‘Moonrise’ Netflix Series Review - A Gritty Tale of Cosmic Conflict that Doesn’t Lose Its Soul

Moonrise is what happens when space doesn’t feel like the final frontier—it feels like a mirror. Directed by Masashi Koizuka and animated by the ever-ambitious WIT Studio, this Netflix original anime takes you to the Moon and back, but not to gaze at stars or discover new worlds. Instead, it unearths something far more familiar and uncomfortable: human conflict, disillusionment, and the sheer stubbornness of hope.

The story kicks off with Jack Shadow, your typical idealistic Earthling soldier who enlists to avenge his family’s death at the hands of lunar terrorists. Or so he believes. What begins as a straightforward military drama soon shifts gears as Jack lands on the Moon—an eerie, quiet place where silence speaks louder than propaganda. Here, he reconnects with Phil Ashe, his childhood friend, who has, in a cruel twist, become a key figure among the Moon’s rebel forces. What follows is less a classic war story and more a psychological journey wrapped in gunpowder and gravity boots.

Visually, Moonrise is stunning, but not in a flashy or overdone way. The Moon is rendered not as a playground for sci-fi fantasy, but as a ghost town of craters, steel outposts, and flickering screens that seem always on the edge of malfunction. Earth looks green and familiar in contrast, yet somehow colder. There’s a smart use of contrast here—not just in geography, but in ideology. The visuals lean into duality, showing a clear difference between how each side views justice, order, and survival.

Hiromu Arakawa’s character designs breathe life into this world. Jack’s wide, almost constantly furrowed eyes show us a man unraveling but still holding onto something real, while Phil’s stoic expressions make you wonder whether he’s saving the world or preparing to burn it down. There’s depth in every glance, and thankfully, the animation does it justice. No recycled frames, no lazy mouth flaps—just focused, intentional movement that respects your attention.

Where Moonrise excels is in the emotional detail it sneaks in through the dust and debris. Jack’s inner conflict isn’t just narrated—it’s shown through action, hesitation, and the physical weight of his choices. He begins the series with unwavering loyalty, and by the midpoint, he's questioning not just his mission, but his memories. Phil isn’t the villain Jack wants him to be. And that's the real heartbreak. Their friendship becomes the series' core, constantly pulled between affection and obligation, old loyalty and newfound truth.

Sound-wise, Moonrise doesn’t overplay its hand. The soundtrack walks a fine line—moody but not manipulative, stirring but not sentimental. There are no epic battle anthems here. Instead, there are slow builds, quiet ambient tension, and a few choice moments where silence punches harder than any orchestral swell.

But not all is moonlight and metaphors. The show does stumble. The pacing occasionally drags in the middle episodes, weighed down by scenes that exist only to explain things you probably already figured out. And while Jack and Phil are fully fleshed out, the rest of the cast can feel like props to their moral tug-of-war. An auspicious character, a lunar medic caught in the crossfire, is introduced with depth and then quietly forgotten. The show’s desire to keep its focus tight ends up making its world feel a little smaller than it actually is.

That said, Moonrise never pretends to be something it’s not. It’s not a thrill-a-minute space opera. It doesn’t drop twists every five seconds or rely on big battles to keep your attention. Its strength is quieter. It wants you to feel the loneliness of space, the moral fatigue of endless war, and the confusion of not knowing who the enemy really is. And it mostly pulls that off without being heavy-handed.

What makes the show stand out is its commitment to its tone. It's bleak, yes, but not without purpose. It critiques militarism, media spin, and blind obedience, but it never descends into nihilism. Even when things get dark, it leaves room for change. There’s always the question—what if we tried something else? What if we stopped fighting long enough to listen?

In the end, Moonrise is a quiet triumph. It’s not perfect. But it’s bold, emotionally intelligent, and unapologetically reflective. It gives you a war story where no one wins and no one walks away clean, but somehow, it doesn’t leave you hopeless. For a show set in the cold vacuum of space, it has a surprising amount of heart. If you’re willing to slow down and sit with it, Moonrise just might leave an impact that sticks longer than any laser blast or explosion.

Final Score- [8.5/10]
Reviewed by - Anjali Sharma
Follow @AnjaliS54769166 on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times