Around this time last year, Netflix announced that it would be home to the next project from Studio Orange (Trigun Stampede, BEASTARS) and Qubic Pictures (Eden), Leviathan—an anime adaptation of the alternate history World War I novel trilogy written by Scott Westerfeld and illustrated by Keith Thompson. Being unfamiliar with the books at the time, I wasn't exactly sure what to make of the series from first glance. However, I knew that I was game to watch anything Studio Orange was attached to.

Flash-forward to about a week ago, and I'm holding back tears as a rousing theme by Joe Hisashi plays over the series' opening credits. It was at that very moment, I knew I was in for something special. I can wholeheartedly say that Leviathan is the kind of story we need right now—a tale of people from all walks of life realizing that they have more in common with each other than their nation's leaders would like them to believe.

Yes, with the presence of walking tanks and flying whales, it's clear that Leviathan dabbles in the fantastical, but the series never once shies away from the grim realities of the history it has built its narrative from. The series is a war story through and through. That fact is made transparent from jump, when the viewer is introduced to Alek as he is roused from his sleep in the dead of night. His family's loyal servants, the lovable mechanic Klopp and the stoic Count Volger, quickly toss their prince behind the controls of a massive bipedal tank known as a Stormwalker. The duo initially tell Alek that they're just going on a simple training exercise, but as the walker strays further and further away from the castle, he comes to learn the truth of this excursion—his parents have been assassinated and he's now on the run from the German military. Over in Britain, a young girl runs out the doors just as she's made the finishing touches on her trouser role persona, “Dylan” Sharp. As she rolls up to the enlistment center, Sharp is terrified yet thrilled about her chances of getting into the military. While she does want to serve her Queen and country, Sharp actually yearns to fly through the sky as an airman aboard the Leviathan—a flying whale that serves as the crown jewel of the British military. But if the would-be airman wants aboard the beastie, she needs to show the brass that she knows a thing or two about the magnificent floating Jellyfish used in scouting operations.

It's in this moment that the magic of Leviathan first shows itself in full force, capturing Sharp's joy and exhilaration as she ascends to skies on this jiggly beastie. It is almost as if she's taking to the sky on a living hot air balloon, dangling from it as if she were wearing a parachute. But that brief moment of bliss evaporates as a storm ends up sending Sharp to the Leviathan way faster than she ever expected. Not long after, a German attack sends the flying whale careening into the Swiss alps—just where Alek happens to be hiding. It's within this frigid tundra that the prince and pauper encounter each other for the first time, intertwining their fates forever.

Leviathan's story is nothing short of a triumph. Director Christophe Ferrreira and screenwriter Yūichirō Kido adapt Westerfeld's original trilogy into a singularly smooth and cohesive experience that goes straight for the heart. Certain plot elements and characters from original novels are lost in adaptation, but those choices strengthen the series' core themes, allowing it to strongly stand on its own merits without the need for supplementary material. In my time with the series, I'd say it's best enjoyed at a leisurely pace. Which is easy to do given the defined breaks between arcs every four episodes or so.

But in telling their own version of Westerfeld's story, I noticed that the series' creatives seemingly took cues from some of anime's greatest war stories in order to strengthen its own. Specifically, Leviathan's plot beats reminded me quite a bit of the original Mobile Suit Gundam television series. Both works follow a cobbled together crew made up of civilians, soldiers, and even supposed enemies who do their best to scrape by amid an intense conflict. A scene from early on in the series in which Volger tries to slap some sense into Alek was oddly reminiscent of a famous scene from the real robot classic.

Like that beloved series, Leviathan is keen on showing how brash, seemingly random actions can intensify conflicts for the worse—an element I first came to fully comprehend in Turn A Gundam. Though some comparisons could be drawn between the alternate 1910s world settings of Turn A and Leviathan, I believe the former's influence can be felt in the latter's depiction of Sharp. Like Turn A protagonist Loran Cehack, Sharp is portrayed as a person of color with a fluid relationship with her identity—a relationship that is only strengthened as the series barrels into its finale.

On the topic of influences, Joe Hisaishi's moving contributions to Nobuko Toda and Kazuma Jinnouchi's wonderful soundtrack are likely to make viewers think of Studio Ghibli greats like Howl's Moving Castle and Castle in the Sky. However, I'd say the series has a greater sense of kinship with World Masterpiece Theater—a line of anime productions that saw future anime luminaries like Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata cut their teeth on adaptations of Western literature such as Anne of Green Gables. Given that Leviathan is an adaptation of a Western novel series itself, I couldn't help but see the parallels.

I don't invoke the name of Gundam or World Masterpiece Theater lightly, rather, it's the fact that Leviathan stands up on its own in conversation with the greats that came before it. These anime-specific elements also flow back into the novels, giving readers some new food for thought when looking at the textual dialogue between this series and Westerfeld's novels. For me, the conversations works have between each other, without feeling like a simple reference, only serve to enhance those works. After all, nothing is created in a vacuum.

On the technical end, Leviathan is brilliantly constructed—building off the momentum built up by Studio Orange on Trigun Stampede. While briefly speaking with producers Kiyotaka Waki and Yoshihiro Watanabe at Otakon last year, I got the impression that Leviathan wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for the lessons they learned while working on Stampede. Especially when one starts comparing Trigun's hulking sandworms to the massive fabricated beasts of Leviathan. With the studio working in lockstep with Qubic Pictures, the final product is filled with stunning vistas, stellar character animation, and plenty of dynamic action.

Despite those achievements, there are still a few visual hiccups here and there. For instance early on, I noticed that the models are seemingly lip synced to the original Japanese audio track. That creates a few discrepancies when the English audio is applied, however that was a factor I quickly forgot about as I became more invested in the series. It was the same case in the occasional bit of flat-looking fabrics, like with Alek's jacket just before his first encounter with Sharp...and again, it became a nonissue for me over time. If the story is this good, I can overlook a little wonkiness here and there.

Finally, the English dub produced by the VSI Group is fantastic. Featuring a cast of predominantly unknown actors to my ears, the dub impresses with an array of varied accents and strong performances. There might be the occasional stiff line read here or there, but it's a flaw I can overlook given how vibrant and warm the performances are in general. Broghanne Jessamine's turn as Sharp stood out to me in particular, as she deftly balances the character's struggle to maintain her cover in a world hostile to women with her own brash Scottish pride. I'd also like to highlight Michelle Lukes's performance as Dr. Nora Barlow, an esteemed scientist who builds a kinship with Sharp over those same hurdles—ones she's managed to leap over with razor-sharp wit and intelligence.

Looking at today's fraught political and social landscape, it's refreshing to see a series that's keen on showing the ways people are united rather than divided. At the same time, Leviathan is unflinching in its sobering portrayal of the horrors of war and the circumstances those tragedies are birthed from. Especially when one considers that this is still a World War I story, regardless of the beasties and robots running around. There's not a doubt in my mind that Leviathan is not only one of the best series of the 2020s so far, but the best war story I've seen in years. If there's one anime that speaks so poignantly to the geopolitical moment we're currently in while looking back to the past, it's Leviathan.