None of us is ever as put together as we seem. For that matter, few people are precisely who we perceive them to be, and these hard truths are at the core of the Senpai is an Otokonoko film, Sunshine After the Rain. Arguably, those have always been themes of the series, particularly as regards two of the three leads, Makoto and Saki. Makoto, although he identifies as male, prefers feminine clothing and comportment. Saki's issues are a little less obvious, but as the TV series (and manga) went on, it became clear that she struggles with knowing her own wants and expressing them. Instead, she puts on a perky, cheery face, something that is significantly challenged in this epilogue to the series.

Although both Makoto and Ryuji are present in the film, this really feels like Saki's story. Ryuji's role is primarily supportive, and although Makoto does have several very significant developments, he, too, takes a bit of a backseat to Saki. While I admit to having found Saki irritating earlier in the series, that's not really a risk here, because by this point it's clear that her usual behavior is something of a front. Not her feelings for Makoto, although she does have her doubts at the midway point of the film, but her actual self is called into question, and that's an excellent jumping off point for her character.

Saki's issues began to become apparent when her mother reentered her life, and that continues to be the inciting incident for this film. Since her reappearance in her daughter's life, Saki's mother has been almost pushy about wanting to rebuild a relationship with a young woman who has her own complicated feelings about the situation. In her mother's eyes, she's still the little girl she left behind, and part of who Saki is is someone who doesn't want to rock that boat. The anime does a very good job of showing this by having Saki's face only visible from the mouth down during many scenes with her mom, keeping her eyes in shadow. This allows viewers to understand that Saki is saying what she thinks she ought to, hiding her real emotions beneath a veneer of cheer, something her mother isn't canny enough to suss out.

Interestingly enough, her father is much more aware. That does make sense; she's living with his mother, after all, and he has been a bigger part of her life even if he lives abroad. And in some ways, he also is carrying around a version of Saki who no longer exists; his steadfast belief that she loves whales as much as he does derives from a younger daughter. But he does realize during her visit that she's her own person, not a carbon copy of himself or his ex-wife. More significantly, he doesn't ask her to come live with him until after he's had this epiphany, showing that it's the Saki now he's asking, not some phantom of the past.

Reconciling her emotions about her family situation is the major driver of Saki's arc in this film. She can't even bring herself to fully accept Makoto's change of heart until she's sorted herself out, and that's something I really appreciate. It's hard to love someone else if you can't truly love yourself, and while Saki and Makoto both still have a lot to do on that front, they're also both making progress. That Saki can turn the photo of her mother face-down after an upsetting event is significant, and her breakdowns, one with her grandmother and a lesser one with her friends, are steps towards her understanding that it's okay not to know what you want. Ultimately, Saki doesn't choose either parent; she chooses herself, and that's not something she would have been capable of twelve episodes ago.

It also leads to one of the best confession scenes I've seen in recent memory. Without spoiling too much, it's both a physical callback to her initial confession to Makoto and a triumph of two people deciding that they want to try. It's symbolic of how Makoto now has the quiet confidence to fight back against Fujii and not panic when he forgets to change out of his girl's uniform before going home. It's Saki realizing that what she felt was real. While I wouldn't say it was foreshadowed in her meeting with a whale in Hawaii, there's the same sense of peace in the face of something overwhelming, and that's beautiful.

Crunchyroll's decision to release this movie as four episodes varying in length from twenty-four minutes to eighteen minutes is a bit baffling. It feels as artificial as it is to break it up that way, and while I suppose it could make it easier for people to pause and come back to it, it goes against the intent of a film. That's my only real complaint here, although I wish Ryuji had gotten a bit more airtime; on the whole, this is a hopeful epilogue to the television show. It leaves us with a beautiful message:

Be who you are. Love who you want. And maybe it'll be sunny tomorrow.