Category Archives: Franchises

September 24, 2011

Why So Serious, #1?

By omo

I appreciate that cohesive trail of bread crumbs leading me from pasture from pasture, with sharks that you can jump over (while wearing leather jacket and a hairdo from the 70s) in between. I also greatly appreciate the work people pour into talking about Mawaru Penguindrum, and discovering the depth of its internal cohesion. I won’t link to them again, so I hope you know where to look already.

I just want to highlight something probably profound, and it sums in a nutshell the core complex as demonstrated by Ringo up to this point. This is in the form of a translated liner note from Utena R2 DVD release volume #2. Or rather, someone else had highlighted this—

Let us suppose that a certain man has fallen in love at first sight with an idol he saw on TV. The possibility of him making the idol his lover is near zero, but it is not entirely zero. However, rare is the man who would strive with all efforts to make the idol his lover. Instead of making such effort, he buys her records, goes to her concerts and enters her fan club. In other words, he enjoys her as an “idol”. Such behaviour blurs his feeling of wanting to make her his lover. This world of ours is full of such blurriness. To say “no” to such blurriness and to strive for the object of your desire, you have no choice but to become a duelist and confront the world and all its cruelty in the face. Episode 7 (“Unfulfilled Juri”) is a story about “miracle”. Arisugawa Juri, who is a student council member highly regarded by all teachers, a national-level fencer and a beautiful young woman, had one weakness – “miracle”. It may seem contradictory that she believed requited love would be a “miracle,” and yet she denied that such miracle could possibly occur. If she truly believed that such love was unrequited for certain, then she might as well call it an impossibility instead of calling it a “miracle”. She called it “miracle” precisely because she wanted it to occur even though it was unlikely to occur. The reason why she wanted to deny it is because she knew the pain of not obtaining it. May we not say that Juri was the most duelist-like duelist in the sense that she continued to be a duelist fighting for this miraculous power called “the power to revolutionize the world” while knowing this pain? Juri challenged Utena to a duel because the latter said she could believe in miracles. Juri was probably jealous of Utena’s innocence and felt angry. Juri lost the duel even though she was technically the superior fencer. Just as Miki who lost the duel due to “the shining thing” which was his weakness, Juri was defeated by Utena who fought the duel without such mental distractions.

To say “no” to blurriness, and to be defeated by the very thing that one stood up to fight for while knowing full well the hurt it would bring – that is the duelist’s sad fate.

What it reads like, to me, is some kind of fable in a modern world. It is serious! I mean, it’s a message that you can really take it to heart, and change the way you think about certain things in a drastic way. That’s great.

To switch gear completely: For me, what made Utena stick was not just its beautifully crafted visual and aural magic of modern themes, but also its spot-on comedy. Yes, in other words, I watch Mawaru Penguindrum for the penguins, too. What I find kind of disturbing is how few people find that an important part of the show.

Well, I should correct myself: a lot of people probably do; but it isn’t in vogue to talk about comedy. Still, it’s such an integral part of the presentation. It’s really a matter of perspective in which I ask this question, thus:

Does Ringo make you laugh?

She does for me. She also goes over the line a lot of the times, and that’s partly what makes it a little weird to laugh at or with her.

I half think that when we see those 3d-popup children’s book scenes, that’s what’s really what we’re suppose to see, the lens in which we overlook Ringo’s conquest of Tabuki. There’s also another meta perspective about this: we already see the difference between Yuri and Ringo’s play on Keiju’s mind and emotion, when Ringo and Shoma do their slapstick show involving carps, frogs, and what not. I mean, sure, someone did get run over by a car and that is not a laughing matter (in real life), but is it here? Not if #2 has anything to say about it.

In a way I think 2dt’s point about that “enjoy the show” mysticism is just a high brow brush to acknowledge that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, and just by looking at the parts individually, we are at risk of missing the big picture. I think one of the risks is, like all jokes, the toaster oven of over-analysis. You don’t want to dry this stuff up of its humorous juices!

Mawaru Penguindrum 11

 

Leave a comment | posted in Mawaru Penguindrum, Modern Visual Culture

September 21, 2011

Steins;Gate, the Distant Avalon

By omo

There are some light spoilers in this post. And since I’m going to talking about overarching points to Hanasaku Iroha and Steins;Gate (and make a couple other references), it might make more sense to have seen most/all of those first before you try to read this.

Hanasaku Iroha is about the craft and pride, it is about calling and following and forging a way. It is a message about generational empathy through shared exercise of overcoming adversity with a dash of cognitive dissonance and a twist of estrogen. The key ingredient is attitude. In episode 25 Nako identifies the difference maker (without spelling it out), the one thing that makes Ohana the special little girl Tohru pinned as awkward and clumsy, but ultimately she does “fest it up”; to bring a certain joy to the people around her. Just like how both opening sequences are the Kissuisou staff bustling and hustling, and it’s fun to watch. (Well, to be fair, it’s not just attitude, but that is the key ingredient.)

Steins;Gate is about doing what you’re called to do despite the situation that you have endured thus far.

To bring up Chaos;Head first for a second, the story of that is about this NEET/socially maladjusted dude and his semi-delusions. In Steins;Gate, the same idea is diluted by this compelling piece of time-traveling SF mystery, but it’s still there. We’re talking about a band of people who are also needy socially for one reason or another, with a protagonist that is socially maladjusted with some delusions of his own.

The main difference is that Takumi’s issues are played as some kind of mad-man ranting. Okarin’s issues are just an extreme case of chuunibyou. This difference is a matter of perception as the way each anime presented the eccentricities are different. I think on paper they are much closer than it seems. [And I think this is why I keep referring to Chaos;Head in Steins;Gate’s context, despite the discrepancies between the two anime. That, and Super Special.]

To finally get to the punch, ever read about people complaining about self-esteem education in public schools in the 90s? And how it may be blamed for certain emerging trends towards young people and their attitude about life and people? Not that I want to apply it to Steins;Gate, but the mechanism behind the claims may be similar. If we take the perspective that Okarin is the victim of Japan’s lost decade (in a way he symbolizes that entire crowd), and in a way Steins;Gate is some larger symbol about generational conflicts, it can be said that the present state of things can be blamed on the past state of things, and those who had control over the past. I mean, the penultimate “villain” and Kurisu’s little back story makes this painfully clear. The symbolism and analogy are just only beginning, here. What is Okabe fighting for? For a better future, am I right? [Can I have some Suzuha x Doreamon doujinshi?]

Is this why Steins;Gate can be seen as a strange coming-of-age story in which Okabe goes through these trials to redo and undo D-mails written out of the lingering regrets and uncertainties from their original senders? Only if we were [insert something regret-like] while growing up in the late 90s? Well, except Moeka’s case; but she’s kind of nuts already. The plot generator makes a compelling case, re: being able to change the past in order to change the present and future. If you read this NYT blurp about the book I linked above, it does also make the argument that this sort of self-esteem education can make you hardier. I don’t know if it does; but in traditional Japanese ways, it’s about slapping you in the face a few times so you get over yourself, so you can be yourself. I think that too would make you hardy, probably more so than staying delusional about that secret agency with acronym beginning with an S. Or was it a C? Heh, C.

Then again, this slapping business go way back. Mayuri’s up to date with her real-mecha anime history YEAH (massive nerd cred in my eyes)!

PS. I really want to do a tutturu collection, but ugh no time little motivation. I guess I should see if someone did it already.

Leave a comment | posted in Hanasaku Iroha, Modern Visual Culture, Steins;Gate

September 11, 2011

Hanasaku Iroha Shoots from the Other Side, But Does It Score?

By omo

There are some overt themes, but I think you can figure them out. Maybe it’s worth wrapping it up after it ends; maybe it’s already too obvious.

What I want to talk about is the weird realism presented in anime. I think it’s something that you get used to if you have seen enough Asian live-action drama. The idea is there’s a particular set of conventions, a vernacular, in which you kind of pull in as context to interpret said drama. Anime’s got its own set too, but there’s usually some kind of weird gap between what passes for anime and what passes for J-drama. Shows that tries to ride that gap typically don’t end up well.

What anime that do try to ride the gap typically pleases people who only watch anime because it is somehow slightly different than most anime. But those who are familiar with both sets of vernacular or is just picky about that more live-action-y context will not take too kindly for mixing up those signals.

This is kind of where Hanasaku Iroha shines the most. There’s a sense of realism baked in, starting from the animation direction and artistic direction. I would like to just point out on all the silly “gimmicks” like seeing Ohana and Ko meeting on the pedestrian overpass, or when Satsuki leaps out of the pool of Enishi’s nostalgia trip. Or better yet, the whole angle for Enishi’s film club roots, or how Nako, Jiromaru and Takako all took a dive with their clothes on. Oh, yeah, the fox deity in those feverish dreams from Ohana counts too. And all the train rides! It’s like watching an indie Japanese flick at times. The most impressive thing for me was how Mel Kishida’s funky moe designs got turned around and became their logical, freakish expositions as taken to the animator’s extreme, trying to showcase different body shapes, sizes, of different age and gender; of cute, sexy, unsexy, uncute, or simply too hilarious to care. It was as un-moe as it gets in a way. Ohana’s saving grace was her two flower ribbons (and I guess it gave her twice the vote power in Saimoe?), and if you didn’t tell me Minko-hime is a “hime” I would not have guessed. She’s got style but half the time she looks aghast with those alien-sized eyes sunken in from her early morning routine. If anyone would have passed for moe, it would be Yuina; except her personality kind of ruined things.

But yet, even Yuina’s pampered appearance is a designed contrast to demonstrate Ohana and Minko’s relatively spartan lifestyle. And that goes for everyone in the show: I never really felt pandered to by anyone in the show on the sole basis of appearance. (Then again, it doesn’t take much more than naked high-school girls to get some people excited.) Everyone has a story, and everyone looks his or her part, nothing more. I think that alone is a huge deviation from your average “Aoi Nishimata everything looks alike except hair and apparel” mode of anime character design. In a lot of ways that alone was already worth the price of admission–waking up early Sunday morning and tuning in. I’m going to miss it after it ends in a couple weeks.

I can go on as to how the show did rely heavily on the visual representation of the cast to tell the story. But maybe it’s better to also talk about some of the writing stuff. Like how it is using that whole fest-it-up thing to say something.

Here’s a question: what does love look like? I think as of our confession scene in episode 24, it’s when you’re standing and surveying the land with the one you love in it. At least in this case. I think the show makes its strongest argument in the opening, when both first and second features our Kissuisou family going at it, hustling and bustling. It’s what those CR subs described as “fest it up.”

And going back to my initial point: does the whole hustling and bustling thing work? Does people hustling and bustling in a live-action mode convey the same impact and “look and feel” as opposed to animating it? There’s a sense of grittiness when Nako and Ohana run criss-cross with a pile of trays, as opposed to a more cartoony (see what I did there) feel that you might get with 3D rendered stuff that we’re more familiar with? Does this make sense to you? Or more importantly, do you see what I’m saying and do you agree?

Leave a comment | posted in Hanasaku Iroha, Modern Visual Culture

September 5, 2011

Meta Fanfiction on Nichijou

By omo

It was the usual chatter at the club. Saturday night, in the lower levels of some monolithic, imposing institution of academia, nerds are having fun.

“So why do you like Nichijou so much?”

“It’s not that funny, yeah, do tell.”

“What are you saying? It’s second to Azumanga Daioh.”

The scheduler, at the mention of the club’s time-honored comedy anime meme, turns around to exlaim.

“Really, now.”

Our protagonist, the guy in the corner lounging on one of the portable tables at the back of the room, started to doodle on the white board that he was leaning against. Seemingly unaware of the discussion going on, it was suddenly Shark Week on the white board, with several sharks slowly morphing into existence at the tip of water-based markers.

The discussion, meanwhile, heated up. Some people raised the whole meta-on-meta aspect of Nichijou. Others simply said it was boring. The simplicity of the accusation seems to do more to incite than the accusation itself. Defenders gonna defend. Some enjoyed the trolling, others the hyper-reactions. But detractors just didn’t find it funny. Thankfully, the arguments are on good faith; the fact the club scheduler is interested in the discussion meant it was serious. The nerds all hailed the scheduler as, in other words, the emcee of the night. The curator, the provider, the weekly club meeting is where the members partake in the choice sampling put together by the scheduler. If the schedule provided a screening of Omoide Poroporo, it would mean the same 5 people would sit through the scheduler’s favorite, and everyone would have to go home and fight the raging crowd of drunk frat boys and what else going on at the campus on a Saturday night. If the scheduler provided your latest dose of moe anime, people would have only bear with it in 30-minute doses.

“See, this is a shark. And this is another shark. And they are all sharks.” Remarked the protagonist, quietly. The club president was sitting next to him, along with a couple lone wolves. Already somewhat amused by the sharks, they paid attention as the protag-man started to doodle out the kanji for shark underneath one of them.

鮫

Now one of those majestic, terrible creatures, is verbally identified. There are two other unlabeled sharks on the whiteboard, in which the protagonist now writes:

SAME

Under them. The club president’s eyes lit up, but he remained quiet.

“You see, the joke is, they are the SAME. But they are also SAME. If you find this joke funny, then you will probably like Nichijou. If not, you probably won’t.”

The discussion continued, but seemingly elsewhere, far away. And unimportant.

Leave a comment | posted in English Language Modern Visual Fandom, Modern Visual Culture, Nichijou

August 28, 2011

Remembering Tsuiokuhen

By omo

I spent the evening watching the newly released Blu-ray edition of Rurouni Kenshin: Tsuiokuhen. It’s worth every minute and every dollar (or yen). It’s the kind of thing that ages well, too.

The transfer, for the most part, is a faithful take from the original OVA. The only problems are the digital superimposed scenes in episodes 3 and 4; they look jarring and out of place in contrast with the vintage-looking hand-drawn animation.

Well, they already were out of place 10+ years ago.

The test of time is the one test that fewer and fewer new things stand to pass, anime or not. And admittedly despite the fond memories many had with the franchise, much of Rurouni Kenshin anime (and arguably the manga) is chaff to its core substance–a bloody HK opera about a redeemed assassin. Yet, in the anime adaptation of Tsuiokuhen, time has forged a diamond out of the romantic and bloody refrain of the mistakes of one’s youth, complete with a remastered Blu-ray disc that made it look better than ever before.

Without the memories of Kenshin on the shoulders, I believe Tsuiokuhen is still a powerful and graceful display of Japanese animation. Finely filtered with enough directorial gimmicks, but yet not too gimmicky; the art direction hops between emotionally grim-dark atmosphere and flashes of purity, of hope, and of the sheen of naked steel. The music remains one of Taku Iwasaki’s best anime works. The story alone works just fine on its own, even without the fanservice-nod of little Enishi or the silhouette of Shishio. The amount of enjoyment goes up to 11 when those nods start to make sense.

Despite all that, Tsuiokuhen is a blip on the radar; an artifact from the past. Its palette is suited for just those of us who have grown older, sentimental, and forgiving of simple stories that rely on the strength of its raw emotion, stirring up fond memories of a time not that long ago. The kids on my lawn will just have to learn to sit down to enjoy this masterpiece from a different era, and swallow that lyrical period-piece dialog like a preacher to his charge. It’s no Redline, but it will stay around longer.

Having borne the weight of most of UC Gundam since I last watched Tsuiokuhen, Hiko Seijirou’s words now ring truer than ever. Yep, it’s that mistakes of youth guy!

Leave a comment | posted in Modern Visual Culture, Rurouni Kenshin