There are some TV shows that don’t look like much on the surface, or receive so much hype from some quarters you worry that there’s no way that the experience itself could live up to what the ardent fans make out. Berserk was one of those: the opening episode was all demons and blood-soaked violence, providing the most superficial of entertainment value; and yet some fellow fans and bloggers held it in very high regard indeed. After the full run of twenty-five episodes I can see with crystal clarity how a brutal, gar and somewhat dated-looking series can weave such a spell: the feeling creeps up on you, slips into your subconscious and before you know it there’s no way back.

I can’t recall any particular moment that made me sit up and say “That’s it!”, which I think is testament to its storytelling. The shift from trashy monster-slaying and slow-burning underdog adventure to in-depth character study, with no small amount of political intrigue along the way, was so smooth it was effortless. We see the cast of characters, who live in a pitiless and stoic world that doesn’t really lend itself to great outpourings of emotion, stripped bare to the viewer with their innermost desires, ambitions and fears as painfully clear as day. You gradually get attached to these mercenaries and thieves and can’t help but join them in their terrifying and unpredictable journey; that notoriously open ending aside I’d say this is a piece of animated fiction that is as close to perfection as you are likely to find.

The ending is abrupt and unsatisfying, but does actually make a strange sort of sense. It brings things back full circle so while there’s much lying outside that I was left desperate to learn (I can see the manga eating up little chunks of my free time for months to come), the central themes are actually addressed quite well. It’s like the split “Is this where… / …we came in?” vocal samples at the very beginning and end of The Wall: the whole thing doesn’t provide solutions to the central character’s problem but when looped they make an imperfect whole.

The journey is of course more important than the destination, which is the one thing that I have to remember in order to stop the ending ruining my experience of everything else. Apart from this one thing (which, in fairness, is a result of Unfinished Manga Syndrome) Berserk is utterly brilliant. Like Gungrave, it provides an eye-popping opening act then spends the rest of the series explaining it; a one-eyed man with a six foot sword and a bellyful of the bitter bile of vengeance demands a good background but Berserk delivers on that promise, and then some.

The medieval setting could have delivered dull and repetitive fights and bland characters but apart from the clunky animation the fighting was worth your attention because its significance was justified as part of the story. The characters were given a lot of examination too, which is ultimately sealed the deal for me. You get to know them, discover their backgrounds and what makes them tick; you are interested in where life will take them but thanks to the monologue relating to fate and free will at the beginning of every episode there’s this dark cloud hovering over everything. You know everything will go wrong, but you keep watching to find out how and why this happens. Many  stories promise much and deliver less but Berserk is the genuine article.

Rollercoaster rides have their ups and downs but what about one that is a lurching, unstoppable, breakneck-speed trip to hell? Those of you who have ridden Oblivion at Alton Towers should be familiar with this feeling: from a distance, you know what’ll happen but that wait, that slow build-up followed by the inexorable plummet into a cold, dark and terrifying abyss still shocks the living daylights out of you. The overall experience isn’t a surprise but the individual moments that make it up are unforgettable and exhilarating…this show is a lot like that.

It’s fair to ask “Why should I care when everything is pre-decided?” After all, the rise of the Band of the Hawk is going to end with an inevitable fall; you’ll get sentimentally attached to these people, investing empathy and energy into those who are likely to suffer horribly by the end. The thing is, you will care.

Maybe it’s the nuances of the dialogue, or the watertight plotting of the original manga that makes the events fit together like a genuine historical account, but it sucks you in. Or both. Perhaps the very fact that Guts is seeking a path in a world that offers few options, and the fact that the Hawks are caught in a web that ties their fates together so exquisitely are in themselves compelling. At a time when ‘trainwreck’ is the blogosphere buzzword, this is an example of how a disaster can play out in slow motion before your very eyes, and make everything else look trivial and clumsy in the process.