A female detective picks a particular crayon and scribbles a couple of waves on her sketchbook. Her hand moves twice as fast as her racing mind, eyes glued to the person seated across the table. The interrogation room, all cold with no sunlight, is a pending cage for the killer across the table – a civilian, but perhaps not a law-abiding one – who fidgets impatiently as he addresses the detective with a crooked smile, “What are you drawing?”
Shinno Akari (Iitoyo Marie) is a detective with an unexplained ability to see colours in emotions. No, I don’t mean that metaphorically. I mean that quite literally. She is what people might consider as psychic, even though the drama itself never explicitly says so. With Plutchik’s colour wheel tucked inside her suitcase as a cheat sheet for the audience first and foremost, Shinno will tell you if she sees anxiety – and not fear – depending on the shade of green emanating from her suspect’s eyes. The sound of crayon strokes on clean paper is how she does her investigation, and the spectral waves we see on her sketchbook are, in simpler terms, her raw data. “Please don’t mind this and continue”, Shinno says calmly, half-ignoring the surprised and questioning looks from both her suspect and her partner. After all, why would anyone believe her seemingly psychic ability when evidence is what matters to sentence the guilty?
If your ears perked up at the synopsis above, that’s understandable. Octo: Kanjo Sosakan Shinno Akari does have an interesting premise after all. Scriptwriter Miura Hayato, who previously worked on 99.9 Criminal Lawyer, seems to know how to present a concept: on paper, the drama is a catch. The idea of a female detective with supernatural abilities that may or may not be rooted in pseudo-psychology is unique, especially when there aren’t many after the iconic Touma Saaya of Keizoku 2: SPEC twelve years ago. Unfortunately, and this is something I always hold dear, a good concept doesn’t have the end of the bargain unless the execution lives up to its endless potential.
To fully understand this, let’s divide the review into two sections, each dedicated to a different season.
A lacklustre, character-driven story in a string of gimmicky crime investigations
Before we begin dissecting the mystery Octo tries so hard to achieve through its predominantly cool-tone colour grading and muted ambience, we must talk about the characters and briefly touch on the flaws they come with.
The first season of Octo is split into two characters fated to be partners: the extremely introverted yet driven Shinno Akari (Iitoyo Marie) and the textbook detective and new transferee Kazehaya Ryo (Asaka Kodai). At first glance, they are reminders of almost every detective duo we’ve seen in past dramas but with less bickering and less tension between each other. However, as the story progresses, the initial dynamic between the duo feels more stoic and awkward than one with contempt or disapproval, even with Kazehaya’s occasional frown whenever Shinno is off to do her thing. There is a bit of a push vs pull situation at first, but it should be noted that development is the show’s kryptonite – something that gets noticeable as you continue watching, but more on this later. Now, I get that subtlety might have been the aim here, but the lack of action or conflict in their dynamic means the pot is constantly simmering on low heat but never boiling, which can be favourable or not enough depending on what you’re looking for.
One thing is sure: this lukewarm writing insists on telling the audience instead of showing. For instance, Shinno Akari is not a character – she is a concept, a personification of an unfinished plot device. Her pseudoscientific ability is perfected when other characters, such as her teammates, are dumbed down on purpose so she can shine. With no clarity surrounding any specific training in understanding the mind of a criminal, we (the audience) are forced to accept her capability through weak narration and brief flashbacks of Robert Plutchik’s Wheel of Emotions.
We can sit here all day throwing questions at Shinno’s ability, but the show ensures you that’s not where the focus is. No, we’re not meant to fixate on the credibility of her sketches or why she is written almost like a human polygraph machine who never misses – even though polygraph tests are no longer credible in real life, but I digress. Rather, we’re expected to focus on her personal dilemma: her sister, Shiori (Matsui Rena), has been catatonic for years after a tragedy struck their family. In a bizarre turn of events, her eyes no longer bear any colour to them, and Shinno can do nothing but hold her hand and hope for her emotions to return. However, in the meantime, this tragic circumstance is what motivates our protagonist to be an ‘emotional detective’.
On the other hand, Kazehaya’s character is slightly more fortunate. I say slightly because he eventually falls victim to the same sense of incompleteness as his partner – though that doesn’t happen until the sequel. In the first season, his arc is very much hinted at early on, though I can’t say it’s groundbreaking. Those familiar with many suspense-crime thrillers won’t have any issue picking up the conspiracy as it follows the cliche equation involving police cover-up and a past case. Not surprisingly, his arc is also meant to collide with Shinno’s to set the finale and the drama’s overall tone. Whether or not you like it, we can at least see the writer’s attempt at giving him character development.
Aside from that, as a design graduate, I can assure you that colour psychology is valid, so this isn’t where my complaint comes from. My issue lies with the show’s inability to blend one element with the rest to produce a neatly assembled bouquet. As a result, we get a mixture of inorganic spontaneity and choppy transitions, which is disappointing when you realise Shinno is part of a crime investigation team. Of course, one can argue that she is a highly introverted main character – her name is in the drama title, after all – but that shouldn’t have been why other characters are watered down to the point where they don’t seem to hold any credit other than the badges they’re expected to wear as part of the props.
Take Kumokawa Kohei (Yamanaka Takashi) for example; the show wants you to believe that Kumokawa is an important character. It makes sense that he is, though I can’t say I agree. The chief hasn’t done much other than trust Shinno since day one because, as I quote, he “believes in her ability.” Even though he’s around to observe his team and puts in a few commentaries about the case, it comes off as a convenient way for the writer to remind us that he is, in fact, still alive, rather than organically giving him character development to strengthen the bond between his character and the team. Looking back, having someone like Yamanaka Takashi in your show and choosing not to give him a much better, well-thought-out development is a wasted opportunity. Having him present only when the writer needs a good actor to deliver a secondary purpose feels almost like it’s their way of telling us the chief is not dead yet. And no, having Kumokawa and Kazehaya in the same frame sharing information (and more dialogue expositions!) is not the saving grace for his character. Simply put, the chief doesn’t feel like the chief until the writer wants him to be a misdirection to throw the audience off.
Three other characters written in an equally unproductive manner would be Hirayasu Mamoru (Funakoshi Eichiiro), Komoto Yuki (Usuda Asami) and Onodera Daigo (Katagiri Jin). Without spoiling too much, these three characters are not as impactful as I expected. They’re not the worst I’ve ever encountered – in the sense that they are still tolerable – but they’re too one-dimensional to be intimidating or memorable. The writer’s attempt to build suspense around the trio backfires as quickly as it bubbles, breaking the potential again. It’s difficult not to criticise these half-baked characters when good characterisation is partially the core foundation of an addictive mystery.
We know how poorly written characters can lead to unfinished shows, so at the risk of sounding harsh, I’m not surprised if some people drop this show faster than Shinno could use up an entire crayon. Nevertheless, I managed to persevere and sit through the entire first season for these run-off-the-mill characters – in part because I had no issue with the acting and I’ve come to enjoy the colour grading. Plus, it may come as a surprise, but the biggest problem with the first season isn’t necessarily its characters – it’s the mystery itself.
“The colours of emotions do not lie”, but this show does.
Generally, it’s normal for procedural crime investigations to start with a simpler (and perhaps even shorter) case for the first few episodes. We’ve seen this formula in Jdramas for a long time. Still, when the momentum stays the same throughout, it doesn’t take long before possibilities of boredom threaten the story – no matter how hard they try to mask it with visually appealing shots and engaging background music to evoke a suspenseful ambience in every interrogation scene. The stakes are not high in this series, though it pretends they are. The engine is muffled, and no pressure is suspended in the air as plot holes start popping up. There’s no use asking how a piece of information comes to the surface – it just does. The characters will tell you that much. These investigations are not done in a way that lures the audience to think with the characters. No, we’re not here to guess who the real killer is, nor are we here to decode why the killer even killed in the first place; instead, like the other officers, we are here to wait until Shinno runs off to do her infamous psychical investigation by herself – and by this I mean a dramatic montage of scattered drawings on the ground serenaded by instrumental music in the background, followed by a close-up shot of her eyes. Then, she’ll say her catchphrase, “I’ve seen it, [insert suspect name]’s true colour!” before the camera cuts to the next scene.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying this show has zero interesting cases or investigative processes. There are some enjoyable cases with easily relatable themes found in the real world, although it’s important to note that Octo never positions itself as a ‘life lesson’ series preaching about what defines a morally upstanding citizen. The themes brought up by these cases are also not dissected enough, even though Shinno often sounds like she’s about to close a case with her preachy advice. And the more you watch it, the more obvious the barrier gets; expecting Octo to venture into the deepest, darkest corner of a suspense-thriller is impossible, because the show never intended to go there. It wishes to look moody and cold, yet it doesn’t wish for its stories to be as brutal or blunt.
As for the investigative aspect, well, there are – if you count strolling around interviewing eyewitnesses and passersby without spending much time assembling and discussing them with the rest of the team as a full-fledged investigation – but they provide little to no coherence to the flow nor satisfaction for the audience. Why? That’s because the key here is Shinno’s supernatural ability, and without her, the mystery is unsolvable.
Halfway through the series, Octo has stopped trying to hide its generic approach. There’s no use waiting for a jaw-dropping mystery, as I know I won’t get one. Whether it’s the primary antagonist or the central conflict, everything is cut out from the same mystery template. Whatever potential the premise promised has been thrown out of the window alongside my – and quite possibly the audience’s – expectations. Finishing Octo no longer becomes a to-do list but a personal choice driven by my love for its cinematography and the cast.
After playing it safe with a decent finale, they are back for a second round.
Two years after the first season, a sequel was released in 2024. Knowing that Jdrama generally don’t get a sequel unless it’s a very beloved show, I decided to watch this in hopes that scriptwriter Miura might have fixed the flaws in his previous script. Boy, was I wrong. While the first season came out generic, it was still tolerable and arguably fun if I didn’t overthink. The second season, however, is an avalanche of random decisions and thinned-out characters.
The first episode starts with re-introducing our protagonist, Shinno Akari, who is no longer a novice. Having been called by Kazehaya to join his team, she is now the leading detective and interrogator with a new partner, Takizawa Miku (Kageyama Yuka). Together with new characters, Bando Shunnosuke (Hamano Kenta) and Imanishi Minato (Iwase Yoji), the new team follows the same formula of tackling a new case in each episode before confronting the one big case for the finale.
Except this time, scriptwriter Miura brings a new Thai character, Krit Wonrat (Great Sapol Assawamunkong), into the main storyline. In fact, this sequel hopes to build its primary mystery around him – his identity, motivation, and whether or not he is the big bad wolf. Like its prequel, Octo does not pull any special endeavours to reveal its modus operandi: Can he be trusted? Is he a good guy or a bad guy? And most importantly, why does he have the same ability as Shinno? – these questions are fished out of the audience since day one, hoping we continue to watch until the end.
Alas, the second season falters way faster than its predecessor. Shinno once again suffers from the writer’s refusal to turn her into an actual character because, ultimately, she is stuck as a concept with barely any improvement as a detective. There is no development in how she investigates things. Essentially, her new teammates are recycled caricatures of season one’s Kumokawa Kohei (Yamanaka Takashi) and Kitamura Satoko (Hibi Mikoto) – they are one-dimensionally written, have zero personality and are only there to fulfil a quota, so Kazehaya’s team feels like a team and not a Shinno Akari solo stage. Ironically, if the intention has always been to put Shinno front and centre, the second season kind of fails at it: she faces no character development. This is still the same Shinno Akari we met in the first season, except she has no trouble interviewing witnesses this time. Aside from that, she is forever reliant on her ability and nothing else. Take the inner Robert Plutchik out of her and she is left empty-handed because that is precisely what the writing tells us.
To add salt to injury, the sequel doesn’t seem to put any effort into its supporting characters. It’s a bummer because our team of detectives don’t really feel like a team. Aside from Shinno and Takizawa, the other detectives aren’t doing much for the audience to see – but hey, we might as well play make-believe that they’re running around investigating at the same time we pay attention to Shinno getting her hands smeared by wax pigments.
Another layer of critique is reserved for the characters expected to play a vital role in the final showdown. Straight up, Kageyama Yuka’s Takizawa isn’t an interesting character; she has no depth to begin with other than having a brother who messed with the wrong crowd and a pretty hot-headed personality bordering on self-righteousness. Additionally, her chemistry with Iitoyo Marie’s Shinno feels unprompted and forced, as it is unclear what dynamic they should convey. Takizawa is also her own boomerang, coming off as a nosy character, claiming that she and Shinno are supposed to be buddies despite their nonexistent chemistry. Evidently, their instantaneous partnership is not believable enough to get attached to, not when Takizawa is merely written as a Kazehaya replacement with no substance.
Speaking of Kazehaya, he is regrettably desaturated in this sequel. He no longer has his own arc, so he sits down with a coffee in one hand and perhaps, when the situation calls for it, a document in the other. Every now and then, he’d say a few lines about the case and even appear at the crime scene whenever the writer remembers he is, in fact, part of the main cast. For the most part, Chief Kazehaya is a bench player until the writer decides to use his character to conclude the mystery with a shallow twist that comes out of nowhere.
The same sentiment applies to Krit Wonrat. His character adds no thrill to the plot despite the show’s attempt to evoke suspicion in him, and here’s why: as a character who spends 99% of his scenes within the confines of prison walls surrounded by the gloomy air of the interrogation room, we don’t have much to rely on other than the way his character is portrayed. Frankly, we’ve seen a lot of characters with the same predicament, but even then, some of them are worth remembering. I find that this is because they are portrayed by actors who embrace their characters in a specific way to send chills down our spine, and that is something I sadly did not experience with Great Sapol Assawamunkong. I find his lack of diverse expressions other than the constant squinting towards the camera, his occasional side smile, and his effort to look sarcastic to be a repetitive performance. Even when the show tries to reel its audience through Krit’s backstory, these flashbacks are too loose to leave a mark.
Likewise, Octo’s second season brings us back to Shinno’s anchor, who is none other than her sister, Shiori (Matsui Rena). However, this time, she becomes the mystery itself. As a continuation, this is an interesting concept. Is it predictable? Sure. But credit should be given where it’s due, and I won’t deny its potential. It would have been interesting to see the Shinno sisters confront each other psychologically. For a moment, I thought scriptwriter Miura was finally up to something!
Well, not really. This is where the writing lost me completely.
At first, I found the butchery of the sequel’s mystery odd. Why build potential and possibilities if you won’t tie everything together smoothly? Then I realised this was possibly an all too familiar case of trying to outdo its previous season. Not only do the characters behave more passively – which makes no sense since the ‘primary problem’ this season is meant to be bigger than before – but the ambitious effort to dive into a darker psychological hemisphere is tanked by a foul ending and an unnecessary drama between Shinno and Kazehaya. Instead of a proper closure, Octo teases its audience that maybe, just maybe, the answer we see in the finale isn’t the truth.
The finale purposefully drills a gaping hole for a possible continuation, leaving those who’ve enjoyed both seasons with hopes for a season three. After all my criticisms, I’m quite iffy about this. Putting aside the fact that Jdrama sequels don’t get greenlit easily, Octo’s ambiguous ending leaves us starving for answers we probably won’t get anytime soon or ever. Plus, at the risk of sounding harsh, this is pretty much a “one and done” show with barely any memorable impact.
Ultimately, I think this is a series you should only try if you’re looking for a no-brainer ‘daytime’ mystery and don’t mind the gimmicky take that only prioritises the titular character. This could also be a decent watch if you’re a fan of Iitoyo Marie or Asaka Kodai, or both, as I think they did an alright job in portraying their respective characters. It’s a pity how restricted they are, given the source materials.
On the contrary, if you are looking for a loaded gun within the crime-thriller sphere, I highly recommend looking elsewhere. Do yourself a favour and watch Keizoku 2: SPEC or Cold Case if you haven’t.
Personally, I don’t think I’ll revisit Octo after this. I might rewatch the first season to enjoy the cinematography again someday, but it’s not a consideration for the second season. As much as I like Iitoyo Marie as a detective – and surprisingly, Asaka? – I would rather have her portray a brilliantly written character who can shine without the butchery of other characters.
Director: Hayashi Masataka, Matsunaga Yoichi, Nakakuki Tsuyoshi
Scriptwriter: Miura Hayato
Release Date:
Season 1: Jul-Sep 2022;
Season 2: Oct-Dec 2024
Genre: Mystery, Supernatural
The cast includes, but isn’t limited to:
Iitoyo Marie, Asaka Kodai, Funakoshi Eiichiro, Yamanaka Takashi, Nishida Kouki, Hibi Mikoto, Katagiri Jin, and more.
