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If you were haunting the early internet message boards in the early 2000s, you remember the vibes. The music was grainy. The colors were pastel. And Fruits Basket 2001 episodes were basically the gold standard for emotional damage. It didn't matter if you were a hardcore shonen fan or someone who only watched Pokémon; Tohru Honda’s arrival at the Sohma house was an event. But looking back now, especially since the 2019 reboot exists, the original series feels like a strange, beautiful time capsule that didn't quite know where it was going.
It’s honestly weird.
The show only ran for 26 episodes. That's it. For a manga that eventually spanned 23 volumes of intense, generational trauma and supernatural drama, the 2001 adaptation by Studio Deen barely scratched the surface. It was like getting a three-course meal but the waiter takes your plate away after the first few bites of the appetizer. Yet, for an entire generation of Western fans, these specific episodes were the definitive version of Natsuki Takaya’s world for nearly two decades.
The Chaos of the First 26 Episodes
Let’s get real about the pacing. The Fruits Basket 2001 episodes covered roughly the first six to eight volumes of the manga, but they did it with a heavy dose of slapstick humor that hasn't always aged perfectly. Akitaro Daichi, the director, had a very specific vision. He wanted it to be a comedy first. If you watch episode one, "The Strangest Day," you see Tohru discovering the Sohma secret—that they turn into animals of the Chinese Zodiac when hugged by the opposite sex—and it's played for absolute laughs.
Kyo crashes through a roof. Yuki is the "Prince" who is too cool for school. Shigure is the creepy older cousin who probably shouldn't be left alone with teenagers.
But then, things shift. Suddenly you’re watching episode 24, "The Curse of the Cat," and the tone does a complete 180-degree flip. The slapstick dies. The saturated colors wash out. You're left with a rain-soaked, agonizing look at Kyo’s "true form." It was jarring back then, and it’s still jarring now. That’s the magic of the 2001 run; it felt unhinged in its emotional transitions.
Why the Ending Was So Controversial
Most people don't realize that the manga was nowhere near finished when the 2001 anime aired. Because of that, the writers had to scramble. They basically had to invent an ending that felt "final" even though the curse hadn't been broken and Akito was still a massive, looming threat.
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In the 2001 finale, Tohru confronts Kyo’s monstrous form in the woods. It’s iconic. The music—"Chiisana Inori" by Ritsuko Okazaki—is doing a lot of the heavy lifting. But the actual resolution? It’s basically "the power of friendship and acceptance." It ignores the deep-seated lore about the God of the Zodiac and the specific mechanics of how the curse functions. Takaya, the original creator, famously had disagreements with the production team. She wasn't a fan of how some characters were handled, particularly the emphasis on the "silly" aspects of the Sohmas.
It’s probably why we had to wait eighteen years for a remake.
The Episodes You Probably Forgot
Everyone remembers the big ones. Everyone remembers Momiji’s backstory in episode 14, "The Spirit of the Rabbit." If that episode didn't make you cry, you’re basically a robot. Hearing Momiji explain why his mother had her memories erased because she couldn't handle the "burden" of giving birth to a Zodiac child is peak tragedy.
But what about the "filler" or the slower moments?
- Episode 3: This is where we meet Uotani and Hanajima properly. The "white waves" and the "electric waves." It’s a masterclass in how to introduce side characters who actually matter.
- Episode 10: The Valentine’s Day episode. It’s sugary sweet but hides the underlying tension of Kyo’s inevitable confinement.
- Episode 19: The marathon episode. Honestly? Kinda skippable, but it shows the "high school life" aspect that the 2019 version hurried through.
The 2001 version took its time with the mundane. It let you sit in the house with Tohru while she cleaned and cooked. There was a domesticity to it that made the supernatural reveals feel more invasive.
The Voice Acting Legacy
You can't talk about these episodes without mentioning the English dub cast. For many, Laura Bailey is Tohru Honda. Her performance in 2001 was so foundational that she was brought back for the reboot. There’s a specific kind of earnestness in the 2001 voice acting that feels very "early Funimation." It’s theatrical. It’s a bit over the top. But when Jerry Jewell (Kyo) screams in frustration, you feel it in your bones.
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Comparing the 2001 Aesthetic to the Modern Era
If you put a frame from Fruits Basket 2001 episodes next to the 2019 version, it looks like two different shows. The 2001 art style has those classic "huge eyes" and pointed chins. The backgrounds are often watercolor washes. It looks like a shoujo manga come to life in the way only cel-shaded (or early digital) animation could.
The 2019 version is objectively "better" in terms of production value and faithfulness to the source material. It covers the whole story. It deals with the dark themes of abuse and trauma with more nuance. But the 2001 version has a soul that’s hard to replicate. It has an atmospheric melancholy. The soundtrack by Ritsuko Okazaki is haunting. "For Fruits Basket," the opening theme, is arguably one of the greatest anime openings of all time. It’s soft, sad, and hopeful all at once.
The Akito Problem
One of the biggest differences in the 2001 episodes is the character of Akito Sohma. In the original series, Akito is portrayed as a dying, sickly man. There’s no mention of the "Ren" storyline or the true nature of Akito’s gender, which is a massive plot point later in the manga. If you only ever watched the 2001 show, you’d think Akito was just a generic, cruel antagonist who was physically weak but mentally dominant.
The 2001 version basically turned Akito into a boogeyman in the shadows rather than the complex, victim-turned-victimizer we see in the full story.
Is It Still Worth Watching?
Honestly? Yes.
Even if you’ve seen the 2019 reboot, the 2001 run is a fascinating look at anime history. It shows how studios handled adaptations before "perfection" was the requirement. It’s a shorter, punchier experience. It’s 26 episodes of vibes.
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You get to see the "Prince Yuki" fan club in all their ridiculous glory. You get to see the weirdly 2000s-era fashion. You get to experience the story as it was first introduced to a global audience. It’s like listening to a demo tape of your favorite band; it’s rougher, sure, but the heart is there.
How to Revisit the Series Today
If you’re planning a rewatch or checking it out for the first time, don't go in expecting a complete narrative. Go in for the character studies.
- Watch it for the music. The score is genuinely superior to the remake in some specific emotional beats.
- Look for the differences. Pay attention to how Shigure is portrayed. He’s much more of a "fun uncle" figure in 2001, whereas the manga and reboot show his manipulative, darker side much earlier.
- Appreciate the humor. The 2001 version is legitimately funny. The comedic timing of the transformations is great.
The Fruits Basket 2001 episodes aren't the definitive version of the story, but they are the definitive version of a specific era of anime. They represent a time when we were all just figuring out how these stories could translate to the screen.
To get the most out of your experience, watch the 2001 series as a standalone "what if" scenario. Then, dive into the 2019 version for the actual resolution. It’s the only way to truly appreciate the growth of these characters. If you're looking to stream it, check the major platforms like Crunchyroll or Funimation, as they usually keep the legacy version available for the purists. Just prepare yourself for that final episode. Even knowing it's not the "real" ending, it still hits like a freight train.
Next, you should compare the specific scenes of Kyo’s transformation between both versions to see how visual storytelling evolved over two decades. It's a wild lesson in cinematography and tone.