Made in Abyss’s Verticality Isn’t Geography. It’s Psychological Decay.

In 2017, a viewer sat down to watch Made in Abyss for the first time, expecting a standard adventure series about a girl and her robot dog exploring a massive, mysterious hole in the ground. They expected a plot about treasure, or perhaps a battle against monsters. Instead, within the first three episodes, the show did something structurally unprecedented for the genre: it made the environment the primary antagonist, and it weaponized the very act of watching against the audience. The deeper the characters fell, the more the animation style, sound design, and pacing shifted to reflect their psychological disintegration. The verticality of the Abyss wasn’t a map. It was a descent into madness, and the show forced the audience to experience that decay frame by frame.

Made in Abyss, adapted from Akihito Tsukushi’s manga by studio Kinema Citrus, operates on a brutal premise. The Abyss is a colossal, perfectly geometric chasm stretching kilometers into the Earth’s crust, its walls lined with ruins of a lost civilization and its depths populated by creatures that defy biological logic. But the true horror isn’t the monsters. It’s the Curse of the Abyss. Every step downward exacts a physical toll: nausea, bleeding eyes, hallucinations, and eventually, death. The deeper you go, the less human you remain. This is not a fantasy about strength. It is a structural argument about the cost of curiosity, and why the verticality of the setting is the single most important storytelling device in modern anime.

The Curse as Narrative Engine

Most adventure anime use geography as a backdrop. The hero travels from point A to point B, fighting what stands in the way. In Made in Abyss, the geography is the obstacle, the reward, and the punishment all at once. The Curse of the Abyss functions as a hard limit on the narrative. It prevents the story from becoming a power fantasy. No amount of training, no amount of willpower, can stop the Curse from tearing the body apart as altitude drops. This forces the characters to rely on ingenuity, sacrifice, and sheer, stubborn refusal to turn back.

Riko, the twelve-year-old protagonist, and Reg, a mysterious robot boy she rescues, are not chosen heroes. They are children driven by obsession. Riko’s goal is not to save the world; it is to find her mother, a legendary explorer who vanished into the lower depths. This is a deeply personal, almost selfish motivation. It mirrors the audience’s own desire to see what happens next. The show uses this parallel to implicate the viewer. We watch Riko suffer, and we keep watching. The verticality of the Abyss is the physical manifestation of that compulsion. Every layer down costs more. Every layer down, the story gets darker, more disturbing, and more psychologically complex.

The Curse is not arbitrary. It is a biological law of the world, established early and adhered to with terrifying consistency. This consistency is what makes the psychological decay so effective. When a character’s eyes bleed, when their skin cracks, when they begin to hallucinate their dead loved ones, these are not temporary setbacks. They are permanent markers of their descent. The show tracks their psychological state through their physical condition. A character who has fallen deeper is not just weaker; they are fundamentally altered. Their memories fragment. Their morality shifts. Their sense of self erodes. The Abyss does not just kill you. It changes you before it kills you.

Animation as Psychological Decay

What sets Made in Abyss apart from other dark fantasy series is how Kinema Citrus translates this psychological decay into visual language. The animation style is not static. It evolves as the characters descend. In the upper layers, the art is bright, colorful, and relatively stable. The world is wondrous, filled with strange plants and friendly creatures. The animation reflects this innocence. As the characters reach the Second Layer, the colors begin to darken. The lighting becomes harsher, the shadows deeper. The music, composed by Kevin Penkin, shifts from whimsical melodies to dissonant, haunting scores that underscore the growing sense of dread.

By the time the characters reach the Third Layer, the animation itself begins to fracture. The art style shifts to match the psychological state of the characters. Lines become jagged. Colors become garish and unnatural. The animation occasionally breaks down into rough, sketchy strokes, mirroring the characters’ crumbling mental state. This is not a stylistic choice for the sake of style. It is a direct visual representation of the Curse’s effect. The deeper they go, the less the world makes sense, and the animation reflects that loss of coherence.

Kevin Penkin’s score is equally crucial. He uses leitmotifs to track the psychological state of the characters. Riko’s theme, initially bright and hopeful, becomes distorted and fragmented as she descends. Reg’s theme, a simple, mechanical melody, grows more complex and emotional as he begins to develop a soul. The music does not just accompany the action; it interprets it. It tells the audience how to feel about the characters’ suffering, and it forces us to confront the cost of their journey. The verticality of the Abyss is not just a physical space. It is a musical and visual landscape that maps the erosion of the human psyche.

The Ethics of Watching

Made in Abyss is not an easy show to watch. It depicts child suffering in graphic detail. It shows children dying, mutilating themselves, and losing their minds. It forces the audience to confront the ethics of voyeurism. Why do we watch? What gives us the right to observe this suffering from the safety of our homes? The show answers these questions by making the audience complicit. We are not passive observers. We are participants. Every episode we watch is another step down into the Abyss. Every moment of suffering we endure is a testament to our own curiosity.

This is a risky narrative strategy. It alienates viewers who cannot handle the emotional weight. It forces us to question our own motivations for watching. Is it for the adventure? The mystery? The character development? Or is it for the spectacle of suffering? The show does not provide easy answers. It simply holds up a mirror. It asks us to look at ourselves and decide if the cost is worth it. Every layer down is a choice. Every choice has a cost. And every cost is paid in blood.

The show’s treatment of this theme is what makes it a masterpiece of modern anime. It does not shy away from the darkness. It embraces it. It uses the darkness to explore the nature of curiosity, the cost of knowledge, and the price of ambition. It asks us to consider what we would sacrifice to see what lies at the bottom of the hole. And then it forces us to watch as the characters pay that price, frame by frame, layer by layer.

Why Verticality Maps to Character Arcs

Character development in most anime is linear. The hero grows stronger, learns new skills, and overcomes obstacles. In Made in Abyss, character development is vertical. It is tied directly to the depth of the Abyss. The deeper the character goes, the more they lose. Riko loses her innocence. Reg loses his mechanical detachment. Nanachi, a surviving bond, loses her trust in humanity. These are not setbacks. They are necessary steps in their psychological evolution. The Abyss forces them to confront their deepest fears, their darkest desires, and their truest selves.

The show uses this verticality to subvert traditional shonen tropes. In most adventure series, the hero’s strength is the solution. In Made in Abyss, strength is the problem. The stronger you are, the more the Curse affects you. The more you suffer, the more you change. The more you change, the less you resemble the person you were at the surface. This is a profound commentary on the nature of ambition. It suggests that the pursuit of knowledge, of truth, of power, comes at a cost that cannot be measured in gold or glory. It comes in pieces of the self.

The verticality of the Abyss is also a metaphor for the audience’s own journey. We start at the surface, innocent and curious. As we watch, we descend. We see things we never expected to see. We feel emotions we never expected to feel. We are changed by the experience. And when we finally reach the bottom, when the story is over, we are not the same person who started watching. We are deeper. We are darker. We are more aware of the cost of curiosity. And that is the true power of Made in Abyss.

When the Descent Stops Being a Choice

There is a point in every descent where turning back becomes impossible. Not because of physical barriers, but because of psychological commitment. The characters in Made in Abyss reach this point early. They have invested too much, suffered too much, and seen too much to simply walk away. The Abyss has claimed them. It has rewritten their identities. To return to the surface would be to admit that their journey was meaningless. To continue is to accept that they will never be the same.

This is the tragedy of the Abyss. It does not force you to stay. It simply makes leaving impossible. The Curse ensures that you cannot go back. The memories, the pain, the changes, they are all permanent. You are anchored to the depths. You are part of the Abyss now. And the Abyss is hungry. It wants more. It wants your mind, your soul, your very sense of self. It will take them, one layer at a time, until there is nothing left but the desire to keep going.

This is why Made in Abyss is not just a story about exploration. It is a story about the human condition. It asks us what we are willing to sacrifice to know what lies at the bottom of the hole. It forces us to confront the cost of curiosity, the price of ambition, and the nature of suffering. And then it leaves us with the answer: everything. Everything you are, everything you love, everything you believe. All of it, paid in blood, for the chance to see what lies in the dark.

Frequently Asked Questions

Is Made in Abyss appropriate for children?
No. The series depicts graphic violence, child suffering, and psychological horror. It is intended for mature audiences who can handle disturbing content. The themes are complex and often bleak.

What is the Curse of the Abyss?
The Curse is a biological phenomenon unique to the Abyss. It causes physical and psychological damage proportional to the depth traveled. Symptoms include nausea, bleeding, hallucinations, and eventual death. It prevents characters from returning to the surface without severe consequences.

Why is the animation style different in later episodes?
The animation style shifts to reflect the psychological state of the characters. As they descend deeper, the art becomes more distorted, the colors more garish, and the animation more erratic. This visual decay mirrors the erosion of their sanity.

Is the show just about suffering?No. It is about the cost of knowledge. The suffering is the price paid for curiosity. The show explores why people pursue dangerous truths, and what they are willing to lose in the process. It is a meditation on ambition, sacrifice, and the human desire to understand the unknown.