Everything about Claymore feels cold—the gray skies, the quiet villages, even the way the Claymores themselves move, half-human, half-monster, always carrying this quiet heaviness in their eyes. From the moment Clare walks into the story, I felt this weight on my chest, like I knew I was about to follow someone who had seen too much and lost too much, but still kept moving. And that’s what stayed with me—her resilience. Not the flashy kind, but the quiet, stubborn, “I’ll keep walking even if my legs are trembling” kind.
The speed at which I became attached was surprising to me. It would seem that an anime that deals with silver-eyed warriors hacking down grotesque monsters would make things cold and distant but Claymore somehow makes you feel deeply attached to its characters. One of the scenes is at the beginning of the movie when Clare comforts the boy Raki, who was his friend, and it moved me to the floor. It was about her not letting him get devoured by the monsters outside, it was about her not letting him get devoured by despair, having something to cling to. That hit me out, as on top of all the violence, the show continued to murmur about human connectivity and how even the most minimal connection can make you not sink.
However, there are fights--and God, there they are nasty. I could recall how I closed my fists, my heart thumping in my chest, when Clare had to fight against more powerful people than she was, and I realized that I was beaten, but I could not retreat. It is not only the blood and steel that makes such battles memorable, it is the way they are emotionally charged. All her swings of the sword, all her blood-shed are connected with grief, vengeance, or loyalty. Occasionally I needed to take a break not because the violence was too intense but because the feelings that made it were either too difficult to handle.
And the theme of identity there is. I was struck with that more than I had anticipated. It is this perpetual fear of losing themselves, crossing that thin line between being human and becoming the very creatures that they are fighting that makes the Claymores live with. I watched it in despair. It has made me wonder how weak our own lines are, how simple it is to lose yourself in anger, grief, or pain. There’s this gut-punch scene where a Claymore begins to awaken into a Yoma, and her comrades have to decide whether to save her or kill her. Watching that unfold left me staring at the screen, my throat tight, because it wasn’t just about monsters—it was about the terrifying possibility of losing yourself to what hurts you.
However, Claymore is not simply darkness. Strangely enough, there is warmth here and there. The relationship that Clare had with Raki, the few snatching looks of sisterhood with the other Claymores, even the tiniest of smiles felt like little lights flashing in that grayness. I believe that is what made the show stick with me. The story is not only another fight with monsters, it is also a story of struggle to keep to your humanity, to the things that connect you, your heart, even when all the things around the world are trying to take them away.
It was a weird feeling of awe and ache that I sat at when the anime stopped. It is not a clean-cut polished story. It is crude, disheveled, even hurried. But it left me with pictures and impressions I cannot get off, the determined look of Clare, the tragedy of men seeking to survive in a life they never wanted, what it actually means to remain human.
Watching Claymore was not like watching an anime but being with someone during a long and cold night, where their hand is closely gripping it. It was ghostly, it was poignant, and in a very silent manner, it had a great deal of beauty. That’s why it’s stayed with me.
Thumbnail is designed by me on pixelLab and other images are screenshot from the movie
