electronic Journal of Contemporary Japanese Studies, 17(2).
  • Russell, M. (2017). The Symbolism of FLCL: 1×01 “Fooly Cooly”. AP2HYC.
  • Vulture. (2023). What FLCL: Grunge and Shoegaze Mean for the Anime’s Future.