Keigo Katsuragi / Yugo Katsuragi
Taisuke Fujigaya
Keigo Katsuragi / Yugo Katsuragi
Mirror Twins
8.2
2019
2 Seasons • 12 Episodes
Overview
Keigo and Yugo play together in a park near their home. Their face look exactly the same, but they are called “Mirror Twins” because Keigo is a right-hander, whilst Yugo is a left-hander, and they have different personalities. At sunset, Keigo offers Yugo to come home together, but Yugo says “No.” Yugo doesn’t want to go home as he feels uncomfortable there, as he is always compared to Keigo who’s a good example to everyone. Finally, Keigo leaves Yugo at the park, and this is the last time for Yugo to see him. Soon after, Yugo is kidnapped and his family is demanded a ransom. Unfortunately, the kidnappers rob the ransom and disappear without releasing Yugo. Keigo feels a deep sense of remorse for what he did at the park. 20 years later, Keigo works hard as a detective to make up for his mistake, until an incident comes up suddenly. It starts from a live TV show, which sets out to search for missing people. Eiichi and Harue ask the viewers for information about Yugo, however, right after that, Eiichi dies in an accident. Meanwhile, Tajima, who gives himself up to the show with information about Yugo is assaulted by someone and goes into a coma, and Keigo is eventually appointed to be in charge of these cases. When Tajima recovers consciousness, he finds Keigo and shouts “He is the one who assaulted me!” At the same time, Keigo’s gene information is found at the scene of the incident…This makes Keigo to feel certain that Yugo is still alive and begins his revenge.
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Cast
Satomi Shiraishi
Kana Kurashina
Satomi Shiraishi
Kosaku Minagawa
Katsunori Takahashi
Kosaku Minagawa
Naotaro Kobayakawa
Ikko Furuya
Naotaro Kobayakawa
Genichiro Kuno
Ken Ishiguro
Genichiro Kuno
Naoshi Kobayakawa
Shunsuke Nakamura
Naoshi Kobayakawa
Maiko Kobayakawa
Reika Kirishima
Maiko Kobayakawa
Katsuhiko Akagi
Dai Watanabe
Katsuhiko Akagi
Eiichi Katsuragi
Kenta Satoi
Eiichi Katsuragi
Gen Jinnai
Kazuki Iio
Gen Jinnai
Tetsunosuke Sakuraba
Yusuke Hirayama
Tetsunosuke Sakuraba
Kotono Yuma
Yoshiko Miyazaki
Kotono Yuma
Reviews
✦ AI-generated review
The Heavy Metal Malady
At some point around the second hour of *Transformers: Age of Extinction*, it hits you that the movie has no intention of easing up. Not narratively—physically. The sheer force of its motion feels detached from anything as modest as plot. Michael Bay swaps Shia LaBeouf's jittery teen panic for Mark Wahlberg's permanently furrowed, broad-shouldered bewilderment and sends the franchise lurching into a new phase. Wahlberg plays Cade Yeager, a Texas inventor working out of a dusty barn, supposedly broke despite looking like he bench-presses tractors for cardio. Cade is trying to save his house from foreclosure and police his teenage daughter Tessa's love life, which is a very small domestic concern for a film that later throws robotic dinosaurs and the potential annihilation of the human race into the blender. I'm still not sure the franchise gets older here so much as worn down.
Bay is always a funny case. *The New York Times'* A.O. Scott once suggested that his blockbusters, while looking like corporate products, are actually deeply personal expressions of the director's will. Watching this one, I believe it. Every frame glistens with that overripe golden-hour sweat. The camera practically never sits still; it circles, swoops, crawls in the dirt, and looks upward like humanity is forever seconds away from being stepped on. Sometimes I wonder whether Bay likes human beings at all, given how often he frames them as shrieking debris beneath giant digital titans. Here the Autobots are fugitives, hunted by a black-ops unit led by Kelsey Grammer, and the movie turns that setup into a wall of paranoia and metal-on-metal noise. Overwhelm is the aesthetic.
The early discovery of Optimus Prime is the one stretch where the movie briefly feels tactile in a thrilling way. Cade finds this battered, rusted semi-truck in an abandoned theater, hooks it to a car battery, and wakes something ancient and angry. Bay doesn't stage the reveal like triumphant fan service. It's closer to a panic attack. The truck shudders, plates slam into place, gears screech across the ground, and the whole transformation sounds like a pileup rewinding itself. Prime comes back frightened and violent, swinging at Cade before he understands where he is. For a minute or two, these machines have weight again—grease, danger, consequence. Then the movie eventually abandons that texture for a third act where metal just keeps colliding with the Hong Kong skyline until numbness sets in.
If anyone throws a rope across this sea of clamor, it's Stanley Tucci. Playing Joshua Joyce, a Steve Jobs-esque tech billionaire who has figured out how to manufacture his own Transformers, he understands the absurdity of the movie down to his bones. After bringing a quiet, colorful dignity to his flamboyant role in *The Hunger Games*, he goes full frazzled opportunist here. Watch how his posture decays. He starts off loose, smug, and strolling like a man who thinks he owns tomorrow. By the climax his shoulders are jammed up near his ears, his voice is splintering, and he's sprinting through chaos clutching a world-ending metallic seed like a running back protecting the ball. Tucci finds comedy in exhaustion, which is more or less the only sane response. *Age of Extinction* runs close to three hours and treats excess like a moral good. I never looked away, exactly. But when it ended, it felt less like I'd watched a movie than survived one. Whether you see that as praise probably depends on how much apocalypse you can metabolize.
At some point around the second hour of *Transformers: Age of Extinction*, it hits you that the movie has no intention of easing up. Not narratively—physically. The sheer force of its motion feels detached from anything as modest as plot. Michael Bay swaps Shia LaBeouf's jittery teen panic for Mark Wahlberg's permanently furrowed, broad-shouldered bewilderment and sends the franchise lurching into a new phase. Wahlberg plays Cade Yeager, a Texas inventor working out of a dusty barn, supposedly broke despite looking like he bench-presses tractors for cardio. Cade is trying to save his house from foreclosure and police his teenage daughter Tessa's love life, which is a very small domestic concern for a film that later throws robotic dinosaurs and the potential annihilation of the human race into the blender. I'm still not sure the franchise gets older here so much as worn down.
Bay is always a funny case. *The New York Times'* A.O. Scott once suggested that his blockbusters, while looking like corporate products, are actually deeply personal expressions of the director's will. Watching this one, I believe it. Every frame glistens with that overripe golden-hour sweat. The camera practically never sits still; it circles, swoops, crawls in the dirt, and looks upward like humanity is forever seconds away from being stepped on. Sometimes I wonder whether Bay likes human beings at all, given how often he frames them as shrieking debris beneath giant digital titans. Here the Autobots are fugitives, hunted by a black-ops unit led by Kelsey Grammer, and the movie turns that setup into a wall of paranoia and metal-on-metal noise. Overwhelm is the aesthetic.
The early discovery of Optimus Prime is the one stretch where the movie briefly feels tactile in a thrilling way. Cade finds this battered, rusted semi-truck in an abandoned theater, hooks it to a car battery, and wakes something ancient and angry. Bay doesn't stage the reveal like triumphant fan service. It's closer to a panic attack. The truck shudders, plates slam into place, gears screech across the ground, and the whole transformation sounds like a pileup rewinding itself. Prime comes back frightened and violent, swinging at Cade before he understands where he is. For a minute or two, these machines have weight again—grease, danger, consequence. Then the movie eventually abandons that texture for a third act where metal just keeps colliding with the Hong Kong skyline until numbness sets in.
If anyone throws a rope across this sea of clamor, it's Stanley Tucci. Playing Joshua Joyce, a Steve Jobs-esque tech billionaire who has figured out how to manufacture his own Transformers, he understands the absurdity of the movie down to his bones. After bringing a quiet, colorful dignity to his flamboyant role in *The Hunger Games*, he goes full frazzled opportunist here. Watch how his posture decays. He starts off loose, smug, and strolling like a man who thinks he owns tomorrow. By the climax his shoulders are jammed up near his ears, his voice is splintering, and he's sprinting through chaos clutching a world-ending metallic seed like a running back protecting the ball. Tucci finds comedy in exhaustion, which is more or less the only sane response. *Age of Extinction* runs close to three hours and treats excess like a moral good. I never looked away, exactly. But when it ended, it felt less like I'd watched a movie than survived one. Whether you see that as praise probably depends on how much apocalypse you can metabolize.