The cover of the first volume of Ninja Nonsense: The Legend of Shinobu.

There is a debate among ninja fans as to who the better ninja was, Sasuke Sarutobi or Hanzo Hattori. What I want to know is which of the two was the funnier ninja.

There are manga series that are painful to read, not because they have a dark story, the artwork is grotesque, or what have you, but because one volume can take an extremely long time to read. These series tend to comically examine the minutia of everyday life, but there are others that find themselves outside this genre. One such series was Ryoichi Koga’s work Ninja Nonsense: The Legend of Shinobu (ニニンがシノブ伝 Ninin ga Shinobuden). To be clear, just because this series took me an exceptionally long time to read doesn’t mean it wasn’t fun. In fact, this was a rather funny manga series. The issue, though, lay in how many of the chapters felt similar to one another due to the repetition of the jokes and the situations the characters were placed in. The repetitive nature of the narrative also meant the characters’ personalities remained static throughout the series. Yet, because they remained static, the characters stood out in very unique ways. Moreover, there was a solid cast of characters from the beginning with no more than two more added later in the series. The set number of characters alone was beneficial, as many authors of the slice-of-life genre of manga tend to add one too many characters to keep the content fresh for readers.

While I like to espouse how a strong narrative can ultimately determine the strength of an anime or manga series, truth be told, if the characters aren’t interesting, even the best story can fall flat. As such, even some of the narratively weak anime, manga, films, TV series, novels, and the like can be incredibly entertaining if the characters have magnetic personalities. This is especially true if the work in question is a comedy. Consider a Mel Brooks work such as Space Balls or Robin Hood: Men in Tights. Arguably some of the best parody films ever made, the reason many of the comedic moments worked was because even the minor characters had something about them that drew us in. By comparison, think about any of the lesser parody films made in the last decade. Aside from having a fundamental misunderstanding of what made the source material work and manipulating it as such, the characters are almost always flat. Thus, what should be funny moments in those films fall short. However, even if the storyline has long since been exhausted, so long as the characters are interesting we can still find the humor inherent in a work. This is why American cartoon strips tend to have such long syndications.

How does this apply to the anime and manga industry then? Well, there are a number of manga series that are certainly played out but have characters who are appealing to readers. In fact, the mid-2000s saw a rise in popularity of one such series, Lucky Star. Although I claim those characters were intriguing, there wasn’t much there to keep readers engaged for too long. The same can be said for the characters of Ninja Nonsense: The Legend of Shinobu, but this had less to do with the characters’ personalities and more with the setup of each chapter in the series. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. On the contrary, the characters had remarkably distinct personalities that worked off each other quite well. This kept the characters engaging in their own right, and in a certain sense kept the series from becoming too dull. Granted, there were elements of the traditional Japanese double act inherent in the characters, but what made them charming was how they represented one or two facets of a person’s personality. Thus, when looking at the core cast of characters, we found innocence and a bit of lust in the heroine, Shinobu, general lewdness in her partner, Onsokumaru, a comedic center and straight man in Shinobu’s friend, Kaede Shiranui, and an amalgamation of geekiness and easy manipulation in Shinobu’s classmate, Sasuke.

By having these clear-cut personality types, it was easy to find the center of each story as well as see how the characters played off each other. For example, when looking at the dynamic between Onsokumaru and Sasuke, we saw the latter playing to the former’s weaknesses and creating chaos in different chapters. However, had those two been the center of each story, there would have been no closing to the joke and just randomness throughout. Thus, we needed a character like Kaede to focus the hectic nature of Onsokumaru and Sasuke’s relationship into a cohesive chapter. One of the best examples of this phenomenon came in the twenty-eighth chapter of the series when the characters were out picking wild mushrooms. Yes, this was a simple setup for a chapter, but because it was entirely predicated on Onsokumaru getting the other characters to eat a poisonous mushroom, we saw the hectic nature of his character. Therefore, with a character like Kaede to focus the humor every so often, what would have been no more than pure randomness became at the very least centered on what the female characters were facing. But, herein lay the major issue with this series.

Onsokumaru causing a ruckus in the top panel and Kaede acting as the straight man in the bottom.

Because these characters had such distinct personalities, there was only so much the author could do with them. Think about it in these terms, there were only so many times one could read Onsokumaru saying lewd things to the female characters or Sasuke talking about how he wanted to become a Casanova. Granted, the setup and themes for each chapter were unique, but when breaking down how the chapters played out, the stories became dull fast. The nineteenth and fifty-third chapters, for instance, mirrored each other in a way that can only be described as the author running out of material. Yes, the initial setup and payoff were different between the two chapters, but the core component and themes were nearly identical, which, in this case, were doppelgangers of Onsokumaru running around causing trouble. One could make the argument there was nearly a four year gap between the two chapters and as such it’s understandable there were parallels between the two stories, but there were also other times when the jokes were rote in the same volume. This is the major problem with these types of series, slice-of-life and those that explore the minutia of a character’s life, as they have to keep the characters rather static in order to keep the humor consistent.

I would say this is understandable, but I’m not the type of person who derives enjoyment from unchanging characters. Even the smallest semblance of change is better than none. For example, think about the famous bit of Garfield kicking Odie off the table in Jim Davis’s Garfield. Not only has this been used far too often, the punch line is generally the same in each strip the bit is featured in as well. However, there have been times when the formula is altered just enough to make it refreshing, such as Odie recognizing Garfield is going to kick him off the table. This toying with the reader’s sensibilities demonstrates that while the characters may be static in nature, there are times we see fleeting hints to their overall growth. In certain respects a few of the minor characters in Ninja Nonsense: The Legend of Shinobu saw some growth within the series, but the major characters didn’t. As such, with the characters remaining in a relative state of consistency, there was a limited number of original stories the author could write.

One of the ways authors try to mitigate this, then, is by adding new characters every so often. This isn’t a bad practice, yet I’ve seen it backfire in many other series, as the new characters’ personalities tend to overlap those already established. However, this was not the case in Ninja Nonsense: The Legend of Shinobu. In fact, the limited number of new characters that were integrated over the course of the four volumes is rather startling. To be clear, I am speaking of characters who had recurring roles and not the ones who only appeared once. The most obvious of these characters were Kaede’s parents, particularly her mother; Shinobu’s younger sister; and Onsokumaru’s colleague. However, it was actually the alligator named Devil who was used the most effectively. Consider the statement I made above about the static nature of the series. Had Ryoichi Koga used these new characters on a regular basis, their presence would have blended into the rest of the series. Yet, by having them appear only once every so often, they actually spiced up the flow of every volume in the short series.

The fourth volume actually used all these minor characters quite well, but looking at Devil and Kaede’s mother, Kaori, their appearance drastically altered the narrative flow of certain chapters. This could be seen in the stories of the fifty-seventh and sixtieth chapters. Rather than follow the trope of Shinobu’s innocence playing off Onsokumaru’s chaos, the two chapters instead played with our expectations of the characters. In the case of the fifty-seventh chapter, we saw how Devil was not only a competent ninja, but also had a backstory that was fairly funny in a tragic way. Up to that point we had an understanding Devil was intelligent, but not to this degree. The sixtieth chapter, in turn, fooled with our fundamental understanding of Sasuke and his male counterparts, not in a way that changed their personalities, but in the subtle shifts in their attitude when a mother figure was in their presence. I mean, I’m sure every person has had that moment when they hurriedly cleaned their room in order to hide all the things they might be embarrassed about from their mother—I know I have. But the best part of this was Ryoichi Koga didn’t need to create a specific character for each of these situations as both Devil and Kaori had been introduced in the first volume and had only made sporadic appearances thereafter.

In all honesty, Ninja Nonsense: The Legend of Shinobu is a fine series. There’s nothing exceptionally offensive about the work, unless you’re not a fan of toilet humor. It’s just that it takes quite a bit of time to read through each volume. The characters were all funny and had unique personalities and, while they were static, it’s what you’d expect from a series of this caliber. The same can be said about the different chapters as well. But, with enough minor characters making sporadic appearances, this mitigated some of the monotony of the reading experience. Perhaps this isn’t the best series to read in one sitting—Mitsuru Adashi’s Touch or Wako Honna’s Nozokiana are much better for that—but in small doses Ninja Nonsense: The Legend of Shinobu is a fantastic read. I’d suggest about two or three chapters every few days. That being said, if you’re not inclined to read the series, the anime rendition may actually be a better fit for you as many of the issues that arise with the manga series are less prominent in its anime counterpart.

Work Info
Title: Ninja Nonsense: The Legend of Shinobu (ニニンがシノブ伝 Ninin ga Shinobuden)
By: Ryoichi Koga
Under: ACII Medial Works, Dengeki Comics
Official Site: N/A
More Info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ninja_Nonsense

The title logo for Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers.

Every time I hear the title Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers, I can’t help but think the characters are actually the “Braves of the Locker” and not the “Braves of the Six Flowers.”

One genre of literature I don’t particularly enjoy is fantasy, not necessarily modern fantasy, as in fantasy that takes place in a modern setting, but high fantasy. While it’s less of an issue with a visual medium such as film or television, there are times I have trouble recognizing the different terms used in the genre. Again, not terms like fantasy names or made up words, but words like portcullis or foyer—although after the Acquisitions Incorporated acid pit incident I’m all to familiar with the latter. Yet in a visual medium, fantasy is a genre I can appreciate, not just for the visuals, but also for the time periods and settings they tend to occupy. However, I’ve noticed many fantasy anime series tend to revolve around a Eurocentric world, with a smaller subset taking place in East Asia. While not a major issue within the genre, there are many other cultures in which an author or director could place a fantastical work. Thus, I was rather surprised when the 2015 anime series Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers (六花の勇者 Rokka no Yūsha) had a Mesoamerican setting. This was a radical departure from the conventions seen in the anime industry and one that was pleasing. However, if this were the extent of what the series had to offer, it wouldn’t have been able to capture the imagination of viewers. As a result, an interesting mystery was layered on top of a rather pedestrian narrative, which kept the series from becoming dull.

Anime and manga allow for series to be set in very wild and imaginative places as well as everyday locations we are familiar with. While I don’t want to call this an advantage over other mediums, it’s amazing what kinds of worlds authors and directors are able to create. Yet, when we explore the fantasy genre in either anime or manga, the major trend seems to involve placing them in a Eurocentric or East Asian setting. It’s not that I find this exceptionally irritating. I mean, I can see why writers and producers stick with locations people are familiar with, but our world has such a large swath of environments to draw inspiration from. Just to name a few, the plains of Africa, the jungles of Southeast Asia, the Australian Outback, or even the frozen tundra of Canada. Sure, some of these locations are alien, but there are many different stories that have utilized exotic locations in wonderful ways. For example, the highly acclaimed American TV series Avatar: The Last Air Bender had a number of fascinating and memorable locations which brought the narrative to life. However, as I prefer to focus on anime and manga, it can be surprising how few creators opt to look outside of Europe and East Asia for settings for their works.

Granted, many of those worlds are fictional in themselves, thus it can be difficult to place an exact marker on the locations that inspired a given world. However, when looking at Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers, it was patently clear either the author of the source material or the director of the anime series drew upon the architecture of ancient Mesoamerican cultures—though it’s hard to argue the Aztec civilization was ancient seeing as how the Spanish Conquistadors overthrew the empire nearly 500 years ago in 1521. So we have an understanding of where Mesoamerica is, it’s generally thought of as the area from central Mexico to northern Costa Rica. I’m certainly no expert on Mesoamerican architecture, but looking at the designs of the capital of the Kingdom of Piena in this series or the forest where the bulk of the series took place, the former was reminiscent of the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan, while the latter had the air of the Mayan Temple of Lamanai.

The urban design Kingdom of Piena, left, and the Aztec capitol Tenochtitlan, right.

What exactly do I mean by this? Consider the city Tenochtitlan, if only for how well it’s known. Not only was it built on an island in Lake Texcoco, it sprawled out into the surrounding water with manmade island structures. On top of this, when examining its urban design, the city center featured the Tempo Mayor, one of the main temples of the city. Looking at maps of the city, it’s not only fantastic, but also a true testament to the architecture of the Aztec civilization. The capital city of the Kingdom of Piena had a very similar design to it. We can instantly see the similarities to Tenochtitlan as it was built in the middle of a lake with clearly sectioned off districts and a large temple structure in the middle of the city. It’s remarkable how the production team was able to capture the majesty of such a city, and the grand scale of it gave Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers a wonderful atmosphere from the opening moments. Yet, the aura of the series ran much deeper than the design of the city.

There were two aspects we have to reflect on, the first of which was the design of the buildings, particularly the temples. While it’s very easy to write them off as the Mesoamerican pyramids—remember, very few civilizations created such grand structures at their height. In fact, when we think of the term “pyramid,” the pyramids of Giza generally enter our minds. But, many of the Mesoamerican pyramids are fascinating in their own right. If you will quickly recall your world history, the Temple of Kukulcan at Chichen Itza, one of the more famous Mayan pyramids, has some interesting architectural design aspects to it. For example, there are the ninety-one step staircases on each face of the pyramid which, when totaled, equal the number of days in a year. But, even more remarkable is the event that occurs during each equinox. The shadows cast on the northwestern balustrade makes it appear as though a serpent is crawling down from the temple. Though no structure in this series is as grand as their real-world counterparts, again, there was a sense of scale to them, which made the series majestic. Thus, when the production team for Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers chose Mesoamerican architectural designs for the series, it was incredibly refreshing.

The second aspect was the artistic design of the buildings, the writing systems, and the background images. Again, I am not at all familiar with Mesoamerican art traditions or writing systems, but I have seen samples here and there. While I don’t believe the styles used on the buildings and what not in the series were exact replicas of the writing systems of any of the major Mesoamerican civilizations, such as the Aztec, Mayan, or Toltec, the art team certainly captured the bravura of them. To be more precise, the art team was able to capture how the art and writing were etched into the stone and, depending on their respective locations, had a worn down or well-maintained appearance. This added to the ambiance of the series as the opening episodes gave audiences an impression of what those old Mesoamerican cities were like when populated, but then changed after the fourth episode as the atmosphere began to speak instead to our modern notions of those ruins. Both these aspects of the series were a vast departure from the conventional wisdom of the anime industry in regards to the fantasy genre and were a welcome change of pace.

However, none of brilliance surrounding the setting would have mattered had the narrative of Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers been lackluster. To be honest, the overarching narrative of the series was uninspired as it was no more than a save the world from evil narrative. Yet, this series found a creative way to use this narrative. The basic premise is suggested in the title as six heroes were chosen by the Saint of the Single Flower to defeat The Fiend—a very uninspired name for a villain if you ask me—but with a wrinkle: there were seven who had the Saint’s symbol. This created a brilliant mystery for the audience as it forced the seven characters, Adlet Myer, Nachetanya Loei Piena Augustra, Flamie Spidlow, Goldov Auroa, Chamot Rosso, Maura Chester, and Hans Humpty, to be at odds with each other in order to discern who the traitor was, and ultimately terminate him or her. More importantly, though, it required the audience to focus on every last detail of the series. While dialog cues were the most obvious source of information, one had to pay close attention to other aspects of the story as well, such as the body language, the characters’ backgrounds and personalities, and even the environment itself. Even then, trying to determine the traitor was no easy task, as much of the information we were given was difficult to parse out because of how vague it was.

The characters of Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers. From left to right: Goldov Auroa, Nachetanya Loei Piena Augustra, Chamot Rosso, Adlet Myer, Maura Chester, Flamie Spidlow, and Hans Humpty.

This is how a mystery should be handled because if it’s patently clear who the culprit is, there is no point in readers progressing through the story. As an example, though he has become much better at writing a mystery, Jim Butcher, author of the Dresden Files series, made the mysteries in the early volumes of that particular series rather easy to solve. However, in his later works, Butcher crafted solid narratives and characters to occupy the world he created. Yet, in Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers, it was never quite clear who the traitor was. Even the explanation in the final episode seemed odd to me, but the production team did a superb job in subverting viewers’ expectations in each episode. That is, by using clever writing, even the very first time the seven characters appeared on screen together the production team was able to convince me each character was the traitor at one point or another, except for Adlet, as he was the protagonist. This is not an easy task for a writer because it requires undermining the audience’s expectations for each character.

While I don’t want to go into too much detail, as it could ruin the mystery of Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers, one of the first characters I pinned as the traitor was Hans. I thought this might be the case as he was an assassin—I mean, why would an assassin be chosen to defeat an all-powerful fiend. Yet, as the series progressed, we learned a great deal about him and in turn how the other characters reacted to the situation at hand. Thus, it became far more difficult judging whether or not Hans, in this example, was actually the traitor. Not many writers can achieve this and it’s a true testament to the author of the source material as well as the scriptwriters for the anime adaptation.

Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers was an exhilarating anime series for a number of reasons. The most apparent of these was the narrative the production team crafted for a rather prosaic but clear premise. By having a clear goal with an exact number of heroes, which I remind you was six, injecting one more into the mix produced a great deal of tension within the character dynamics and their respective relationships. On top of this, the totality of the situation created a wonderful mystery for the audience to solve, with the writing team doing an excellent job of making sure it was never clear who the traitor was until the final moments of the series. The use of a Mesoamerican setting was also a nice departure from the industry standard of a European or East Asian one as it added a different flavor to the environment as well as to the designs of the buildings, cities, art, and writing systems. I also appreciated this aspect of the series because Mesoamerica is a beautiful geographic location that is rich with history and amazing architectural designs. As a minor aside, I actually don’t like the translated title of the series. While it brought out the idea the series was trying to convey, “braves” doesn’t have the same quality in terms of definition compared to the terms, “heroes” or “champions.” However, apart from that very minor qualm, Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers is a series anyone can enjoy.

Work Info
Title: Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers (六花の勇者 Rokka no Yūsha)
Under: Passione
Official Site: http://rokka-anime.jp/
More Info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rokka:_Braves_of_the_Six_Flowers

The poster for Code Geass: Akito the Exiled From the Memories of Hatred.

Someone on the Code Geass: Akito the Exiled production team must have seen an early preview of the film Mad Max: Fury Road featuring the Doof Warrior because who else would think to place a Knightmare Frame on the nose of a plane?

When Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion R2 ended in 2008, I was at a loss as to why the series was so popular among anime fans. While I still don’t understand the wide appeal of the franchise, I believe my confusion partially stems from not having watched the first half of the series. I mention this because I find myself mystified as to how the Code Geass: Akito the Exiled series has gained some traction among fans. Yet, trying to compare the two series is not the way to understand the success of the franchise as a whole as the series are radically different from each other. That being said, as the Akito the Exiled series progressed I found it became much weaker. For example, while I may not have enjoyed the character exploration in the third installment of the series, I could appreciate how the production team felt it was important for the audience to become further attached to the characters. In spite of this, the fourth installment of the OVA (original video anime) series, Code Geass: Akito the Exiled From the Memories of Hatred (コードギアス 亡国にアキト 憎しみの記憶から Code Geass Bokoku no Akito Nikushimi no Kioku kara), lacked the sharp writing seen in previous installments. Granted, there was one character who certainly stole the show, but the rest of the characters were, as always, tiresome to watch. The action scenes also left much to be desired and paled in comparison to those seen in the previous installments. Yet, what upset me the most was how plot twists came out of nowhere. I don’t want to insinuate plot twists were unwelcome in this series, but rather they made little sense within the narrative the audience had been exposed to.

As I progressed through the Code Geass: Akito the Exiled series, I found the material engaging at times, but there were still some sections that felt pretentious. Mind you, I don’t mean to say the series was overly pretentious, but it’s as if the production team wanted to write something clever or shocking, yet what they came up with was poorly delivered and hardly insightful in regards to the characters and setting. The third installment of the series, The Brightness Falls, or rather the second half of it, suffered badly from this shortcoming, especially the inclusion of Julius Kingsley and Suzaku Kururugi. I say this because their appearance in that installment certainly advanced the plot and cemented Shin Hyuga Shaingu as a deranged villain, yet, it felt as though this twist was forced rather than brought about through a natural progression of the narrative. As such, the total effect made certain aspects of the third installment unbearable to watch.

Unfortunately, this highfalutin writing bled into the first half of From the Memories of Hatred as well. To be clear, and I want to emphasize this, both the third and fourth installments weren’t unwatchable because of the writing, but rather they were obnoxious to watch because of the bad writing. Of course, the cause of insipid writing was different in both installments, but in From the Memories of Hatred it was rooted in predictable plot elements and uninspired dialog. Looking at each individually, the plot elements appeared in the opening action sequence and relied heavily on the principle of a strong bond between comrades. Naturally, seeing this used here certainly isn’t obnoxious, rather it’s just another instance of an overused trope in Japanese fiction. However, taken in the context with certain rules dictated by the creators of the series, particularly surrounding the geass, it seemed as though the writers had to place additional emphasis on camaraderie by focusing on the interactions between the characters. Thus, what could have been an easily addressed issue became an overly complicated plot element.

The Ahura Mazda firing on Akito’s Alexander.

The use of tired plot elements was the lesser issue surrounding the writing of From the Memories of Hatred as the latter, the uninspired dialog, played a larger role in shaping the plot. I’ve stated in the past, but will say it yet again, the heroine of the Code Geass: Akito the Exiled series, Leila Malkal, was an idealist and a humanist, making her an uninspired character. Regrettably, this made a great deal of her dialog tedious to listen to. I am willing to admit there were instances her dialog was riveting in the series as a whole, yet in this installment it was practically insufferable. While I can forgive bland dialog, it was the speech about freedom interwoven into the first action scene that failed to impress me. There are many ways to approach the philosophies of freedom, such as free will in regards to religion, which were ideas postulated during the European Enlightenment movement, and even the modern principle of “Don’t tread on me”—there goes America again, providing the world with some wonderful, yet rash ideas—however, it never felt as though Leila was adding to those ideas. Rather, she was restating the ideas of scholarly minds and not that well. Mind you, there is nothing wrong with reaffirming past ideas, but for a series such as Code Geass: Akito the Exiled it would have been interesting to see the writers attempt to advance the conversation, or at the very least, what freedom meant in greater detail to Leila and the people of the European Union.

Though this speech was unappealing to listen to, it still upheld the idealistic and humanistic values of her character. Again, while this was an issue in the first half of the installment, it was also an experience hardly worth wading through for the better and far more appealing content in the second half. I am referring to the commanding performance by Masaya Matsukaze, the voice actor for Shin Hyuga Shaingu, as we had the opportunity to glimpse the psyche of Shin in this installment and receive a much better impression of his character. This was presented in two different and unique scenes for the series. The first came when he was hallucinating about the people close to him whom he had killed. This was a powerful scene as it provided the audience with an understanding of what motivated his decisions. While certainly not surreal enough for me, it conveyed a great deal more about his character than many of the scenes involving the protagonist, Akito Hyuga. However, it was the second scene that left a lasting impression on me in regards to the entire installment.

I’ve written a great deal before about how a dialog heavy scene can be as action oriented as any traditional action scene and the second scene to which I’m referring in From the Memories of Hatred was possibly the best I’ve witnessed in any anime I’ve ever watched. Not only was it a confrontation between two radically different philosophies, Leila’s idealism and Shin’s want for destruction, it came at a time when Leila was at her weakest. Thus, while she could voice her opinions to Shin, Shin would turn her words against her. For example, Leila said she believed Akito was alive even though the airship the W-0 unit was attacking was destroyed with him on it. Yet, Shin retorted by pointing out her blind optimism led her to the situation she was in. Although I don’t want to claim Shin was the ideal foil for Leila, in this particular scene he made a wonderful and charismatic antagonist. The moments that featured the magnetic personalities of the different characters in Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion made it shine and it’s no different here. So, while Leila, Akito, and a few other supporting characters were flat, we had the chance to see one truly captivating personality here.

Sadly, this may have been the only positive aspect of From the Memories of Hatred. Aside from the relatively poor writing outside of Shin Hyuga Shaingu, the action was also monotonous. This was due to the lack of movement during each action scene. Yes, the Alexander Knightmare Frames were maneuvering around an empty airship in the first action scene and Shin’s Vercingetorix nimbly navigated the forest around the W-0 unit’s base in the second. But, what made both scenes tedious to watch was how they were essentially a charge towards the enemy. I can understand the tension inherent in a charge, but when only four units at most were assaulting a well-armed single target it removed much of the suspense. Sure, it was exciting to see Akito maneuver the scaffolding in his Alexander and fire on the Ahura Mazda in the first scene or the Vercingetorix outmaneuver well placed defenses in the second, but only for the first few seconds. This is because previous installments had the Knightmare Frames engage each other in both gun play and hand-to-hand combat, and this installment didn’t

The Vercingetorix charging towards the W-0 unit’s base.

Looking at the second installment, The Wyvern Divided, the combat began in a forested area and then moved to an abandoned city. This allowed for a number of different situations to play out between the characters. Yet, by comparison, because both action scenes in the fourth installment mirrored each other in that the one side was charging the other, neither was engaging to watch. Examining the first action scene, all the Ahura Mazda did was stand in one location unloading rounds from multiple chain guns. True, Akito’s Alexander was moving about the airship, but the lack of movement from the Ahura Mazda made it not only an easy target, but uninteresting for the purpose of an action scene as well. I’ll admit the second action scene with the Vercingetorix was more a battle of wits, giving it some weight, but again a stationary and hidden opponent hardly made for visually stimulating action. While ultimately disappointing, the action scenes in From the Memories of Hatred maintained the same cadence seen in other action scenes of the franchise, making them at the very least bearable.

Though the dialog and action were subpar, both had aspects that were tolerable at a minimum. However, there was one aspect of the direction in From the Memories of Hatred that upset the narrative of the series. It came from two plot twists in the installment. As always, talking about these in great detail removes the charm inherent in them, however, suffice it to say they appeared with little rhyme or reason. Granted, plot twists often appear out of the blue, yet as an audience we can always look back on the mannerisms, dialog, decisions, and other aspects of a character or situation that propagated the plot twist. Yet in this OVA, almost no information was given to the audience before the plot twists were sprung on us. Please don’t misconstrue my words as my meaning to say the plot twists were unwelcome in this series—in fact, I feel a great deal of the Code Geass franchise was built around interesting narrative twists—but the two presented here were at odds with the narrative of the series. On top of this, their presence wasn’t for the sake of shock value, though one could argue the first had some, but rather they served as a device to advance the narrative for this installment, albeit in a forced manner. Thus, not only were the plot twists out of context for the series, they suffered from poor writing as well.

One would expect better from the production company that made such a highly acclaimed franchise, yet here we are with a subpar installment of the Code Geass: Akito the Exiled series. That’s not to say there weren’t well done segments of Code Geass: Akito the Exiled From the Memories of Hatred, as there were a few. However, many of the flaws in the series began to come through in this installment, such as poor writing and repetitive action scenes. Yet, I can’t deny how much I enjoyed the development of Shin Hyuga Shaingu. Compared to the other characters, his dialog was incredibly well written and we were provided with an interesting look into his character. Though I’m looking forward to the final installment of the Code Geass: Akito the Exiled series, I can’t help but feel it will go the way of Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion: a strong opening with a weak ending. For the sake of deriving full enjoyment out of the final installment, I would suggest watching From the Memories of Hatred. But unless you are a devout fan of the franchise, you may find this installment dull.

Work Info
Title: Code Geass: Akito the Exiled From the Memories of Hatred (コードギアス 亡国にアキト 憎しみの記憶から Code Geass Bokoku no Akito Nikushimi no Kioku kara)
Under: Sunrise Inc.
Official Site: http://www.geass.jp/akito/
More Info: http://ja.wikipedia.org/wiki/コードギアス_亡国のアキト

One of the posters for Eiga Go! Princess Pretty Cure Go! Go!! Gōka Sanbon Date!!!

I’m glad Halloween is starting to gain traction in Japan because it allows me to go trick-or-treating again. But in my case, it’s trick-or-dating.

In recent years Japan has started to celebrate Halloween, not the traditional Halloween derived from Christianity, but the highly marketed version that took hold in the United States in the twentieth century. In Japan, 2015 seemed to be a tipping point for the holiday, though. What I mean by this is since about 2005, though it was slowly seeping into the culture prior to then, Japanese adults have taken a liking to dressing up in costumes and handing out treats. While I think part of this has to do with the anime and manga cosplay, or costume play, community in Japan, I feel it’s more of a way for a new generation of parents to spend time with their children. Though some xenophobic and Japanese nationalists might find this appalling, I’m not really opposed to this phenomenon as the sharing of cultures ultimately makes for a better global community. However, I can’t help but feel the way Halloween is celebrated in Japan is still in its beginning phases. The 2015 Pretty Cure film, Eiga Go! Princess Pretty Cure Go! Go!! Gōka Sanbon Date!!! (映画Go!プリンセスプリキュア Go! Go!!豪華3本立て!!) was a wonderful example of how Halloween culture in Japan is still in its infancy. Beyond that, however, the film was, as always, exceptionally fun. This came from how there were two short films included with the feature presentation, making this a rather unique entry in the Pretty Cure film franchise. The idea that material possessions aren’t necessarily what we should treasure was also reinforced in the film for children and as such, there were a few touching moments scattered throughout it.

As in the United States, Japan has turned October into one giant celebration of Halloween. Again, the focus is not on honoring the dead—Japan has Obon for that—but the heavily marketed manner that took hold in the United States. This includes costumes, trick-or-treating, pumpkin everything, though carving pumpkins hasn’t taken hold in Japan yet, and the Halloween ephemera of black cats, witches, and the like. It’s a very different experience than in the United States, but even there, we can find regional variations in how people celebrate Halloween. That being the case, anime and manga series have also begun to adopt stories revolving around the holiday. While some of them try to incorporate traditional and modern Japanese sensibilities into their stories, many only seem to use the surface elements of the holiday.

The three different art styles in Eiga Go! Princess Pretty Cure Go! Go!! Gōka Sanbon Date!!!

While this was certainly the case for Eiga Go! Princess Pretty Cure Go! Go!! Gōka Sanbon Date!!! I can’t help but feel it was somehow appropriate for the material in the feature presentation and the two shorts. Since the airing of Fresh Pretty Cure, the standalone Pretty Cure films have been released in October and it’s a miracle no one on the production teams of any of the films thought to use Halloween as backdrop for them. Just looking at the three stories used in this film, they all had some relation to the holiday. For instance, in the first short we saw a group of ghosts playing the traditional mirror routine on the heroine, Cure Flora, wherein she stood in front of a frame while the ghosts mimicked her movements. On the surface, the scene didn’t have much to do with Halloween, other than the ghosts, but it was the ending that gave it the Halloween feel. The feature presentation was similar in that while it had little to do with Halloween per se, it maintained the seasonal tone by placing the story in the Pumpkin Kingdom. Granted, I felt as though the production team missed a wonderful chance to dig into the more thematic elements of Halloween in the feature, but the setting alone was satisfying. However, I’ll expand on that later. The final short was far more in line with what one might think of in regards to the holiday insofar as the setting was a rather surreal city and had villains themed around pumpkins. But even in this case, there were some missed opportunities on the part of the production team.

What exactly, then, were the aspects the production team failed to capitalize on? The first actually had little to do with the narrative of the feature or shorts, but the release date of the film. Consider, most Halloween themed films are released around mid-September to the final week of October. This allows the audience to enter the holiday spirit well in advance of the holiday and enjoy the seasonal mood until October 31^st. Granted, some of the films released in late October run into November, but those films tend to be in theaters for only a few weeks. Eiga Go! Princess Pretty Cure Go! Go!! Gōka Sanbon Date!!!, though, was released on Halloween. While this may have been great for publicity, once we entered November the novelty of the film quickly wore off—I honestly don’t want to watch a Halloween themed film as the Thanksgiving season is in full swing. Thus, I felt that if the production team wanted to make the most of the Halloween season in the film, it would have been better to release it in mid-October. At least then it would have felt far more appropriate for the season.

However, the release date is a mere trifle when compared to the narrative elements that could have further propelled the tone of the film. Looking at the feature presentation first, the autumn aura permeated the narrative, especially with the story built around the princess competition held by the Pumpkin Kingdom. Though the princess competition was thematically appropriate for this iteration of Pretty Cure, with the amount of Halloween ephemera seen in the film, a costume party would have fit the tone the production team was aiming for much better. This wouldn’t have required too many alterations to the core narrative and it would have allowed Japanese children to experience a fraction of the fun of Halloween under the supervision of their parents. It was the second short, though, where I felt the creative team missed its chance to bring the holiday spirit to the forefront of the narrative. Yes, the setting and villains were seasonally appropriate, but the antagonist’s name, Night Pumpkin, didn’t quite resonate with me. I say this because when looking at his design it was reminiscent of the Headless Horseman from Disney’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and as such I thought a name like “Jack O’Lantern,” as clichéd as it may be, would have invoked the season far more. Granted, as much as I would have welcomed these changes, the film was still a great autumn piece.

Cure Flora and the mirror routine.

Of course, just because I had some issues with the film doesn’t mean there weren’t some fascinating aspects to Eiga Go! Princess Pretty Cure Go! Go!! Gōka Sanbon Date!!!. The most unique of these related to how there were three films, albeit two were shorts, rolled into one. When I first heard the Go! Princess Pretty Cure film would do this, I had my doubts as I had become accustomed Pretty Cure films with a single narrative. In all honesty, though, it felt like a throwback to Japanese animated films from the 1990s. For those who are not familiar with the practices of that era, certain production companies would roll different anime franchises into a longer multi-feature film. Granted, each individual film was much shorter than a single feature length film, but the fact a moviegoer could watch at most three films for the price of one was fantastic. In a similar way, younger audience members for this film being able to enjoy three vastly different stories was gratifying, especially because the storytelling and animation methods were unique for each short and feature.

For example, the two shorts were both animated with CGI, but their styles were distinct from each other. The first short relied heavily on the chibi, or super-deformed, artistic style while the second was comparable to that of the ending credits of the TV series. The feature, in contrast, used traditional animation. This shift in animation styles actually fit the narrative of each story as well because the way Cure Flora moved and expressed herself in the first short wouldn’t have worked for the second short and vice versa, especially when taking into account how the first short was minimalist in the presentation of its narrative where the second was a fully formed story. As such, younger audience members were allowed the chance to engage with different artistic styles and storytelling techniques without being overwhelmed or challenged too much.

I also can’t ignore how the writing staff included a central message to reinforce cultural mores for the children in the feature presentation. It’s a common occurrence for this film franchise, and in the past some of the ideas informing a given film have included failing faster and compensating for an injury. However, in Eiga Go! Princess Pretty Cure Go! Go!! Gōka Sanbon Date!!! it revolved around how material possessions aren’t necessarily the things we should treasure the most. While it only really appeared briefly near the end of the second act and a bit in the third, it was the presentation that was noteworthy. This was done using the royal family of the Pumpkin Kingdom where they displayed a gamut of emotions in just a few scenes. For instance, as the film was transitioning between the second and third act, Cure Flora presented the king and queen of the Pumpkin Kingdom with a large bowl of pudding and explained how she had fond memories of her parents and that particular recipe. The emotions it invoked and the imagery used was a great juxtaposition to the villain, Warp, and his materialism. In fact, you could liken Warp to the Marvel Comics character The Collector, Taneleer Tivan. Thus, when the two ideas were placed in juxtaposition to each other, materialism versus love of family, friends, and the like, we saw how the latter was emphasized as righteous whereas the former was villainous. Again, this lesson in morality didn’t take center stage too often, but there was enough to reinforce the idea for the children in the viewing audience.

As an autumn and Halloween themed film, Eiga Go! Princess Pretty Cure Go! Go!! Gōka Sanbon Date!!! could have been far better. There were aspects to the release date as well as the narrative that could have brought the Halloween spirit out more. But, there was enough to make the film enjoyable. The unique use of three stories also made the film stand out from its counterparts as we received three different stories revolving around this iteration of Pretty Cure with diverse animation styles. If this is the direction Toei Animation, the studio that produces the Pretty Cure franchise, takes, the Pretty Cure film franchise we will most likely see more interesting ideas incorporated into them. Of course, there was the standard social lesson embedded into the narrative, but it was far less prevalent than other films in the franchise. While I can’t say materialism is evil, the idea that overconsumption is less moral than enjoying what we have in terms of our memories and experiences isn’t a poor message. Perhaps Eiga Go! Princess Pretty Cure Go! Go!! Gōka Sanbon Date!!! isn’t the best children’s Halloween film—I don’t think any film or TV special will top It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown—but it certainly was an enjoyable family film. In fact, maybe it will become a staple of Halloween specials in Japan.

Work Info
Title: Eiga Go! Princess Pretty Cure Go! Go!! Gōka Sanbon Date!! (映画Go!プリンセスプリキュア Go! Go!!豪華3本立て!!!)
Under: Toei Animation
Official Site: http://www.precure-movie.com/
More Info: https://ja.wikipedia.org/wiki/映画_Go!プリンセスプリキュア_Go!Go!!豪華3本立て!!!

he cover of the first volume of Love Buzz.

You can meet some interesting people at a gym, such as the professional wrestler Masato Tanaka. You’d be surprised, though, he’s a really soft-spoken man.

Whether or not you want to classify professional wrestling as a sport or entertainment or fake or real, there is no doubt in my mind that those who choose this career path fill three roles for the audience: performer, athlete, and stunt man. Why those three roles? Consider a professional wrestling corporation, be it World Wrestling Entertainment, Total Nonstop Wrestling, or any of the smaller companies that dot the world, and the entertainment value of their matches. They’re fun to watch because the wrestlers not only boast a great deal of charisma, but also preform amazing feats of strength, stamina, and high-flying action, at least on the men’s side of the competition in American professional wrestling. That’s not to say female professional wrestlers don’t have their moments to shine—Miss Elizabeth did a wonderful job in promoting WrestleMania V by playing victim to Macho Man Randy Savage and Hulk Hogan’s feud—but it seems as though the charm of the women is based on their sex appeal rather than their athleticism. It’s patently clear, though, any female wrestler could break me in half like the ridged man I am. Of course, if we look at smaller professional wrestling organizations, I’m sure we’ll find female wrestlers who take center stage and showcase their athletic talent there as well.

I don’t want to speak in broad terms here, but Japan also has a very robust professional wrestling industry. Perhaps not as popular as it was in the 1970s, but it’s still large enough to draw crowds and legions of dedicated fans. Yet, thanks to the many appearances on Japanese television by Hisako Sakaki, better known by her ring name Akira Hokuto, female professional wrestlers have garnered a certain amount of popularity in Japan. They may not be on the same level as their male counterparts, but they do have enough appeal to make people curious about the sport. In the anime and manga industries, authors and directors even use female professional wrestling as a backdrop to their stories. Wanna Be the Strongest in the World and Kinnikuman Lady may be two of the better-known manga series that delve into female professional wrestling. However, both seem to have an air of radical fictionalization—which is ironic considering they’re works of fiction—and a certain amount of sex appeal. Not that there’s anything wrong with this, but I feel so much more can be done with such a fascinating concept other than showing off female bodies and the characters’ feuds and exaggerated matches. Unsurprisingly, with a little sleuthing I was able to stumble across a lesser-known series about women’s professional wrestling. This was Takako Shimura’s Love Buzz (ラヴ•バズ). While I wouldn’t call the series a masterpiece by any stretch of the imagination, it was interesting to see the drama of the protagonist play out over the course of three volumes. Added on top of this, the minimal art style the author employed added a great deal to the ambiance of the series. However, what made it fascinating in its own right was how it truly was a slice-of-life series. It wasn’t that the series was comical in nature, as so many slice-of-life manga and anime are, but instead we received short snippets about the characters’ lives.

Sometimes the most engrossing stories aren’t the ones that have a grandiose plot or take us on an adventure to the furthest reaches of our imaginations, but those that deal with the everyday lives and problems of benign characters. As readers, this gives us much more to latch on to as we can relate to the issues the characters are facing in their lives. For example, examine the manga or anime series Genshiken. It called into question how otaku, or anime, manga, and fans of other subsets of popular culture, especially Japanese otaku, navigate the college experience. While I can’t claim you will have or had a similar experience as the characters, there was a sense we could empathize with the situations the characters were placed in. This empathy can be inspired by any myriad of works, though obviously in different a manner, but Love Buzz created an attachment to its characters by presenting us with the trials and tribulations of the protagonist in ways that may be familiar to some readers.

Yuri telling Kaoru she held grudges

Creating empathy for the characters actually was invoked in two different ways in the series, and this added to the nature of the narrative. Both approaches were seen in the opening pages of the series: the difficulties of a working single mother and the idea of second chances. The latter was a far more complex issue to deal with in regards to the series as a whole, but it also set a poignant tone for the overall narrative. This idea of second chances was based on the fact the protagonist, Kaoru Fuji, was returning to professional wrestling after a five-year hiatus. In a certain sense that alone is a second chance, however, it was the circumstances of her return that made the issue interesting: she disappeared before a match five years prior to the events of the series. Although the reasons why she ran away from the profession were vague, we gleaned bits of it throughout the course of the series. Yes, some of it had to do with her daughter, Erika, but it stemmed more so in how weak willed she was. It wasn’t that she wasn’t able to stand up to the physical punishment of professional wrestling. Instead, she found it hard to take the pressure of living up to the expectations of her fans, trainers, and friends.

The final volume of Love Buzz illustrated this rather well as we saw two instances of Kaoru and her tag-team partner, Yuri Machiya, face their mentors in the ring. The fascinating aspects about these matches were the different approaches to the storytelling that were utilized. Looking at the first specifically, what should have been a satisfying resolution to Kaoru and Yuri’s conflict turned into a moment where the weight of Kaoru’s decision five years prior to the match came crashing down on her. It was summed up nicely with Yuri stating she held grudges and just because they released their pent up anger at each other and made up afterwards, it didn’t mean Yuri forgave Kaoru for abandoning her years earlier. This defies many of the conventions of popular writing and added a level of depth to the characters as well as dramatic tension we could relate to. Think of it in these terms: there is most likely someone in your life that, no matter how much he or she apologizes or tries to make amends, you still can’t forgive him or her. Sure, we may offer them a second chance, but the scar runs deep from whatever that person did. The second match continued with this theme, but had less to do with vindication and more to do with Kaoru coming to terms with the decisions she had made in the past.

It could be said this was the happy ending we wanted, but then again, it’s a complicated issue to tackle. Yes, Kaoru finally understood why Yuri was upset with her and why those around her were willing to put up with her antics, but it’s not as though they truly forgave her. She certainly paid her dues for the mistakes she made throughout the series, but we must ask if there was a fundamental change in her character. To a degree yes, but more so in her attitude about her work life and less so in her overall personality. I believe this was where Kaoru being a single mother played into the story well. Looking through the series it was clear Kaoru was lazy and easygoing, but these traits came out the most when she interacted with her daughter. For instance, in the first volume of Love Buzz Kaoru was playing with Erika despite the fact Kaoru should have been training. This was an insightful moment into Kaoru’s personality as it clearly demonstrated she was all about fun and games and less about the work needed to achieve that sort of enjoyment. It’s funny in a sense because it wasn’t as though Kaoru was a good mother to begin with. She certainly cared for her daughter, but then again she was patently lazy, albeit high-spirited. But, Kaoru could only get away with slacking off on her training because she had a strong safety net of people who were willing to help her. While it was disappointing how Love Buzz never called into question the difficulties of a young, working, and single mother, the mere fact the protagonist fell into those three categories was a miracle to say least.

Surprisingly, the complex nature of Kaoru’s character was actually where the strength of the series was born. The conflict of Kaoru seeking a second chance and her path to achieve it felt more like a window into a small section of her life rather than a grandiose tale of redemption. This, too, was a radical departure from the standard conventions of a slice-of-life manga series if only because it actually was a slice of the life of the respective characters, particularly Kaoru’s. Where many other slice-of-life manga series tend to explore the minutia and comedy of everyday life, Love Buzz only looked at one portion of Kaoru’s life. We never truly saw what prompted her to leave professional wrestling prior to the series and although it’s touched upon lightly, the full extent of her romantic exploits were never delved into in great detail either. Thus, it forced readers to quickly understand Kaoru had a history, but we would never receive the full extent of it. All our understanding of her came from what we were presented with concerning her current life and what we could infer from the dialog and the short flashbacks.

Kaoru with her daughter and boyfriend.

Some may argue, then, all stories fall into the slice-of-life genre. While this is an interesting argument, we still recognize series in this genre follow certain rules in regards to the presentation of the story. Conventional wisdom may dictate slice-of-life stories have to be a comedy series with no discernable story arcs, but this doesn’t mean authors are bound by those rules, as was the case with Love Buzz. There was no need for extensive background information regarding the characters because this small section of their lives was fascinating enough. We didn’t need to see beyond what happened after the conclusion of the series as well because the focus was on Kaoru facing her past decisions and owning up to them and receiving a second chance. As such, this was, for all intents and purposes, a more accurate representation of a slice-of-life.

However, the narrative of the series wasn’t the only thing that heightened the reading experience. The minimalist art style of Takako Shimura added a great deal to it as well. To be clear, I don’t mean minimalist in the sense all the panels were filled with rough sketches, but rather they lacked the same detail we find in other manga series. More specifically, it was how panels lacked background art in favor of solid backgrounds or screen tones. Ultimately, this forced our attention on the characters, their movement—though we’re talking about still images here—and their emotions. This helped emphasize the emotional weight during the interpersonal moments between the characters. Of course, not all the panels lacked a background, but when a detailed one was included, it was either used as an establishing shot or used in wrestling matches to give them a sense of urgency. On top of this, the character designs were always fun to look at. Granted, there wasn’t much variety to those designs, but they had a soft touch to them and worked well in conjunction with the narrative of the story. Takako Shimura has a distinct art style and I enjoy it.

As I stated above, Love Buzz is by no means an opus, but for the story Takako Shimura wrote it’s enjoyable. She effectively used the backdrop of women’s professional wrestling to craft a story about second chances and facing the poor decisions we may have made in the past. While I contend there was little growth in the personality of the protagonist, Kaoru Fuji, there was an overall change in how she approached her work. The idea that not all psychological wounds heal over time or with an apology was also one that very few series I’ve seen tackle and for that reason this series is unique. I would have liked to have seen more in terms of an examination of the lives of young, working, single mothers, but if that issue had taken center stage it would have disrupted the narrative Takako Shimura wanted to tell. The art style definitely added to the narrative of the series and I enjoyed not only how Takako Shimura used a variety of backgrounds, or lack thereof, to heighten the story, but also the simplistic nature of the character designs as well. But, it was the presentation of the story that was the most fascinating feature of the series. It truly was a small slice of Kaoru’s life and never delved into great detail surrounding her background and other endeavors. The original publication of the series can be difficult to find, but a reprint version was released in 2011. Either edition is worth reading and you will not be disappointed in doing so.

Work Info
Title: Love Buzz (ラヴ•バズ)
By: Takako Shimura
Under: Shonen Gahosha, Young King Comics
Official Site: N/A
More Info: https://ja.wikipedia.org/wiki/ラヴ・バズ

The title logo for Seiyu’s Life!

If I ever go to a voice actress’s autographing event, I’m going to have her autograph a marriage license from the United States so that later on when she actually gets married I can say, “What about our love?”

Perhaps not all that surprising to those who are entrenched in the world of anime, manga, and to a degree video games, but the dōjin-shi, or self-publication, market is large in Japan. While a large portion of dōjin-shi are parodies of more established works, although I use the term loosely, there are well-known authors who started their careers by self-publishing their works and still continue to do so. I previously wrote about Otoi Rekomaru having a background in adult content, but I failed to mention those works were self-published. So, it’s possible for authors of self-published works to gain a foothold within the broader culture. That’s not to say established authors shouldn’t release self-published works, but I feel many do so as a hobby rather than as another source of income. However, there have been examples of the self-publications of celebrated authors gaining wider exposure. One such series is voice actress Masumi Asano and author Kenjiro Hata’s self-published work Seiyu’s Life! (それが声優! Sorega Seiyū!), which became an anime series in 2015. This was somewhat odd considering very few dōjin-shi ever acquire a large enough following to become an anime series. Yet upon watching the anime adaptation, it’s understandable why it was so popular. It not only examined the grueling hurdles fledgling voice actors in Japan have to overcome to become recognized in the field, but it also did so in a comedic fashion. There was also a wonderful cast and the production team at Gonzo did an amazing job of recruiting renowned voice actors for many of the episodes.

One of the fascinating aspects of the Japanese anime, manga, and video game fandom is how readily they encourage self-published works. That’s not to say fans living outside of Japan aren’t encouraged to produce self-published works, but they aren’t nearly as common as in Japan. In fact, many convention centers in Japan are used for one-day exhibitions for authors to sell their self-published works—arguably the most famous being the Comic Market. While it’s odd many of the works escape copyright laws, one has to concede the positive economic effect as well as the talent that arises from self-publications. For example, I mentioned above the author Otoi Rekomaru. Granted, of his self-publications I’ve personally seen, none were parodies of existing properties. Yet, through his self-publications he’s not only created a popular manga series, Ojisan to Marshmallow, but he has seen it made into an anime series. A fair portion of other established manga authors also release self-published works as well. Most of the authors I follow on Twitter all publish parody works, but this doesn’t mean all established authors use self-publications as a test bed for new ideas they may not be able to publish in magazines.

Consider the source material for the anime series Seiyu’s Life. It started as a collaborative work between the voice actress Masumi Asano and the author Kenjiro Hata before it gained traction in the larger fandom. Surprisingly though, there was no need for either person to work on the series. The reason for this stems from how they are both known in their respective fields. For example, while I can’t say Kenjiro Hata has written a large body of manga series, since 2004 he’s had massive success with his work Hayate the Combat Butler. Let that sink in for a moment, as it’s not common for a manga author to write a series for over ten years. Generally, the turnover rate is high within the manga industry, thus being able to retain a readership on a weekly basis for over ten years is nothing to scoff at. The same can be said with the scenario writer for Seiyu’s Life, Masumi Asano. While she’s had her share of major roles in anime series, she has a litany of minor roles in well-known series as well. This, too, is no easy task when taking into account the longevity of voice actors and more specifically voice actresses. Though there has always been a large pool of voice talent in the anime industry, as with any other major media industry, only a small fraction ever make a lasting impression in the field. Thus, while Masumi Asano may not have a large body of work in comparison to someone like Megumi Toyoguchi, she has etched out her own corner of the industry. So, while I may say Masumi Asano and Kenjiro Hata didn’t necessarily need to create Seiyu’s Life, the sheer fact they did and it garnered enough attention to be made into an anime series was not only a good decision on their part, but well worth their effort.

The three main characters of Seiyu’s Life! From left to right: Ichigo Moesaki, Futaba Ichinose, and Rin Kohana.

However, what made the anime adaptation of Seiyu’s Life entertaining was remarkable, to say the least. The strength of the series resulted form a combination of Masumi Asano’s expertise in the field of voice acting and Kenjiro Hata’s comedic sense. I’ve written about this before in regards to the process of creating an anime series in Shirobako, but watching an anime series that deals with adult characters and their work related issues has captured my attention over the past few years. This mainly comes from the fact I’m in an older demographic now, but it’s also nice to see the inner workings of a particular industry. In the case of this series, it was voice acting, or rather breaking into the industry. As consumers of this type of media, we can forget exactly how difficult it is for up-and-coming voice talents to make a name for themselves. By centering on this challenge, it made the series compelling to watch. For example, when looking at the three main characters, Futaba Ichinose, Ichigo Moesaki, and Rin Kohana, they were all struggling to stay afloat as voice actresses as well as, in the case of Futaba and Ichigo, making enough money to pay their bills. Thus, in a handful of episodes there were scenes of Futaba and Ichigo working outside of voice acting. This is a reality that is all too true for people who are trying to subsist on an income derived from being in the field of entertainment, and seeing this fact of life presented in an anime series was rather something to behold.

This begs the question, though, of why Rin wasn’t worried about her finical situation. The simple answer is that she was a middle school student. This, too, provided an interesting look into the life of a young voice talent. Although voice actors generally enter the field after they’ve graduated from high school, there have been examples of some entering the industry at an earlier age. I doubt there have been many who began as young as fourteen or fifteen as was the case with Rin, but it’s certainly possible. Thus, it was fascinating to watch her dilemma unfold because she was placed in a precarious position: either continue working as a voice actress and sacrifice her studies or focus on her studies and forgo her career in a field in which she had already established herself. Unfortunately, the tenth episode of the series was the only episode to truly focus on this issue. Yet, it provided an interesting perspective on child actors and entertainers. In the case of the tenth episode, Rin not only pondered the situation she was in, but how it would affect her friendship with her close friend, Sayo-chan. This was far different than worrying about one’s financial situation, as we saw with Futaba and Ichigo. Thus, watching someone so young feeling she had to deal with her future career in such clear-cut terms was intriguing to say the least.

Outside of the financial and social dilemmas faced by the characters, though, Seiyu’s Life also covered aspects of the voice acting industry one might not consider. While there were certainly discussions about self-doubt throughout the series, each of the early episodes focused on different facets of voice acting. For example, I’ve heard this discussed by voice actors before, but oftentimes many of the throwaway characters in an anime series are voiced by the main cast. Thus, it’s incumbent upon voice actors to be able pick up those minor parts at a moment’s notice. As viewers, unless we are paying very close attention to the voices, this can be lost on us and seeing a clear example of this in the series was rather nice. But, it went beyond what happens inside the sound booth. Even within the voice acting industry, there are people who specialize in niche occupations, such as narration or voice dubbing. Although these jobs are generally found outside of the anime industry, you would be surprised at the number of television programs and foreign films that require a narrator or other voice talent. Thus, while we may not consider this type of employment in regards to anime voice actors all that often, seeing it brought to light was appealing.

It was the humor of Kenjiro Hata that brought the series to life, though. As with any series that examines the human condition, there was a fair bit of humor seen throughout the series. Of course those situations arose from the characters’ occupation, but the memorable moments came from the interactions with other voice actors. One of my favorite examples of this came in the fifth episode. Here we saw Ichigo participating in an event promoting a video game she was cast in and while most of the episode centered on how anxious she was, the appearance of Yui Horie brought out the comedy in the episode. It specifically played on the idea of how we perceive voice actors when they make public appearances and how they dress and act in private. Although this moment only lasted a few minutes, it created a light-hearted atmosphere to break the tension Ichigo was feeling. However, it was the ending credits that truly took the humor of the series to a whole different level. This was no more than a play on the ending theme songs, but they were portrayed as a radio program. Thus, while the melody was always the same, the lyrics reflected the events of the episodes while also incorporating a clip from well-known anime songs with Futaba, Ichigo, and Rin singing and cheering along. This was the highlight of the series and I’m glad the production team at Gonzo chose this method of presenting the ending credits.

Yui Horie as she appeared in Seiyu’s Life!

One of the astonishing features of Seiyu’s Life, though, wasn’t the examination of the voice acting industry or the humor in the series. It was actually how the anime production company Gonzo was able to recruit well-known voice actors for the series as guest stars. I mentioned Yui Horie above guest starring in the fifth episode, but every episode featured an established voice actor. My personal favorite was Masako Nozawa if only because she’s famous for portraying Son Goku from Dragon Ball. Putting that aside, though, the mere fact Gonzo was able to bring on such famous voice actors for one episode apiece was remarkable. It wasn’t as though their avatars within Seiyu’s Life offered too much to the series, but their presence provided a seasoned look at the industry as a whole.

Yet, it was the voice cast of the three prominent characters, Rie Takahashi, Yuki Nagaku, and Marika Kōno, that added flavor to the series. I say this because, like the characters, each of the voice actresses was a newcomer to the industry when the series first aired. Yes, they had experience working on other anime productions, but looking at their body of work this was among their first opportunities to portray lead roles. I’m sure many of the topics brought up over the course of Seiyu’s Life hit close to home for them and as such I felt each of their performances had the same sense of insecurity as their characters. This ultimately helped bring the characters’ drama to life and enriched the viewing experience.

Seiyu’s Life was an incredibly fun series to watch. Not only did it have a wonderful novice voice cast but it also incorporated veterans for individual episodes, thus giving the series flavor. In the end, though, it was the exploration of the voice acting industry that caught my attention. While it certainly delved into anime voice acting the most, the examination of other facets of the industry were welcome. I specifically discussed narration and voice dubbing, but we can’t forget professions like idol-voice actresses or radio personalities. Granted, the finer points of voice acting may have been glossed over and fictionalized to a degree, but, as with all series that delve into an industry, they must have been mired in some truth. Of course, it was the situations each main character faced that made the series engaging. Though the extent of the drama was how they would survive within the voice acting industry, this was an idea many people, especially those trying to gain a foothold in the entertainment industry as a whole, could relate to. While I wouldn’t call Seiyu’s Life an informative series, it certainly was enlightening. Thus, if you have an interest in the voice acting industry, this is a series I would suggest watching. Even if you don’t have an interest in voice acting, this was an entertaining series that anyone can enjoy.

Work Info
Title: Seiyu’s Life! (それが声優! Sorega Seiyū!)
By: Masumi Asano, Kenjiro Hata
Under: Gonzo K.K.
Official Site: http://soregaseiyu.com/
More Info: https://ja.wikipedia.org/wiki/それが声優!

One of the posters for　Dragon Ball Z Resurrection ‘F’.

I just want to tell people I’m not sayin’ the Dragon Ball franchise is fun. I’m super sayin’ the Dragon Ball franchise is fun.

As of late there has been a revival of older anime properties being reanimated. Among these are Space Battleship Yamato, Sailor Moon, and Dragon Ball. While I appreciate how the series are being brought back for younger generations to enjoy, they have consistently been re-aired on Japanese television, especially Japanese cable television. Because of this, I can’t help but think reanimating older series robs the current generation of a series they can call their own. Yes, there are more anime series being produced now than in previous generations and I understand the rising popularity of the series Yokai Watch has introduced a younger demographic to the medium. But, recently many of the series adapted from manga have found themselves pushed further into the late-night block. Because of this, children, possibly the largest subset of new viewers, are not awake to watch the programs. This is an issue that may haunt the anime industry in the future, but only time will tell. Until then, though, I will enjoy the quite obvious pandering towards my generation of anime fans. What better way to do this than with the most recent Dragon Ball feature film, Dragon Ball Z Resurrection ‘F’ (ドラゴンボール 復活の「F」 Dragon Ball Z Fukkatsu no ‘F’)?

I had my reservations about the film before watching it because I feel the Dragon Ball franchise is one that is just a fond memory of my youth. I also found it difficult to imagine what the author of the series, Akira Toriyama, could add to the franchise. After all, the main character’s power was on a level that was incomprehensible to even the people occupying that world. Thus, what was almost a begrudging trip to the theaters soon became a fun ride through the carefree days of my youth. What I mean by this is the film was far sharper with the narrative than the previous film, Dragon Ball Z Battle of Gods. I was disinterested in Freeza as the villain, though, yet despite this his presence added to the story. There were also a number of moments that were quite hilarious and kept with Akira Toriyama’s sense of humor. Those funny moments were also spread evenly throughout the story, breaking up the monotony of the characters fighting. However, what was truly an improvement over the film Battle of Gods and the TV series Dragon Ball Kai was the voice acting by both Masako Nozawa and Ryo Horikawa.

In the early to mid-1990s, when the Dragon Ball franchise was at its height, Toie Animation released about two Dragon Ball films per year. Much like the Pretty Cure franchise today, these films all followed a familiar pattern. It made each film very easy to follow and no matter when someone began watching the film, he or she could quickly understand the story. However, after seventeen years of not making a Dragon Ball film, Toei Animation lost the magic of how to make those films. Thus, when looking at Dragon Ball Z Battle of Gods we saw a very weak narrative with much of the film’s runtime devoted to letting older viewers reminisce about their time with the franchise in their youth. In this regard the film succeeded, though as a narrative story it failed quite thoroughly.

When it was announced in late 2014 a new Dragon Ball film was in production, I had a great deal of reservation. If the previous film pandered to older audiences with voice actors reprising their roles and a slew of images to remind them of their time with the franchise, I felt the new film would do the same. As more information was released about the film I became even more worried, especially when it was publicized Freeza would be the villain. To me, this felt like Toei Animation was no longer interested in making films in the Dragon Ball franchise at the same level as those in the early to mid-1990s. Rather, it seemed they wanted to indulge the audience members who perpetually want to reclaim their carefree childhood—or to remain, as I like to call myself, a man-child. Therefore, I was rather surprised when Toei Animation created a narrative, albeit a meager narrative, but a narrative nonetheless, for Dragon Ball Z Resurrection ‘F’.

Five of the characters who fought against Freeza’s forces. From left to right: Kame-Sennin, Kuririn, Son Gohan, Piccolo, and Tenshinhan.

Honestly, even now I’m not completely satisfied with the idea of resurrecting the most famous Dragon Ball villain, Freeza. However, I understand why he was chosen over creating a new villain or even using one of the other popular villains. It stemmed from the fact Freeza was quite possibly the only character in the franchise who wanted vengeance against the protagonist, Son Goku. Having a narrative that focused on the villain rather than the heroes gave the film a different perspective. While this method of storytelling didn’t instill any sympathy towards Freeza, we quickly grasped the humiliation of being defeated twice—after all, he was the strongest being in the universe before Goku came and fought him. In fact, his desire for vengeance was summarized very well in one line of dialog. He stated that if he actually trained there was no telling exactly how powerful he could become. This sense of purpose for Freeza helped engage the audience early in the film and greatly exceeded my expectations for the overall quality of Dragon Ball Z Resurrection ‘F’.

That’s not to say the film lacked the iconic fight scenes many have grown to love or hate. In fact, I felt the narrative of Freeza’s revenge benefited the climatic action scene. Again, the production team never meant for the audience to have any sympathy towards Freeza, but we saw how it pleased him to finally enact his vengeance against Goku. However, I couldn’t help but feel the production team was rushed when creating the climatic battle between the two characters because it lacked tension. For those familiar with the franchise as a whole, when looking back at their confrontation in both the manga source material and anime series, the battle had a number of peaks and valleys where it appeared Goku wouldn’t be victorious. This added to the tension of the overall fight between the characters and was certainly thrilling. Thus, because Dragon Ball Z Resurrection ‘F’ lacked the highs and lows of an action scene, the battle between Goku and Freeza felt lacking.

Even though the audience knew Goku would ultimately win, creating the façade he could lose would have greatly helped the tone of the film. For example, in the previous film, Dragon Ball Z Battle of Gods, we were introduced to the concept of Super Sayain God. This would have been a golden opportunity for the production team to show that while it greatly increased Goku’s power, there were even more beings that could surpass it. Thus, it would have forced Goku to reach the new level of Super Sayain God Super Sayain in a similar way to when he became a Super Sayain. This would have kept with the narrative of Freeza achieving his vengeance as well as the tradition of increasing Goku’s powers through great sacrifice.

The action was unquestionably the highlight of the film, but I was astonished at the amount of comedy present in Dragon Ball Z Resurrection ‘F’ as well. So we have an understanding, Akira Toriyama, the creator of Dragon Ball, has a background in comedic series. One of his first major publications, Dr. Slump, was a comedy series. The humor in the early volumes of the Dragon Ball manga series was comparable to that in Dr. Slump. Yet, as Dragon Ball progressed a great deal of the humor was lost. Many of the films in the franchise also lacked humor, but Dragon Ball Z Resurrection ‘F’ certainly tried to revive the humor seen later in the franchise and Toriyama’s other works. For instance, in a short scene when the character Kuririn was preparing for battle, he had his wife, Android 18, shave his head. What was humorous about the scene was the all but stoic Android 18 gave an out of character remark about how handsome her husband was. It’s only a passing moment, but it came out of the blue from a character we didn’t expect, making it very difficult not to laugh.

Freeza nearly achieving his revenge against Son Goku.

However, it was the addition of Jaco from Akira Toriyama’s series Jaco the Galactic Patrolman that livened many of the action scenes. Though he is a new addition to the Dragon Ball franchise, he was an odd fit for many of the characters. Where the other minor characters who appeared in the film—Kuririn, Tenshinhan, Piccolo, Son Gohan, and Kame-Sennin—approached each action scene by charging into the fray, Jaco used comedic tactics to best his opponents. For example, he used the landscape and wildlife to his advantage when Freeza’s forces were chasing him. It’s reminiscent of the action scenes in the opening volumes of the Dragon Ball manga series and it was a welcome return to Akira Toriyama’s comedic action. There were also hints of action from Kabuki theater with Jaco’s combat scenes, which further added to the charm of his character. What I mean by this is he and his opponent’s movements were very grandiose, almost as if they had been rehearsed, and when all was said and done he would consistently strike a pose. The parallels with Kabuki theater were certainly not all that comedic by themselves, but when placed against the other minor characters it was humorous to say the least.

The humor with Jaco wasn’t just in the combat scenes, though. Outside of combat he played the bloke to Bulma’s straight man in a comedic duo routine. This stemmed from how Jaco claimed he was an elite Galactic Patrolman, but turned a blind eye to any infractions made by the Galactic Patrol as well as trying to avoid any sort of confrontation with Freeza and his army. Therefore, many of his lines, even in the action scenes, saw him either complaining about the situations he was in or thinking about how he could escape them. Placed against Bulma’s straight man, this worked well because she never engaged anyone except verbally. Granted, Bulma was definitely the straight man in the early volumes and episodes of the Dragon Ball manga and anime series, but as the series progressed and the humor became absent her presence slowly dwindled. Thus, seeing her return to her roots as a comedic straight paired up to Jaco’s bloke was refreshing.

As much as the narrative was far more polished than Dragon Ball Z Battle of Gods and a return to Akira Toriyama’s comedic roots, the best improvement in Dragon Ball Z Resurrection ‘F’ was certainly the voice acting of Masako Nozawa, who voiced Son Goku and Son Gohan, and Ryo Horikawa, who voiced Vegeta. Yes, both voice actors are well established, but listening to their voices in Dragon Ball Z Battle of Gods and Dragon Ball Kai, it was clear they had aged. This was far more prevalent with Masako Nozawa as she is nearly eighty years old as opposed to Ryo Horikawa who is nearly sixty. It’s not as though the quality of their voice acting has diminished, but rather with Masako Nozawa she wasn’t enunciating as well as she did even ten years ago in Dragon Ball GT. This made her speech sound a bit slurred. While we could still understand what she was saying, it was clear she needed a bit more practice before reprising the role. With Ryo Horikawa, though, I believe the issue stemmed from not having voiced the character in over eighteen years, thus he needed more time to prepare.

Yet, in Dragon Ball Z Resurrection ‘F’ both of the voice actors sounded almost exactly as they did when the Dragon Ball Z TV series ended in 1996. This may seem like a minor point, but when one becomes as familiar with characters’ voices, as I have with these characters, any discrepancies stand out. Yes, these were the same voice actors, but voices can change over the years. For example, the anime series Sailor Moon from 1992 and the re-make Sailor Moon Crystal from 2014 had Kotono Miishi reprise her role as the protagonist, Usagi Tsukino. Yet, it’s clear from listening to the two renditions, she forced her voice to sound like it did in 1992 in the latter series. Thus, Masako Nozawa and Ryo Horikawa working to sound as they did twenty years ago helped mitigate some of the issues surrounding how their respective characters sounded.

With the revival of the Dragon Ball anime series in 2009, I felt the film Dragon Ball Z Resurrection ‘F’ captured the sprit of the 1990s iteration much better than the film Dragon Ball Z Battle of Gods and the anime series Dragon Ball Kai. While I still feel Freeza was not the ideal choice of villain for this film, the production team created a narrative that was satisfying to say the least. This was a great shift in focus from the heroes of the franchise, but it didn’t alter the fundamentals of the film. However, there was certainly a lack of tension in the climatic battle between Freeza and Goku. The throwback to Akira Toriyama’s early comedic style was also a welcome change of pace for the film and did a good job of breaking up the action. The inclusion of Jaco from Jaco the Galactic Patrolman also livened up the film and gave Bulma a chance to shine as the franchise’s straight man once again. However, it was the quality of the voice acting that made Dragon Ball Z Resurrection ‘F’ far easier on the ears and I commend both Masako Nozawa and Ryo Horikawa for their excellent work despite their age. Any fan of the Dragon Ball franchise will find this film irresistible and passing it up would be a great shame. Even the young boy in the seat behind me at the theater found the film entertaining. If that’s not a recommendation, I’m not sure what is.

Work Info
Title: Dragon Ball Z Resurrection ‘F’ (ドラゴンボール 復活の「F」 Dragon Ball Z Fukkatsu no ‘F’)
By: Akira Toriyama
Under: Toei Animation
Official Site: http://www.dragonball2015.com/
More Info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragon_Ball_Z:_Resurrection_’F’

The title logo for The Heroic Legend of Arslan.

If a house is a man’s castle, then I’m the ruler of gnarled grasslands. No, wait, I pulled up all those weeds with my father. So make that, I’m the ruler of a barren wasteland.

When I wrote about the 2015 anime series Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers, I mentioned fantasy amine series tend utilize either a Eurocentric or East Asian setting. However, I completely overlooked one other important setting within the fantasy genre, Persia and the Middle East. While not as prevalent as Eurocentric settings, there have been a number of recent anime and manga series inspired by the stories of Scheherazade and the architectural designs, landscapes, clothing, and culture of the region. Some of the more notable works would be Shinobu Ohtake’s series Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic or the Alabasta story arc in Oda Eichirō’s long running series One Piece. In this same manner Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers was a nice change in setting. The Middle East also provides authors and production companies with remarkable aesthetic choices. Since the region has a rich culture and fantastic history, it’s nice seeing the influence of the region in anime and manga.

One anime series that was certainly inspired by the culture and history of the Middle East was 2015’s The Heroic Legend of Arslan (アルスラーン戦記 Arslan Senki). The series felt like a great representation of a fictionalized Middle Eastern world, which could be seen in many different elements of the series. Despite this, the narrative was underwhelming. Confusing as this is, the novel that formed the basis of the manga this anime series was adapted from has yet to conclude. Yet, the themes explored within the anime series appeared to be a sample of the larger story. Though I can only speculate if the anime production companies Linden Films and Sanzigen will expand on the series at a later date, I can say with some certainty it will not be in the same manner as author George R.R. Martin’s series Game of Thrones.

When it comes to series being inspired by different cultures, a fair amount of them delve into the finer details of that culture, while others seem to only use the surface elements. These surface elements would include names, architecture, clothing styles, or landscapes. I don’t condemn this practice of using the surface elements one bit because it allows the audience to experience different cultures in non-threatening ways. For example, I’ve mentioned in a previous article that Akira Toriyama used aspects of the Chinese classic Journey to the West in the opening chapters of his series Dragon Ball. It was a great way to introduce young readers to the motifs of the source material, but they were adapted in a way that was fun for them—I can personally attest to this, as seeing Bulma in a bunny girl outfit was, shall we say, stimulating to my young self. That’s not to say films like the Sinbad series don’t introduce children to Persian classics. It’s just that it does so in an entertaining and modern way.

The same can be said with the anime series The Heroic Legend of Arslan. Though it didn’t examine Middle Eastern cultures in terms of classical literature, it incorporated a number of visual and language aesthetics from the region. The visual aesthetics are not all that difficult to point out as many of the strongholds had a distinct look of historical sites from Iran and the Middle East. Take, for example, the architecture in the Kingdom of Pars’ capital from the series. While I can’t cite one specific Middle Eastern city as the model for the capital, we clearly saw influences of Middle Eastern architecture about the city. What I mean by this is when examining the prominent buildings in the city, they had the domed roofs commonly seen in that region of the world. On top of this, certain clothing choices represented the region as well. The clothing was a bit more difficult to place, but there was one specific example that had its roots in Sikh culture. Yes, Sikh culture originated further east of Persia, that is, modern day Iran, but considering the Kingdom of Shindran was also east of Pars, I thus found the clothing choices rather appropriate for the series. Though the clothing didn’t subscribe to traditional Sikh garb, we definitely saw the influence within the series.

The main characters of The Heroic Legend of Arslan. From left to right: Arslan, Daryun, Narsus, Elam, Gieve, and Farangis.

However, as much as the visual aesthetics of The Heroic Legend of Arslan were wonderfully inspired, the foreign vocabulary was far more interesting. The series offered a great deal to examine, but a few stood out more than others. The most prominent of these was actually the name of the protagonist, Arslan. Adapted from the Persian epic, Amir Arsalan-e Namdar, the influence of the Farsi language and other regional languages can be seen from the titular character. Yet, scattered throughout the series we heard various terms not in the Japanese or English lexicon. The two terms that were possibly heard the most were yaşasin and Marzbān. Looking at the former, it was likely adopted from the Turkish word of the same pronunciation but retooled for the purposes of the series. While the Turkish definition appears to be “hurray,” the series used it to signal a charge—and trust me it took me quite a long time to find the source of the word. In turn, the latter term, Marzbān, was used in a similar way to its Persian roots in that it was a military rank. The use of these regional terms helped create a unique world for the series, but also connected it to the region it represented within the real world in the same way the visuals did. For this I commend the author of the source material, Yoshiki Tanaka, for using the terms, and I commend the anime production team for keeping them in the series.

Aside from the visuals and the lexicon, though, a fair portion of the narrative in The Heroic Legend of Arslan felt underwhelming. This came from a cyclical issue regarding the conflicts in the series, namely, since the overarching story was incomplete, the minor conflicts couldn’t be completed and because the minor conflicts couldn’t be completed, the overarching story wasn’t complete. So, the two problems fed off each other creating the cyclical issue with the series. It’s far easier to address the larger problem of the overarching story being incomplete first because of how noticeable it was. When looking at the anime adaptation of The Heroic Legend of Arslan we must understand it was adapted from a manga series that was also an adaptation of a novel series. Though I can’t say for certain if the anime series only covered the events within the manga series, even if this were the case it shouldn’t have precluded the production team from exploring beyond the events of the manga and dabble in what the novel series had to offer. As such, when watching the anime series it never felt as though the overarching conflict, Arslan claiming the title Shah, or King, was resolved. Instead, the series stopped just as the climax of the larger conflict was set into motion. Not only was this upsetting, but it fell back on the current wisdom of the anime industry: if there isn’t enough content in the source material to fill out a season’s worth of televised content, the series should be cut it in the middle.

However, this was wholly untrue with a series like The Heroic Legend of Arslan because there was more content to be explored. I say this because when looking at the novel source material, fourteen volumes have already been published. Even if there have been lulls in the publication schedule of the novel series, it’s not as though an anime production company, in this case Linden Films and Sanzigen, wouldn’t be able to create fifty episodes worth of content. In fact, from what I can gather, the anime series only covered the events of the first three or four novels. This begs the question, if the novels are brimming with content—enough that three or four novels could satisfy a twenty-four episode anime series—why not continue the story in the anime series? I have no answer to this question, but I highly suspect it had to with the progression of the manga adaptation.

The issue of not completing the larger conflict led to many of the smaller plot points having little meaning as well. It’s a great shame, too, because what the series offered thematically was interesting. On the surface, The Heroic Legend of Arslan was more or less a power struggle for a kingdom. However, when peeling away the narrative layers we found a fascinating examination of faith in regards to war, one’s lineage, what constituted being a great leader, and loyalty, among other aspects of the human condition. For instance, one of the underlying plot points of the series was the conflict between Daryun, a knight who swore an oath to serve Arslan, and Sam, a Pars general who swore his allegiance to the rightful heir to the throne, Hilmes. This conflict between the characters was remarkable because it brought to light the difficulties each character struggled with. In the case of Daryun, he placed his faith in Arslan and recognized why people followed him, even if Arslan wasn’t the rightful heir to the throne. Yet with Sam, we saw him struggle with the intentions of Hilmes and what was best for Pars. Sam even stated to Daryun that Hilmes would be a fine Shah even though he was plagued with thoughts of vengeance.

The example above was a fine demonstration of how the struggles seen throughout the series never felt as though they had weight behind them because the overarching narrative was cut short. Consider, both Daryun and Sam felt they were fighting for a righteous cause and were serving the true heir to the throne. Yet, we also saw how each of those heirs acted towards their subordinates. Thus, by juxtaposing the set of characters, Daryun and Sam, and Arslan and Hilmes, we understood this wasn’t just a conflict of opposing ideals, but of lineages, mindsets, and even rule. But, because the series only covered the first three or four volumes of the source material, these conflicts rarely came to a head, and to be frank, never actually concluded.

The Kingdom of Pars’ capital.

Though I pointed out the political power struggle of the series, it was actually the idea of faith that upset me the most, not in a sense that having faith is good or bad, but how we interpret our faith and act upon it. In fact, I felt as though one could find parallels between the character Etoile and real life people such as Kentucky’s Rowan County Clerk, Kim Davis. While I admire the courage of their convictions in regards to their faith—Etoile wanted to convert everyone to the religion of Yaldaboth and Mrs. Davis opined her faith in Christianity disallowed her to issue marriage licenses to same sex couples—with The Heroic Legend of Arslan we never truly saw how Etoile’s convictions affected Arslan or how her views on his faith changed over the course of the series.

Had The Heroic Legend of Arslan been longer, the issues revolving around the different plot points would have certainly ironed themselves out. As I stated above, fourteen books in the novel source material have already been published. To think some of the plot points I raised wouldn’t resolve themselves over the course of those books is unthinkable. Therefore, when watching the anime adaptation we saw how the issues of unresolved plot points and poor coordination on the part of the production team was cyclical. Though there are many solutions to this problem, I felt the best course of action would have been for Mainichi Broadcasting System (MBS) to extend their Sunday at five o’clock block of anime from thirty minutes to one hour. This could mitigate the problem of series ending prematurely, as was the case here, and would also provide a nice setup for one series to lead into another. For example, it was announced in July 2015 Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans would begin airing in the Sunday at five o’clock time slot on MBS in October 2015. However, a series like The Heroic Legend of Arslan having an extended break potentially makes it difficult for fans to return to the series. Thus, having one series lead into the other could drive ratings for both and possibly bring in new fans.

That being said, there’s no doubt The Heroic Legend of Arslan will have another anime series made in the future. I made the comparison to the Game of Thrones TV series in the introduction. In all honesty, The Heroic Legend of Arslan will not follow the model set by the popular HBO series of ten episodes a year. The main reason for this is the airing schedule for the Sunday at five o’clock block of anime on MBS for the foreseeable future is already set: Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans from October 2015 to March 2016 followed by My Hero Academia from April 2016. While it’s possible The Heroic Legend of Arslan could end up in a late night block of television, as was the fate of Haikyu—which angers me to no end—this would ultimately be a poor choice for every party involved. I say this because there was a lot of untapped potential in The Heroic Legend of Arslan and to exile it to a broadcast slot during which time not many people will be awake is like building a coffin for the series. Yes, online streaming and recording is a viable option, but not everybody has those options available to them. Thus, making it available to the widest possible audience is critical for a series like this. However, I’m not the final arbiter for the fate of this series. So, all I can do is hope for the best.

The Heroic Legend of Arslan was a wonderful high fantasy series. The use of a Middle Eastern setting was a splendid change for a fantasy anime series. It was the addition of regional terms that enhanced the viewing experience, though. Although I only mentioned three different terms, yaşasin, Marzbān, and Shah, there were a handful of others that found their way into the series. Of course, the architectural and clothing designs were pleasant to look at as well, but it was the lexicon that fascinated me the most. However, this is not to say the series was not without its flaws. In fact, the major issue concerned the fact the series was reminiscent of the snake ouroboros, the legendary creature that eats itself, in that the problems with the series fed upon themselves. That is, many of the smaller plot points that added to the larger story never felt complete because the overarching story was only half complete and the overarching story was only half complete because the minor plots weren’t resolved. Consequently, because the production team knew the overall narrative would be incomplete, they abandoned bringing even one of the minor plot points to a close. My guess is more seasons of the series will be released slowly over the years mitigating this problem, but I hold no hope they’ll be made any time soon. Hence, if you are interested in watching The Heroic Legend of Arslan I would suggest waiting until the second season has been released. Better yet, read the novel series. But, for those who are interested, while disappointing in certain regards, this is a series you will have fun with.

Work Info
Title: The Heroic Legend of Arslan (アルスラーン戦記 Arslan Senki)
Under: Linden Films, Sanzigen
Official Site: http://arslan.jp/index2.html
More Info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Heroic_Legend_of_Arslan

The front and back cover of Rito and Mikan.

I’m glad I had a healthy relationship with my parents growing up because they hardly worried where I was when I was out. Granted, I lived in a small town, but they always knew who I was with and, surprisingly, about all the crazy things I did.

If there is one thing both the anime and manga series of To Love-ru (とらぶる) did well, it was produce stimulating content, not narratively stimulating content but rather salacious material. However, every so often the authors of To Love-ru found themselves presenting a plot that was unexpected and interesting. Such was the case with the second OVA (original video anime), Rito and Mikan (リトと美柑 Rito to Mikan), released with the limited edition fourteenth volume of the manga series. Granted, it still had the familiar risqué content of the franchise, but the focus of this OVA was less about showing off the female characters’ bodies than creating an interesting story. As such, the plot was loosely based off a chapter in the twelfth volume of the manga series that fleshed out the relationship between the protagonist and his younger sister. On top of this, the story had some wonderful comedic bits scattered throughout. This mainly came from the characters’ faces becoming super-deformed, which reminded me of the older Looney Tunes shorts.

It should come as no surprise to fans of the To Love-ru franchise that it appeals to a boy’s sense of sexual exploration. Because of this, many of the female characters’ bodies are presented in an idealized way. While I can understand why the younger male demographic enjoys this, being in an older demographic I can say with relative authority the number of times the female characters were depicted as scantily clad was a bit much. Therefore, it became tiresome reading each chapter of the manga series or watching episodes of the anime and OVA series. However, every so often the authors and producers surprised me by shifting the focus from the risqué aspects of the series to the narrative.

This isn’t common for the franchise, but when the focus was on the narrative it was a breath of fresh air. Speaking for myself, I can only stand a certain amount of full-figured women in little to no clothes in any anime series. Thus, when a series overemphasizes these aspects of the female characters, I feel it weakens the series as a whole. A good example of this is the anime series Love Live! The series had some wonderful musical pieces and to a degree a fun plot, but it seemed as though the production team put their effort into the design of the characters rather than creating a stronger narrative. To Love-ru is similar to Love Live! in that it often focused on the raunchy humor and female character designs as opposed to creating a strong narrative. However, Rito and Mikan demonstrated To Love-ru didn’t need sexual content to present an engaging story.

The mess that made Mikan run away from home.

Where the previous OVA focused on a short and zesty story, Rito and Mikan presented audiences with a subdued adaptation of an insular chapter from the To Love-ru manga series. Where many other chapters of the source material focused on the foibles of the protagonist, Rito Yuki, here we saw how his younger sister, Mikan, was upset at how their lives had changed since the arrival of Rito’s self-proclaimed fiancé, Lala Satalin Deviluke. As such, the story dealt with how young siblings find a sort of dysfunctional solace in each other. Beyond this, though, the story examined how those dynamics change when the older sibling expands his or her social group. This was seen in the OVA in how Mikan was willing to tolerate Lala living in the Yuki household, but also in how Mikan had become fed up with Lala’s constant displays of affection towards Rito. Of course, this was one of the underlying themes of the franchise, but to see it in such clear-cut terms was fascinating to say the least. On top of this, there was a sense of jealousy on the part of Mikan because she perceived Rito placed more importance on his relationship with Lala than with herself.

While Mikan’s actions in the OVA could be seen as a sign of young rebellion, as Lala mentioned in the first act, it was more or less a chance for Mikan to release her frustration towards the other two characters. As with children, one way they tend to lash out is by threatening to run away. Yet, this threat actually gave us some insight into how much Rito and Mikan cared for each other. Consider it in these terms: because Mikan was still an elementary school student, it was clear why Rito became worried when she left the house without saying where she was going. Any older sibling who has responsibility for their younger siblings knows the stress this can cause. However, in Rito and Mikan this allowed viewers to examine how Rito and Mikan’s relationship had evolved over the years and see exactly what made them so close to each other. I admit there were other chapters in the manga series that explored their relationship much better, yet this was the first time in the animated content we saw this. Also, considering the particular chapter in the manga series this story was adapted from was no more than eighteen pages long, it left a lot of leeway for the production team to fill the narrative holes. This gave a unique perspective on Rito and Mikan’s relationship the authors of the manga series may have overlooked. That being said, however, a fair amount of the new content was still vivacious.

Although To Love-ru is a raunchy franchise, it still managed to find itself nestled in the comedy genre. Nonetheless, much of it was still sexual humor. Not that I don’t enjoy sexual humor, but Rito can only fall onto the female characters in compromising ways so many times before it becomes stale. Nevertheless, despite that sort of humor being present in Rito and Mikan, it was far less prevalent than other mediums the franchise has occupied. This didn’t make the OVA humorless, though, but instead it shifted the focus from risqué comedy to the facial expressions of the characters. With anime, the most common practice of bringing humor to the facial expressions is to super deform them—that is, artists round the face and accentuate the eyes, mouth, and ears—or as it’s commonly known, chibi the faces. All the same, the OVA took it one step further than just simplistic faces. Similar to the older Loony Tunes cartoons, when the characters in Rito and Mikan were startled, their eyes popped out of their sockets. For the most part this occurred with Rito, but it was still comical when it happened with the other characters. I haven’t seen this practice in modern animation in quite some time and seeing it here was a treat, especially as it helped emphasize the comedy in the first act.

I’m not opposed to To Love-ru using sexual humor or using the ideal female form for almost all the female characters. I do have my limits, though. Thankfully, Rito and Mikan chose not to focus too heavily on the spicy content and opted to create a narrative between the siblings Rito and Mikan. While the anime production team took some liberties when creating the narrative, they found a nice balance between the source material and original content. The humor was also much better suited for the risqué material and a nice throwback to older methods of expressing comedy in animation. Although this is a very minor point, the production team managed to wedge many of the female characters of the franchise into this OVA as well. While I felt this was unnecessary for the narrative the production team created, it was nice seeing those characters, even if it was only briefly. Despite the fact this OVA is difficult to find, I’m sure there are outlets that have copies for sale. If you are a fan of the To Love-ru franchise, this is definitely an OVA you’ll want to have in your collection.

Work Info
Title: To Love-Ru Rito and Mikan (To Loveる –とらぶる– リトと美柑 To Love-Ru Rito to Mikan)
Under: XEBEC
Official Site: http://www.tbs.co.jp/anime/to-love-ru/  http://jumpsq.shueisha.co.jp/rensai/toloveru_d/index.html
More Info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To_Love-Ru

The cover of the first volume of Witches.

When I think of witches, the first thing that pops into my head is the skit in the film Monty Python and the Holy Grail. It still perplexes me a woman would weigh the same as a duck, but who am I to argue against the scientific method?

As with other forms of media, anime and manga have a subset of authors and creators dedicated to making artistic and critically acclaimed works rather than popular works. Generally, those works are thematically interesting or have a unique artistic style and I feel they add a great deal to the medium. Though one could argue Studio Ghibli falls into the category of an artistic studio, and I wouldn’t argue against that, the studio has also created many lucrative properties. On the manga production side of the industry, there are a number of publications that focus on artistic works as well. I feel the most well known, in Japan at least, are Shogakukan’s Monthly Ikki Comics and Monthly Big Comics and Kodansha’s Monthly Morning Comics and Monthly Evening Comics. There have been some interesting titles from all four of these publications over the years and they arguably provide more content to the medium than their weekly shonen publication counterparts. Granted, many of the works are short and it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if a majority never see publication outside of a magazine. It’s a shame, too, because I would love to see these works in an accessible form. Thankfully, there are some works that manage to break the mold and find themselves in the hands of the general public.

One such work that wasn’t relegated to the abyss of magazine publication was Daisuke Igarashi’s Witches (魔女 Majyo). Like other artistic endeavors, this manga series seemed less about a cohesive narrative than atmosphere. That’s not to say there wasn’t any sort of narrative within the two volume series, but rather the series was more of an anthology surrounding a single theme. As such, each story focused on the idea of witches in different social contexts, while the series itself was a critique of our society as a whole. While this created a surreal narrative in the stories, it actually benefited the overall theme of the series. That surreal narrative also bled into the artwork and there were plenty of instances where that surreal quality truly came through.

The final few panels of Kuarupu.

I admit works that are thought of as artistic—be it film, theater, dance, television programs, and so on—do seem pretentious. That doesn’t mean they don’t add to our collective understanding of the medium in which they reside, but it certainly makes them difficult for most people to digest. This is why we are consistently bombarded with entertainment that has questionable longevity in the modern world. Yet, through an examination of the limitations of a medium, we are able to expand on how works are created. For example, without the techniques pioneered in artistic films we wouldn’t have the massive blockbusters we have today. The same could be said about literature, paintings, dance, and even manga and anime. So, as much as I may not enjoy artistic manga and anime, without them we would still be reading poorly paneled manga with little to no narrative depth. It really is a gamble creating an artistic work because sometimes the ideas the author is trying to convey aren’t always clearly defined. Thus, I commend publishing houses for taking a risk with works such as Witches.

When looking at Witches it’s not a traditional narrative of one cohesive story throughout the two volumes, but rather an anthology of stories revolving around a single idea. It’s rather obvious what that theme is, it’s in the title after all, but the author used it effectively in four long stories and two short stories. In fact, there is little overlap other than the central focus being the idea of witches and their connection to nature. However, through those themes we were given stories that examined our understanding of the world and even critiqued it. The four long stories did this exceptionally well, but the middle two stories conveyed their themes and critiques far better than the others. We’ll examine two long stories to understand why this is so.

The first of the two long stories, Kuarupu, was less about witches and more focused on modern colonialism. What I mean by this is we tend to think about colonialism from the nineteenth century perspective of large nations and empires expanding their influence to less technologically advanced regions and exploiting their resources. While a certain amount of this is still true with modern colonialism, it seems as though it’s brought about through multinational corporations trying to lower their costs while increasing their profits and developed nations wanting to maintain a high standard of living. What, then, does this have to do with the story at hand? Simply put, the story focused on a small tribe in the Amazon fighting against the assimilation and destruction of their culture. Some may argue because assimilation is the path of least resistance, the lives of the tribe’s members would improve because of it. Yet, I feel the counterargument that not all indigenous cultures that move towards assimilation benefit from such a move is more accurate. While I can’t say with certainty that observation is true about the tribe in this particular story, the idea they were trying to preserve their way of life meshed well with the theme of the series. This was seen through the motif of consumption via a spiritual force throughout the story.

Mila’s apprentice scolding Catholic priests.

For instance, a few pages into Kuarupu an army squad experienced hallucinations of being devoured in different forms. It’s a wonderful little scene and it emphasized the concepts of the supernatural, nature, and witches seen in Witches. Yet, Kuarupu went much further than one scene to reinforce this motif. Not more than halfway through the story it was explained to readers how the witch, Kumari, was fighting against those colonizers. It’s rather interesting in that it played with the idea of forest spirits feeding on her but in return protecting and obeying her. However, it was actually the final two pages that cemented the theme of the story. Generally I don’t enjoy discussing the end of a story, but it’s warranted here because of how it was thematically appropriate and critiqued modern society. To be blunt, we saw children in a fast food restaurant ordering and eating hamburgers. Yet, the final images of the story were the forest spirits reaching out from the hamburger and begging not to be eaten. The thought we are eating the spirits of a vibrant culture and ecosystem is disturbing to say the least, but consider the social critique here. We often don’t reflect on where our food comes from and how we, in developed nations, affect indigenous cultures through our consumption habits. It’s rather profound and I felt it was suburb writing.

The second of the two long stories, Petra Genitalix, dealt with similar themes of the supernatural, nature, and witches but not through the lens of modern colonization. Instead it focused on the inception of life and the cycle of life and death. In all honesty, I’ve seen better discussions of the circle of life in other stories, namely Disney’s The Lion King, but how it was handled in this story was unique in its own right. In fact, it was likened to the Roman Mithraic Mysteries of the god Mithras being born from rock. While there were parallels from the Mithras story in Petra Genitalix, rather than retelling the Mithras story, in Petra Genitalix the theme centered more on the cycle of life and death. As such, there was a fascinating discussion between the characters Mila and Father Wid about the creation of life and the cycle of life and death in the middle of the story. Again, I’ve seen better and far simpler discussions of the subjects, but the way in which they were presented in this story was engaging.

However, as interesting as the discussion was it was the underlying commentary on organized religion, in this case Catholicism, that piqued my interest. It’s a very small portion of the story, no more than seven pages, but the musings of the author were thought provoking. To be clear, it didn’t challenge the notion of God or the Church itself, but rather the idea the Church’s world is limited by comparison to the infinite world of witches. This may seem confusing at first, but the author wasn’t referring to their respective worldviews. More precisely, he was expressing how words only provided a limited view of the world and as such the Church used them as a tool to categorize the world as they saw fit. In turn, witches could throw out the conventions of language and observe the world for what it was. As such, in one of the final moments of the story we saw Mila’s apprentice make an intriguing comment on how we need to observe and feel the world, not just describe it.

One instance of beautiful background art in Witches.

With each individual story being narratively intriguing, this begs the question of how Witches was also an artistic work rather than a mainstream work. It’s no more than the artwork utilized by Daisuke Igarashi. Surprisingly, his artistic style was a fascinating mix of sketches, detail, and surrealism. The first two descriptions clearly contradict each other, but the sketches comprised his character designs while the detail was reserved for the backgrounds. That’s not to say his character designs were rough sketches, but rather they lacked the polish we might find in popular works. In fact, there was some intricate detail provided for the characters in certain panels. There are certainly a variety of examples strewn about the series and one could comment on each, but I found he tended to emphasize the characters’ lips in ways very few manga authors do. This may seem like a minor detail for manga authors, but to my amazement filling out that area of the characters’ faces added more emotion to their expressions. Those subtle instances of when detail was added to the rough character designs kept the series engaging.

But, I also mentioned the detailed background art as well as the surrealism. The background art functioned much in the same way as the character designs in that while seemingly simple, great care was taken to make each set piece beautiful. The first story, Spindle, exemplified this as it portrayed the majesty of Istanbul on a large scale as well as on a local level. Going even further, there were some wonderful single page spreads where the intricacies of the movement in the backgrounds could be felt. They were few and far between, but they added to the grand nature of the backgrounds. In turn, the surreal effects generally came at the climax of each chapter. Yes, there were some instances where they came much earlier in a story, but for the most part it was during the climax. The final long story exemplified the surreal aspects of the series in three pages by presenting the harmony that existed on an island being broken. It wasn’t all that beautiful compared to the visuals in Spindle, but they were images we could quickly understand.

This surreal aspect of Witches wouldn’t have worked had it not been for the creative ways Daisuke Igarashi portrayed them. To a degree each story fell upon the fantastical to convey its point, but the visuals helped to cement those ideas. It’s similar to the notion in Petra Genitalix where we should feel the experience rather than have it explained to us. As such, some of the plot points were less about delivering a message we could understand, but, more accurately, providing readers with a mesmerizing experience. Think of it in terms of a one of Stanley Kubrick’s films. While there are overarching story elements present in his films, some scenes are meant to be experienced rather than described. One great example is at the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey. It’s a mind bogglingly awesome scene—not in the colloquial use of awesome, but in the literal definition of awe inspiring—and a scene we have to see in context to fully appreciate. The same was true in Witches and as such describing the series is more of a disservice as opposed to being beneficial.

Witches was one of the few artistic manga I’ve read and I’m glad I did. While the different stories were confusing at times, I could forgive this because of the surreal nature of them. That being said though, all four of the long stories were captivating and explored vastly different subjects. This is the strength of an anthology manga as it allows authors to explore the potential in any given story and push the boundaries of the medium. The strength of the series also wasn’t dependent on the themes and narrative. Thanks to the unique vision of Daisuke Igarashi, we receive at the very least three different artistic styles that seemingly contradict each other, but which meshed well in the context of the stories. This was especially true with the surreal nature of the stories and the bold visuals that went along with them. On a more personal note, this series was actually suggested to me by one of my oldest friends. I’m glad he loaned me his copies as they opened a new world of potential for this medium to me. Perhaps this isn’t the best series for every fan of the manga medium. However, if you’re looking for something different and artistic, and that pushes the boundaries of what manga authors can do, Witches is a series you’ll want to read.

Work Info
Title: Witches (魔女 Majyo)
By: Daisuke Igarashi
Under: Shogakukan, Ikki Comics
Official Site: N/A
More Info:N/A

One of the posters for　Arpeggio of Blue Steel -Ars Nova DC-.

Since the ships in Arpeggio of Blue Steel -Ars Nova- have artificial intelligence, why not have them solve crimes like Knightboat: The Crime Solving Boat from the Simpsons?

Whenever I watch a film that’s a compilation of an anime series, I tend to find it’s a monotonous experience. Yes, there are times when the narrative of the series is condensed in a way to make the material engaging. Nonetheless, more often than not these films feel like a way for anime production companies to remind fans of or rejuvenate interest in their intellectual property for a second series or feature film. Oftentimes, I don’t actively think about this when I watch a film that compiles an anime series, but the 2015 film Arpeggio of Blue Steel -Ars Nova DC- (蒼き鋼のアルペジオ -アルス•ノヴァ- DC Aoki Hagane no Arpeggio -Ars Nova DC-) certainly did. This was because the film was poorly cut together and the nearly forty minutes of new content added little to the narrative of the TV series. In fact, it would have suited the production company, Sanzigen, to separate the content into two different films—though they were working on a second Arpeggio of Blue Steel -Ars Nova- feature at the time—and left this one as a compilation of the TV series and the new content as the first act of the next feature film. However, having the opportunity to look back at some of the visuals of the Arpeggio of Blue Steel anime franchise, I found the presentation of the communication method between the Mental Models interesting.

As much as I want to begin by addressing the major issues with Arpeggio of Blue Steel -Ars Nova DC-, there were a few aspects of the film that allowed me to reconsider the animation direction of the TV series, Arpeggio of Blue Steel -Ars Nova-. While I believe CGI animation still needs improvement, that doesn’t mean CGI artists haven’t managed to create some remarkable imagery. For instance, there were a number of shots of the different ships of the franchise that were beautifully rendered and many of the action scenes involving those ships weren’t just engaging because of the narrative, but also for the stylistic choices. However, it was how the animators presented the ethereal world that the Mental Models, the artificial intelligence that operated each ship, used to speak to each other that was noteworthy. I failed to notice this when watching the TV series, but the gazebo in which the Mental Models met hardly changed over the course of the thirteen episodes. Yet, watching Arpeggio of Blue Steel -Ars Nova DC- it was apparent the space outside the gazebo went through a number of changes depending on the characters occupying that space.

For example, when we were first introduced to that space, the area behind the gazebo was completely white. There was no discernable scenery other than Greek style pillars and the steel garden tables and chairs. One also has to remember, only the Mental Models of Kongo and Takao—so we understand, I will be italicizing the names of the Mental Models because they were ships—were there and this was long before either of them gained any form of free will, whatever that may constitute. However, when different characters were in that ethereal space, the scenery changed ever so slightly. This was the case when Iona was speaking to her sister ships, the I-400 and I-402, and before the climatic battle between Iona and Kongo. With the former, we saw a flower garden in the background and I felt this was a nice visualization of the growth Iona had gone through. Hence, because she had developed a kind personality when she occupied that space, we saw soft colors blended together in the form of a garden. Looking at the latter, the visuals mirrored Kongo’s fear, anger, and resentment by using a blue tone over the scene with withered vines crawling around the gazebo. Had Arpeggio of Blue Steel -Ars Nova DC- not been made, I would have missed this wonderful use of visualization of the characters’ personalities and for that I have to praise the production team.

One of the new cuts from Arpeggio of Blue Steel -Ars Nova DC-.

However, that’s as much praise as I can give this film. Of the issues I had with the film, the largest came from how the film was clearly divided into a retrospective of the TV series in the first half and new content in the second. I’ve written in the past that I am not opposed to compilation films provided they keep some of the narrative undertones and themes from the TV series. Yet, the narrative in the first half of Arpeggio of Blue Steel -Ars Nova DC- lacked the qualities of what made the TV series memorable. It was literally an amalgamation of all the action scenes with none of the emotional content to back it, thus making it pointless. For instance, in the eighth episode of the TV series, Kongo and Maya were asked to parlay with the protagonist and his crew on Iwo Jima. During this episode we saw how Kongo thought about the changes in the other Mental Models and ultimately decided to lay waste to the base on the island. Yet in the film, there was no explanation as to why Kongo came to this conclusion, which severely limited her character.

The film was rife with other examples of the lack of context, but one other involved the character Makie Osakabe. Again, when looking at the TV series she had two episodes dedicated to her introduction and why we should be emotionally invested in her. The two episodes were handled well and allowed us to examine the different agendas working against each other and to see Haruna and Kirishima grow as characters. As with the example above, we received none of this in Arpeggio of Blue Steel -Ars Nova DC- because the content of the two episodes was condensed into a five-minute scene. I felt this was unconscionable as this was one of the moments in the TV series that genuinely informed viewers there was more to the Mental Models other than being out to destroy humanity.

What’s worse in my mind, though, was the treatment of the new content tagged onto the second half of Arpeggio of Blue Steel -Ars Nova DC-. It’s not uncommon for compilation films to add new content to either pad out the introduction or to create a bridge to an upcoming TV series or feature film. But, in those instances it’s generally no more than five to fifteen minutes of extra content. As such, I was rather shocked when the new content in this film filled the second half and not just because of the duration of it, but also because of how poorly it was constructed. In all honesty, the first half of the film, which compiled the TV series, bored me to no end. Thus, when it ended I was under the impression I would be leaving the theater after about ten minutes of new content. But lo and behold, I found myself watching an extra forty minutes of new material. One can imagine my surprise at this, and though I was happy the production team added so much new material, as the new content progressed I found it suffered from one major issue.

What was a hodgepodge of plot points suddenly became a more focused story and it didn’t match the narrative of the first half of the film. This ultimately made the film seem as though the scriptwriter was opening a new story arc rather than closing the events of the first half. In fact, there was a distinct tonal shift in the film when it entered the second half, making it feel more or less like the first act of a completely different film. Had the entire forty minutes of new content been cut and then added to a subsequent film or TV series, this would have allowed the compilation section of the film to be more thorough. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy the new content, but it forced Arpeggio of Blue Steel -Ars Nova DC- to close on an inappropriate cliffhanger. If the production team had set out to open a new story line, the decent thing for them to do, at the very least, would have been to close both story arcs properly. Unfortunately, Sanzigen chose to use the cliffhanger as an advertisement for their follow-up film Arpeggio of Blue Steel -Ars Nova- Cadenza. This was a great shame and it upsets me to no end.

Arpeggio of Blue Steel -Ars Nova DC- is a poor quality film. The compilation of the thirteen episode series was handled poorly and the new content was very much out of place. While I understand the musical notation of DC means to return to the beginning of the piece and then proceed to the coda, I can’t help but feel the producers took the notation a bit too literally for this film. Thus, I could have forgiven the film had it just been a compilation with a few minutes of new content included at the end. This would have allowed me to further analyze the characters, themes, and animation of the franchise. However, because somebody on the production team decided it would be fine to add the first act of the subsequent film to this film, I was unable to do so. It’s a shame, too, because I was able to glean one aspect of the animation of the franchise I failed to notice when watching the TV series. Only the most ardent fans of the franchise should watch this film. But be warned, you will most likely be upset, just as I was.

Work Info
Title: Arpeggio of Blue Steel -Ars Nova DC- (蒼き鋼のアルペジオ -アルス•ノヴァ- DC Aoki Hagane no Arpeggio -Ars Nova DC-)
Under: Sanzigen
Official Site: http://aokihagane.com/
More Info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arpeggio_of_Blue_Steel

The title logo for Brynhildr in the Darkness.

I think the late Navajo comedian Vincent Craig said it best about opera. Are we talking about the woman on the TV? No, that’s Oprah.

I was introduced to the phrase “It ain’t over ‘til the fat lady sings” in 1989 or 1990 from The Simpsons. It would be many years later before I understood where the joke originated from and even longer before I knew the exact opera and character people were referring to, which were Richard Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen and Brynhildr. While I only have a passing familiarity with the opera and the shield maiden Brynhildr, the imagery is instantly recognizable: a buxom woman in armor wearing a helmet with horns and carrying a spear and shield. But, I feel as though very few people understand the complex character of Brynhildr and I admit I, too, am guilty of this. However, the 2014 anime series Brynhildr in the Darkness (極黒のブリュンヒルデ Gokugoku no Brynhildr) allowed anime fans to become more familiar with the name Brynhildr. Sadly, the series wasn’t an adaptation of the opera. However, in spite of that, this was an interesting anime series to watch. This was because it delicately balanced the tropes of the harem subgenre of the romance genre and the action genre quite well. The writers were also bold in how they dealt with many of the situations the characters were placed in even if at times it seemed as though they created easy outs for the characters. What was upsetting about the series, though, was how it was only thirteen episodes in length, especially considering the characters and plot threads were interesting.

I feel as though I shouldn’t dance around the fact I enjoy romance anime and manga. Honestly, they satiate my need for intimacy with women, but not to an unhealthy level—though some of my friends would disagree. But, because I’ve been exposed to so much of the genre over the years I’ve actually become exhausted by the tropes in it, namely the personality types of the female characters. There’s almost always one respective female character for a given set of personality types, such as being shy, outgoing, a klutz, or having a hot-cold personality, among others. In fact, these character tropes are so common I’ve seen them crop up in anime and manga series targeted at girls and women as well, but in regards to the male characters. One other aspect about the harem subgenre that also bothers me is how the female characters want to peruse a relationship with the protagonist, yet don’t act upon those inclinations. As an adult I understand that being rejected will hurt the characters, but it also allows them to grow and become far more interesting. This was the case in Honna Wakou’s manga series Nozoki Ana and the series benefited from it. Thus, when a series that doesn’t fall into the romance genre begins to use the tropes from it, I begin to lose interest in the narrative.

While Brynhildr in the Darkness used some of the familiar tropes from the romance genre of fiction, particularly the harem subgenre, it never felt out of place in each episode. This was because a large portion of the series was predicated on the relationships and dynamics of the different characters. As such, the series was built in such a way the tropes were suitable to the overarching narrative. Yet, this still required a delicate balancing act between the content of the first and second half of each episode. This was done through the plot development, namely the action and sleuthing, and the characters’ daily lives. At first this may seem like an odd narrative mix, but in actuality it added a great deal to the character relationships and dynamics. That’s not to say it wasn’t cumbersome watching the romantic threads at times, but without them it would have been very difficult to sympathize with the plight of the female characters, Neko Kuroha, Kana Tachibana, Kazumi Schlierenzauer, and Kotori Wakabayashi, and the circumstance of the protagonist, Ryota Murakami.

One of the main ways the series created sympathy towards the characters was through the wonderful plot hook of all the female characters requiring special medication without which they’d pass away. What made this so compelling in terms of the relationships and dynamics was the girls only had a finite supply. As one can guess, this made it so the female characters were always at risk of meeting their maker and the description of their death was disturbing to say the least. This added a great deal of strain to the bonds between the characters, but at the same time made it so we understood what kept them in such a tight-knit circle. The first time one of the female characters went without the medicine was quite shocking and made it patently clear why Ryota was willing to go to great lengths to help the girls, even when he risked his own life at times to do so. Had the series not focused on romance or even the character relationships and dynamics, this scenario would have been meaningless. In fact, Ryota’s friendship with Neko and her friends was what ultimately propelled many of the plot points in the series. Thus, while all the romantic and slice-of-life portions of the series were arduous to watch at first, they served an important role in the story.

Neko Kuroha sacrificing her last tablet of medicine.

Those romantic portions in Brynhildr in the Darkness also served another wonderful purpose: we became familiar with each of the prominent characters. Of course, this is important in any TV series, film, manga, or novel, but here it was doubly so. While I’m not one who often discloses major plot points, it’s certainly warranted for this discussion. To be blunt, and it pains me to mention this, a number of characters met their end throughout the series. Each time this occurred it wasn’t a pleasant experience to watch, however the emotions that ran thorough the scenes were quite intense. Granted, like any good piece of fiction, many of these characters were minor characters who appeared for only one or two episodes. Yet, the scriptwriters did a fantastic job of making the viewers care for them before their passing. It really exemplified the time and effort the writers and even the author of the manga series, Rin Okamoto, put into creating and developing each individual character and I greatly appreciated it. Besides, since operas are noted for ending in tragedy, what else could we expect from a series named after a character from a classic opera?

However, some of the situations the characters were placed in seemed to have outcomes that were a bit too contrived. There’s no doubt many of the action scenes were tense—not just when the characters were physically fighting, but also when they were conversing with their respective opponents as well. Yet, it felt like cheap writing when, for instance, Ryota seemed to have his memory erased only to have it revealed soon after that he had eidetic memory. Remember, this was a series based on character relations and dynamics and this example was a case where the supporting characters needed to understand the gravity of the situation before revealing Ryota’s impeccable memory. Thus, it felt as though we had been robbed of a genuinely heartbreaking scene. As such, while there were many other shocking scenes throughout the series, I felt as though the writing team could have done a better job in letting the suspense settle in. Luckily, these occurrences were few and far between and if they had been removed all together it would have felt as though we were cheated out of some interesting plot twists. But, with only thirteen episodes to explore the characters and plot points, this may have been the best compromise for the writing staff and the production team as a whole.

It was the length of the series that was the most disappointing, though. For the most part, thirteen episode series seem to be far less substantive than a series that has twenty-six or more episodes because they can’t explore the themes or characters in depth. Yes, there are some anime series that manage this, but they’re exceptionally rare. Ultimately, Brynhildr in the Darkness suffered from proper exploration of the plot elements, as there were a number of plot threads that were left by the way side so the story could be brought to a close. This was a shame, too, because the female characters’ special powers, the mechanism that kept those powers in check, the harnesses, the medicine that kept the female characters alive, the shadowy organization that was searching for the female characters, and to a small degree the relationships between Ryota and the girls were captivating. Had the production company, Arms, been given more episodes to expand the series, I’m sure they would have done an excellent job with the material. But, considering the manga began publication in 2012, there probably wasn’t much content to work with at the time. Nonetheless, it would have been nice if at least one of those plot threads was completed, particularly the one revolving around the medicine.

Brynhildr in the Darkness may have little to do with the shield maiden the series is named after. However, it’s a series that’s worth watching. There were minor issues with the outcome of some of the conflicts between the female characters, Ryota, and the shadowy organization, but they could be ignored for the most part. As a minor aside, the final few minutes of the series, including the final credit roll, were upsetting because it felt as though the writers were looking for an easy way to keep some of the characters alive. Yet, after what those characters suffered through in the series, I was more than willing to forgive them. From the character development and the tense action scenes, this was a series that would certainly benefit from more seasons, especially now since the manga source material has come to a close. Though I doubt that will ever come to fruition, this is a series many can enjoy. And if you’re curious about the events that happened after the end of the anime, there’s always the manga series to explore.

Work Info
Title: Brynhildr in the Darkness (極黒のブリュンヒルデ Gokugoku no Brynhildr)
Under: Arms Corporation
Official Site: http://www.vap.co.jp/gokukoku/
More Info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brynhildr_in_the_Darkness

One of the posters for　Ghost in the Shell: The New Movie.

I’m not sure what I’d do with a cybernetic body except spend hours upon hours watching anime and being lazy, which isn’t too different from my current life.

When people talk about the science fiction genre, I feel the franchises that often come to mind are either Star Trek or Star Wars. Granted, since the 2000s there’s been a large influx of reimagined science fiction properties such as Stargate SG-1 or Battlestar Galatica. However, it still seems as though the cyberpunk subgenre of science fiction often gets overlooked. Yes, in the late 1990s and early 2000s the Matrix film series brought a new generation to the subgenre, but it was short lived. Over the years, though, the anime production company Production I.G has been adding to their critically acclaimed cyberpunk franchise, Ghost in the Shell. With the franchise having celebrated its twenty-fifth anniversary in 2015, the company decided to explore that world once again with the film Ghost in the Shell: The New Movie (攻殻機動隊 新劇場版 Kōkaku Kidōtai Shin Gekijō-ban). Much like the Ghost in the Shell: Arise OVA (original video anime) series, the main focus of the film was the development of Public Security Agency Sector 9 into a well-oiled team. Yet, where the OVA series covered this in depth, the film displayed the fallout created within that series. This was achieved not only by creating a clash of philosophies between the characters, but also through an interesting and multilayered murder mystery. These two aspects were by far the strength of the film, but it was through the wonderful pacing that the story truly came to life.

Before Ghost in the Shell: The New Movie was released in theaters, a handful of broadcast companies aired the Ghost in the Shell: Arise series on television. However, there wasn’t enough content within the series to fill out a twelve or thirteen episode series. Thus, two episodes were created specifically for the TV series and another two for the purpose of introducing the film and the franchise as a whole to the audience. I mention this because the retrospective of the franchise was outstanding and much needed. Yes, the time allotted to airing the series made it such that only the basics of the franchise were covered, but it was interesting how as the franchise progressed, the creators seemed to explore facets of the characters’ past rather than advancing their narrative. While not an uncommon practice in any medium, it can be confusing for those who aren’t familiar with a franchise. Though I’m not too familiar with the Ghost in the Shell franchise, I felt the Arise series was a good place to start compared to any other series or films in the franchise.

I say this because it was a good introduction to the characters and the overarching concepts of the franchise, while also showing the need for a department like Public Security Agency Sector 9. More importantly, it gave the audience an understanding of how these characters had to work exceptionally hard to become the team they were in earlier installments of the franchise. We saw that development through the conflicts between the protagonist, Motoko Kusanagi, and her collogue Batou in the early installments of the Arise OVA series, but also when they had the opportunity to prove their clout to their higher-ups, all the while solving some rather interesting cases and dealing with the idea of what it meant to be human.

Public Security Agency Section 9 preparing for an operation.

Ghost in the Shell: The New Movie certainly focused on these aspects as well, but they played a lesser role than in the Arise series. That’s not to say there wasn’t any tension between the characters, but rather what took center stage was the clash of differing philosophies. This made the film far more interesting as it gave the characters something to mull over with each other, particularly whether or not a person’s ghost, or the remnants of person’s personality after any cyberization of the brain, could be a commercial product, how the divide between the real world and cyberworld was diminishing, thus creating the need for a hypothetical “third world,” and how Motoko saw her colleagues as disposable parts in her campaign against cyberterror. These aren’t terribly easy questions to answer, but I felt as though each character found their respective answer.

For example, about two-thirds into the film, the characters Batou, Borma, and Ishikawa were discussing their dissatisfaction with their squad leader, Motoko, citing how she viewed them as being disposable tools. It was reminiscent of the conversations between Alain de Soissons and his squad mates about Oscar François de Jarjayes in the manga series The Rose of Versailles in that while Batou and company disliked certain qualities of Motoko, Borma made the poignant observation that she actually never treated them as objects. I found this conversation remarkable if only because the three characters, Batou, Borma, and Ishikawa, were all partially cyberized, making them effectively parts to a certain degree, but with their consciousness still intact. Yet, to think of these characters as disposable parts is patently wrong. Granted, Batou also alluded to how people who were fully cyberized—that is people who were mostly comprised of mechanical parts and a large portion of their brain was replaced with artificial elements—particularly the three in question, needed to either be a part of an organization that could maintain their bodies or fall prey to degradation. Thus, in a certain respect this made these characters disposable tools. But, when considering the characters had a consciousness, their ghost, and how Motoko constantly told them to follow it, it’s certainly difficult to classify any of the characters as tools.

This begs the question of what happens when more people feel the need to cyberize their brains in this world. Ghost in the Shell: The New Movie approached this topic quite well, if not better than the example given above, as it was one supporting crux to the narrative. The screenwriter, Tow Ubukata, examined the idea from three different points of view: the real world, the cyberworld, and the hypothetical “third-world” in which a person’s ghost is another data point within cyberspace. What I gathered from the screenplay, making one’s ghost a data point would allow for consistent updates to a person’s desired physical body without risking damage to their cybernetic brain. Though this description is uninteresting to read, in the film it worked quite well considering there were a number of visual cues that helped viewers understand the concept. Without delving too deeply into the details, one way this was presented was by having multiple cyborgs controlled remotely by one ghost, making it possible for a person to inhabit the cyberworld as data, but also have a physical presence in the real world. However, I felt Motoko described it the best in the first few minutes of the film when she told her former superior officer, Kurtz, that doing so was a commercialization of a person’s ghost, thus that person lacked any freedom. This, in and of itself, was an interesting conflict of philosophies and I was glad it was the main focus of the narrative rather than the development of Public Security Agency Section 9 into a well-oiled team.

Yet, without a solid structure to work off of, the film would have lacked the depth it needed to present the multiple philosophies. While there is no set formula for exploring different concepts—seeing as how even Bruce Lee made an action film, Enter the Dragon, that explored his thoughts on martial arts—in Ghost in the Shell: The New Movie they were presented through the lens of a murder mystery. To put it simply, the Prime Minster of Japan was murdered during a secret meeting while the Japanese National Diet Building was under siege by former members of the Japanese military. Though it seems as though these two incidents had little in common with each other, like any good mystery, there was a complex web of deception the characters had to navigate. Yet, in this web we saw the same ideas mentioned above intricately woven into an overarching mystery. On the surface this may seem like it complicated the narrative of the film, yet by adding another layer it gave viewers the chance to parse out and ponder the case while examining the concepts the production team presented.

The infamous Motoko Kusanagi fall.

The first third of the film did this in quite a deceptive way when Motoko had each member of Section 9 investigate different facets of the Prime Minister’s murder and the siege of the Diet Building. The most captivating part of the members’ search was Batou and Togusa gathering information about the former military members who had captured the Diet Building. It’s no more than the two interrogating a military officer who handled the wills of deceased military personnel. Yet, through the conversation we learned about those involved in the siege as well as what it meant to have a fully cybernetic body. At first this seemed as though it was the natural progression of the conversation, but in actuality it was a subtle way for Tow Ubukata to instill the idea that fully cybernetic humans had very few options available to them once they underwent the procedure. Thus, this reinforced the importance of the conversation Motoko had with Kurtz at the beginning of the film and the major ideas being presented in it.

Yet, for how well the ideas and mysteries were presented, had Ghost in the Shell: The New Movie lacked proper pacing none of this would have been realized. The film has a runtime of one hundred minutes, so the timing for each scene was key to retaining the attention of the audience as well as presenting the rather complicated philosophies and mystery. This was achieved by having four excellent action scenes strewn about the narrative meat. For instance, the film started off strongly by presenting the audience with the siege on the Japanese National Diet Building. Yet, once the action had settled, it quickly segued into the information gathering in the first act. As more information was revealed, we were privy to another thrilling action sequence in which more questions were raised than answered. This cycle repeated itself during the film and kept the flow of information constant throughout the film’s runtime. More importantly, though, the long portions of the narrative separated by a large action set piece kept the audience from being overwhelmed by grand concepts. In this manner the precise nature of the pacing complemented the other facets of the film.

Ghost in the Shell: The New Movie is certainly an interesting film to say the least. Speaking only for myself, there were some moments in the film when I was lost in the jargon of fictional technology speak and the different political offices, but not enough to have the major concepts of the film pass me by. Admittedly, the murder mystery that propelled the narrative forward was rather benign, but through the layers of the cyberpunk it was masterfully executed. However, it was the clash of thought-provoking philosophies—especially Motoko’s ideas about freedom, Kurtz’s ideas of adapting ghosts to a changing world, and the idea of the “third-world”—interwoven into the mystery that kept the narrative fascinating. Though I feel some will be thoroughly lost in the concepts Tow Ubukata presented, fans of the Ghost in the Shell franchise will certainly love it. As a minor aside, one doesn’t need to watch the Ghost in the Shell: Arise OVA series of the franchise to fully appreciate Ghost in the Shell: The New Movie. Thus, if you were worried about this, you needn’t fret, as it’s easy to understand each of the major characters and the broad concepts of this particular film in the franchise.

Work Info
Title: Ghost in the Shell: The New Movie (攻殻機動隊 新劇場版 Kōkaku Kidōtai Shin Gekijō-ban)
Under: Production I.G
Official Site: http://www.kokaku-a.com/
More Info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghost_in_the_Shell:_The_New_Movie

The cover of the first volume of Megaman X.

A friend of mine has worked for the company that developed the robotic mule for the United States Army. I can’t decide if that makes him Dr. Light or Dr. Wily from the Megaman videogame franchise.

Sometimes I become so wrapped up in the minutia of the shonen and young adult genre of manga I forget there is a whole subset of the manga industry dedicated to producing content for a very young demographic. While one might think each of the major publishing houses in Japan has a magazine for young children, currently only a handful of publishers produce this type of content. The most famous is Shogakukan’s line of Korokoro magazines. It’s a shame this is one of the only lines of magazines for young children because a good rivalry will always force publishers to create premier content for their readers, such as the healthy rivalry between Shogakukan’s Monthly Korokoro Comics and Kodansha’s Monthly Bonbon Comics in the 1990s. While I didn’t actively read either magazine in my youth, since then I’ve had many opportunities to read material from both. Of the series I’ve enjoyed, one was none other than a manga adaptation of the videogame Megaman X (ロックマンX Rockman X) by Yoshihiro Iwamoto. It’s a fantastically odd series considering the game had little dialog or any semblance of a story, yet Iwamoto created a unique narrative that fit the game. Added on top of this, the author was able to capture the spirit of the game without compromising much of what made the game appealing. It was the artwork of the series that was surprising, though, as it was of a quality one wouldn’t expect from a series targeted at very young readers.

When it comes to adaptations of videogame properties, I’ve found there are generally two categories: ones that fundamentally misunderstand the material and therefore have a poor quality and ones that reinvent the game’s narrative in a way to keep the spirit alive while still providing a fun story for the audience. Many films based on videogames tend to fall in the former as film production companies seem to buy up the rights, but have people who don’t understand the material working on the adaptation. It is in the latter type, though, where we find the anime adaptation of Pokémon and to a degree the Super Mario Brothers manga series. What’s enjoyable about these series isn’t how they replicate the gameplay of their counterparts but rather how they create fun characters and a story that’s engaging for young children and still have enough content to keep adults mildly interested. However, this begs the question, do the authors and directors fundamentally change the content of the game to fit the narrative they are telling? To a degree, yes. However, I feel it’s important for authors and directors to make those alterations to benefit the story—after all, one can’t replicate the running and jumping in the Super Mario Brothers videogame on paper. As such, maintaining the spirit of a videogame during an adaptation is far more important than whether or not the adaptation recreates the experience of playing the game.

The manga adaptation of Megaman X was certainly like this as what made the game fun was jumping from platform to platform and the action, not the story. Consider, for those who have never played the videogame—and I highly recommend you do since it’s extremely fun—there was hardly any dialog in the game and what little there was amounted to less than three pages of text. From that Iwamoto, the author of the Megaman X manga series, had to create an entire narrative that was compelling for readers. This was no easy task, as eight of the characters had no semblance of a personality in the game and the five characters who did were one-dimensional. As such, something had to give for the manga adaptation of the game. I feel Iwamoto solved this in an ingenious way by dividing the villains into three different categories: those who were evil for the sake of being evil, those who were outcasts and wanted some sort of vindication, and those with ulterior motives. By taking this approach, Iwamoto created a narrative that wasn’t just interesting, but also added depth to each of the characters.

For example, the first villain the protagonist, X, encountered, wanted to battle X at his strongest. In the videogame source material this was never the case, but what it did for the manga series was give a relatively flat boss a more compelling personality. In turn, when examining characters such as Chill Penguin or Sting Chameleon, they were no more than one-dimensional evil characters. By using three different methods to bring personality to the characters, Iwamoto created enough variation in the characters to keep the series flowing smoothly. Yet, the author also did other things to keep the narrative interesting while keeping the spirit of the game alive. This was none other than adding a handful of original characters to the manga series. Although many of the new characters were throwaway background characters, there were three who influenced the narrative positively. At first this may seem disconcerting for fans of the game, however without those three characters the narrative depth would have been lacking. The main reason for this was, again, these were initially one-dimensional characters. Thus, incorporating new characters for X to interact with gave him much more of a backstory as well as personality.

Mars after he sacrificed himself.

Adding narrative layers to the story of Megaman X was appreciated. However, had the manga felt completely different from the game, the manga would have fallen into the annals of poor adaptations. Yet, as much as I say it’s difficult to capture the gameplay of videogames where the main mechanic is jumping to different platforms and shooting enemies, the essence of the gameplay from the source material was visible in the manga series. While this may seem odd at first, the facsimiles of the levels seen throughout the series were solid and captured the essence of what certain sections of the game would look like in three dimensions. The weaknesses of some of the villains were also present in the manga series and like the levels this helped recreate the feeling of fighting the bosses in the game. It was the power-up parts for X that were the most notable aspect of the game that found its way into the manga adaptation, though. This was one aspect of the game I thoroughly enjoyed as it added puzzle elements to the game as well as altered X’s abilities. In the same sense, the manga treated the parts as upgrades to X and not just as an aesthetic change in his art design. What’s more, the upgrades in the manga were located in the same places as the game, thus giving readers the feeling they were playing a portion of the game.

As much as the narrative alterations were attention grabbing for fans of the Megaman X game, it was actually the artwork I was the most surprised with. I say this because when I think of a manga series for children in the first through fourth grade, I imagine the artwork to be a bit more child friendly. To be more precise, the image I have for the art design is either super-deformed, such as Super Mario-kun, or caricatures, such as Bakusō Kyōdai Let’s and Go. Thus, as a manga property for younger children, it was fascinating seeing detail in the characters’ designs as well as the shading in some of the panels in Megaman X. While I wouldn’t call the Megaman X game dark, the artwork in the manga helped give the appearance the world was falling apart at the hands of the villains. I felt this was important for the manga series as well as for young readers because it showed the trials and tribulations X had to endure to achieve his ultimate goal.

One of the best panels that illustrated this came in the first volume of the series. The design of the panel was reminiscent of when Goku and Piccolo fought Radiz in Akira Toriyama’s manga series Dragon Ball in that the character Mars sacrificed himself for X’s mission. But, when looking at how it was drawn, we saw all the cracks and chips in Mars’s body. While there was no semblance of blood in the panel, the image was shocking for a young children’s manga to say the least and easily conveyed the fact the story was more mature than one might expect. There were other instances of phenomenal artwork strewn throughout the series and because of them the series was a beauty to look at. That’s not to say there weren’t sections where X became super-deformed, but they helped break the tension of the story and add some much needed humor to a rather dismal manga series for children.

The Megaman X manga adaptation is by no means a top-class manga series, but as an adaptation of a platforming and action videogame it was enjoyable. The author, Yoshihiro Iwamoto, knew what elements of the game to keep in the narrative and what he needed to add to make it a fully formed story. As such, there were instances where characters were added or given more personality. This was possibly the most important aspect of the manga series as the characters in the game were one-dimensional. Yet, with the right tweaks here and there the characters became much richer, which in turn added depth to the overarching story. While I say some of the gameplay elements were present in the manga series, I still feel it’s difficult for authors to capture what makes gameplay fun. Nonetheless, the background designs were reminiscent of the levels in the game and a handful of the villains’ weaknesses were displayed. It was the artwork that stunned me the most, though. As I said above, I have a certain image of artwork in young children’s manga, so seeing such detailed work in Megaman X was surprising to say the least, especially because it added to the tone of the narrative. I won’t lie here, the Megaman X manga series, both the original edition and the anthology print version, are extremely difficult to find and you’d be lucky to purchase it. Nevertheless, if you’re a fan of the Megaman X videogame, this manga series is a very satisfying read.

Work Info
Title: Megaman X (ロックマンX Rockman X)
By: Yoshihiro Iwamoto
Under: Kondansha, Bonbon Comics
Official Site: N/A
More Info: https://ja.wikipedia.org/wiki/ロックマンX_(漫画)

One of the posters for　Mobile Suit Gundam The Origin II Artesia’s Sorrow.

I should become an astronaut just so I can declare the International Space Station as Side 1 and claim to be the ruler of the Principality of Zeon.

One of the fascinating aspects of the Gundam franchise is how the production team of each series generally develops the characters, particularly the protagonist and antagonist, over the course of a series. True, there have been instances where this wasn’t the case, but from what I’ve seen of the franchise, those few instances were the exception and not the rule. But, then we have an interesting conundrum with the Mobile Suit Gundam The Origin OVA (original video anime) series. Because the series is predicated on Casval Rem Daikun’s transformation into the iconic villain Char Aznable, a character who was fully formed by the end of Mobile Suit Z Gundam, one would think examining his past would affect his character as a whole. That’s not to say we should write off the Origin series, though, because the first installment of the series set a wonderful tone for it. However, entering the second installment, Mobile Suit Gundam The Origin II Artesia’s Sorrow (機動戦士ガンダム THE ORIGIN II 哀しみのアルテイシア Kidōsenshi Gundam The Origin Kanashimi no Artesia), some of the flaws of the series began to come through, not in terms of the narrative, but in how quickly Casval began his mad descent into vengeance. While I’m sure this will be expanded upon in later installments of the Origin series, what we saw here wasn’t the cold and calculating character he is known for, but rather a high-functioning sociopath. There were also some issues with narrative jumps between characters, and though it was nice seeing and hearing many familiar names and faces from Mobil Suit Gundam, their appearance distracted attention from the central focus of the series, that is, Casval, the Zabi family, and to a degree Ramba Ral. However, the major issues I had with this installment weren’t the above observations, but in how quickly it came to a close. I felt there should have been one more act, or at the very least one more scene, near the end of Artesia’s Sorrow to smooth out some of the character interactions rather than coming to the abrupt end that it did.

While I don’t want to claim Char Aznable is the most popular character within the Universal Century franchise of the Gundam franchise, he certainly had a magnetic presence to him. He has some of the most memorable quotes from all the series and films he’s appeared in and his mission, or at least his original mission, was one fans could reasonably understand—the Zabi family wronged him and he wanted vengeance. Yet, when examining how he went about enacting his vendetta against the Zabi family, it wasn’t just a murderous spree. Instead, it was slow and calculated and appeared to take years of planning before being set into motion. For example, in the tenth episode of Mobile Suit Gundam Char didn’t just ensnare Garma Zabi in a trap, but utterly humiliated him in the process. Later in the same series, he played Kycillia Zabi for a fool by using her feud with her older brothers against her. From these instances we saw not only the cold-hearted nature of Char, but also how he took calculated risks to serve his vengeance.

Testing of the prototype Mobile Suits.

When placed against the character we saw in Artesia’s Sorrow, Casval—mind you I will be referring to Char as Casval from this point on because he had yet to make the transition into Char—was less calculating and more violent than one might expect. While I understand from a character developmental point of view he had yet to develop the patience seen in Mobile Suit Gundam, the idea he was an angry young man seemed to counter what fans were used to. Consider for a moment, in many of the TV series and films in which Casval appeared he rarely lost his composure and never let his emotions rule his judgment. However, I’m actually not opposed to the change in his character for this series. This is because the Origin series is a prequel to Mobile Suit Gundam, at least in terms of Casval’s story, and as such we’re watching him become the man we’re familiar with. Thus, the anger simmering in him was an interesting aspect of his personality to explore.

However, it was how that anger was portrayed I had issues with. Granted, to a certain degree Casval was a high-functioning sociopath in Mobile Suit Gundam, in Artesia’s Sorrow it came to the forefront far more than expected and not through plotting, planning, and scheming, but in his violent attitude. The final act demonstrated this quite well with a section of dialog and a bar fight. Looking at the dialog first, it occurred between Teabolo Mass, Casval’s guardian, and the principal at Casval’s school. What’s fascinating about the conversation between the characters was how the principal admitted Casval was a prodigy, but had an icy countenance that made him intimidating. While this was a wonderful description of Casval, or at least what he would become, and hearing him described in such a way was truly enthralling, it lacked the sense of dread people around him felt. This was a disservice to the audience, as we needed to see how cold Casval was rather than have it described to us. In turn, the bar fight that occurred soon after this conversation demonstrated the brutality Casval was capable of. It was this scene in particular that separated the Casval from Mobil Suit Gundam and the Casval in the Origin franchise. What I mean by this is it seemed as though Casval took pleasure in beating the man he thought was shadowing him and his sister rather than treating it as a day’s work as he would have in Mobile Suit Gundam. As such, Casval was far less interesting in this installment than in the original TV series because he felt one-dimensional and lacked the spirit he had in the previous installment, Blue-eyed Casval.

There was an advantage to focusing on Casval and by proxy his sister for this installment, though. As the Origin franchise is predicated on telling the story of Casval’s transformation into Char, as much as I may have taken issue with the poor quality of the transition in Artesia’s Sorrow, it was far more entertaining than the surrounding events. For example, a good portion of the second act shifted to the character Ramba Ral and the experimental mobile suits being developed by the Principality of Zeon. Not that this was unwelcome, but it had little bearing on the narrative progression of the series as a whole. Yes, it was nice seeing the initial stages of the development of the iconic MSN Zaku-II and Ramba finding his own coping mechanisms after the events in Blue-eyed Casval, but it took a great deal away from the story arc of developing the young Casval. Seeing as only four installments in the Origin OVA series will be made, any time spent away from Casval could be considered wasted. It’s very much his story and not of those around him. Thus, as interesting as it was seeing Ramba and even the final moments of Casval and Artesia’s mother, Astraia, these scenes could have been left out for the purpose of this story.

Casval Rem Daikun and Char Aznable. Your guess is as good as mine as to who is who.

The same was true with the inclusion of characters from Mobile Suit Gundam as well. Admittedly, it was nice seeing these characters, and to be clear they were Amuro Rey, Mirai Yashima, Gaia, Ortega, and Mash, but the short scenes they were in hardly added to the world building the Origin OVA was conducting from the first installment. For instance, at the beginning of the second act in Artesia’s Sorrow we were introduced to Shu Yashima and his daughter, Mirai. Although this was a pivotal scene between Shu and Teabolo, why Mirai was included made little sense. This was a meeting between two old friends and while I understand Shu brought Mirai because she had nowhere else to stay, she contributed little to the scene. The same could be said for the few seconds Amuro was in the OVA. He more or less appeared for comic relief and as a tragic series of sorts this felt out of place. I don’t mean to say a tragedy shouldn’t have some humor interwoven into the narrative, but this was a bit much.

The interesting thing about these issues in Artesia’s Sorrow, though, was as much as they seemed to detract from the overall presentation of the installment, they actually worked to benefit it because the content was engaging throughout. Consider this in terms of a film that isn’t the best piece of fiction, but is immensely entertaining to watch, such as the 2001 film The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra. Even though The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra is just a parody of 1950s’ B science fiction films and all their tropes, the entire ninety minutes blows by in an instant because the film was captivating. The same was true for Artesia’s Sorrow. If the individual parts are analyzed, as I’ve done here, the flaws begin to show. Yet when taken as a singular piece, the plot points and narrative hooks only draw the audience in even further. Taking an example from above, we saw how this was true in the scenes with Ramba. Were they out of place within the narrative of this installment? Yes, they were. But when watching them, one can’t help but sympathize with Ramba’s plight. As such, when the OVA came to an abrupt close, it felt as though we had been cheated out of a longer piece, as well as one or two more scenes.

In actuality, Artesia’s Sorrow needed one more scene before coming to a close. I say this because as enthralling as the installment was, there was a general lack of bonding between a handful of the characters, particularly Casval and Char Aznable. This will become confusing rather quickly, but to break it down, the Mass family, of which Casval was a part, relocated to the space colony Texas after the events in the first act. There Casval and Artesia met the son of the Aznables, Char. While it’s shown Casval and Char instantly became friends, little was done to reinforce this point, especially when considering the charged dinner party between the Masses and Aznables. What made this scene electrifying was how Char stated he had applied to the Zeon Officers Academy. However, had there been one more scene with Casval and Char interacting, it would have given the audience the proper context to understand how Casval stayed level headed as well as further emphasized why Teabolo was nervous during the table conversation in this scene. While this wouldn’t have alleviated the abrupt ending of this installment, it would have prolonged it just enough to create a truly satisfying experience.

As much as I spoke against Mobile Suit Gundam The Origin II Artesia’s Sorrow, it’s still a wonderful viewing experience. We saw the many different faces of Casval and possibly the event that solidified his decision to travel down the path of vengeance. There were also a number of lovely scenes revolving around Casval’s sister, Artesia, but they were far less common than those featuring Casval. As an afterthought, the jump between Casval and Ramba’s story was odd to say the least, but when experiencing the story as a whole, it’s hardly noticeable. It was also an opportunity to see the evolution of Ramba as well as the beginnings of the schism that tore the Zabi family apart in Mobile Suit Gundam. While the appearance of a handful of Mobile Suit Gundam characters was a nice touch to this installment, they unfortunately didn’t add much in terms of world building. If those characters were more involved in the plot, though, this would have upset the character dynamics of the original TV series. Thus, in a certain sense the limited screen time for these characters was probably for the best. What Artesia’s Sorrow needed, though, was one more scene to flesh out the relationship between Casval and Char. This would have made for a far better dinner scene at the end of the OVA, as well as staved off the rather hasty end. My negative opinion of Artesia’s Sorrow doesn’t concern the work as a whole, but rather smaller sections of it. Thus, taken as a single work, I enjoyed it quite a bit. Any Gundam fan will certainly enjoy it as well. But, what I really want to see appears to be coming up in the third installment.

Work Info
Title: Mobile Suit Gundam The Origin II Artesia’s Sorrow (機動戦士ガンダム THE ORIGIN II 哀しみのアルテイシア Kidōsenshi Gundam The Origin Kanashimi no Artesia)
By: Yoshikazu Yasuhiko
Under: Sunrise
Official Site: http://www.gundam-the-origin.net/
More Info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mobile_Suit_Gundam:_The_Origin

One of the posters for Code Geass: Akito the Exiled To Beloved One.

I’m glad I don’t have an older sibling who’s trying to destroy or take over the world because I might be his or hers right-hand man.

Because I started on the far less enthralling second season of Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion, I never found the Code Geass franchise all that alluring. That being said, I can understand why people enjoy the franchise so much. The franchise boasted colorful characters and a few of the narrative twists and plot points were fascinating. However, the franchise also suffered from a writing staff that couldn’t bring all the pieces together by the final act. This was true in the TV series and it certainly rang true for the OVA (original video anime) series Code Geass: Akito the Exiled. Don’t let my words mislead you, though, because this was only one aspect of the final installment of the Akito the Exiled series, Code Geass: Akito the Exiled To Beloved One (コードギアス亡国のアキト 愛シキモノタチヘ Code Geass Bokoku no Akito Itoshiki Monohe). That statement needs some clarification, however. There were aspects of this installment that were brought to a satisfying close, albeit in an odd fashion, but the writing staff tried their hand at some weak metaphysical philosophy. Apart from this, the action scenes were what one would expect from this franchise: exciting. Yet, when all was said and done, I still can’t help but wonder why the Akito the Exiled series was created. It was a nice addition to the Code Geass franchise, but it also felt as though the animation production company Sunrise was trying to keep the franchise afloat just a bit longer despite having other properties that are, in my opinion, far more interesting.

The anime production company Sunrise has made numerous anime series over the years and for the most part kept them solvent. However, if you watch enough of their series you’ll find a small handful had weak closing acts by comparison to the rest of their series. I feel part of this comes from the four act structure that’s instilled in the mind of so many Japanese authors, directors, and scriptwriters, yet they also seem to want to create a grand narrative for their stories. Therein lies the problem. Unless the story is gradually building up a grand narrative throughout, the core idea informing the series falls flat if it comes out of the blue at the very end. This is what happened with Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion R2 as well as a fair portion of the second season of Mobile Suit Gundam 00. Not all of Sunrise’s series need to be grand tales of heroes fighting some existential threat. They can simply be about a middle-aged man going though a midlife crises, too, as was the case in Tiger & Bunny. Thus, it’s incumbent upon creators to understand their work and message before wedging in metaphysical philosophies.

Herein lay the major issue of To Beloved One. The installment had a number of exciting climatic action scenes, but quickly devolved into poor expositional musings about the nature of humanity. While Akito the Exiled, and even the Code Geass franchise as a whole, touched upon these ideas over the course of the five installments, they came during interpersonal moments between the characters. The second act of the third installment, Code Geass: Akito the Exiled The Brightness Falls, was an example from this series in how it was handled well. What I mean by this is the two prominent characters of the series, Akito Hyuga and Leila Malkal, were discussing their past, what they ultimately wanted to achieve, and how this fit into the larger picture. This scene was interesting because it gave us a better perspective on some very flat characters. However, in To Beloved One this wasn’t the case. Instead, the musings came out of the blue and hardly added to the theme of the series.

An example of the tight shots in Code Geass: Akito the Exiled To Beloved One.

Added on top of this, what the characters were discussing, or rather what Leila and the Keeper of Time—mind you this is a rough and unofficial translation of the title—were discussing was a jumbled mess. While it focused on the idea of time and our place in it, unless one was paying close attention to the dialog it sounded closer to self-important meditations than actual commentary designed to make us think. A good comparison would be the scene in the 2003 film The Matrix Reloaded when the protagonist, Neo, was speaking to the computer program The Architect. Both scenes made little sense, required the audience to pay close attention to the word choices, and needed to be watched repeatedly until something could be parsed out. This is a shame because the Akito the Exiled series never needed deep ruminations on humanity as the story focused on a nice conflict between two ideals and the relationship between brothers.

The narrative strength of To Beloved One, then, was that it gave us a conclusion to those stories. Granted, they weren’t all that satisfying, but they helped us understand the relationship between the characters much better. For instance, the villain, Shin Hyuga Shaingu, had a fierce determination to kill Akito throughout the series. Although there were passing scenes that expressed Shin Hyuga Shaingu’s reasons for this, it was articulated far better in this installment. As always, going into detail could ruin the narrative, but suffice it to say it wasn’t just attention grabbing but also involved the affection Shin Hyuga Shaingu had for Akito. Mind you, this was intercut with the poor metaphysical contemplations and made the final moments between the two characters cumbersome. But, the penultimate shot of Shin Hyuga Shaingu was deeply satisfying.

Even outside of the narrative arc surrounding Shin Hyuga Shaingu, the climatic battle was a sight to behold and not because it was a grand spectacle, but because it brought this particular story to a close. While it didn’t address some of the finer points of the story, especially in regards to some of the characters’ backgrounds, it came to a satisfying conclusion. After all, not all stories need to leave you wondering what happened with the characters afterwards. In fact, any more time with these characters could have actually led to an unsatisfying ending.

Putting the ending aside, the real showstopper of this installment was the action. This should come as no surprise as the action in the Code Geass franchise is stunning. Once again the animation team was able to craft some gorgeous movements for the Nightmare Frames, the robots in the franchise, with the writing staff setting up some interesting situations for each segment. For instance, there was some tension, albeit weak tension, regarding how the Holy Britannian Army would breach the outer walls of the castle the W-0 Unit was fortified in. But, beyond that particular segment, what should have been a storm-the-castle situation became a collection of nail biting skirmishes. Added on top of this, and it baffles me to no end why I overlooked this in the previous installments, the action had an inkling of Old World siege and World War I trench warfare but with a futuristic veneer. This combination may seem odd at first, but considering how the franchise used the European Empire model of the 1800s as a backdrop, this shouldn’t be surprising. On the contrary, it’s refreshing because when an anime series focuses on action, it’s of the main characters and not the larger picture. Yet, when we’re able to see the larger scope of a battle, it can reinforce the importance of one or two characters’ roles. As such, the action in To Beloved One was entertaining to say the least.

The climatic sword fight between Akito and Code Geass: Akito the Exiled To Beloved One.

There was a major issue with the action being animated to follow the movements of the Nightmare Frames too tightly, though. I understand the reasoning behind this—the action took place in narrow corridors—however, using wide-angle shots or even top down shots every now and then would have made the action flow much better. Added on top of this, while some of the tight shots were nice, there were some that made the action feel too erratic. Yes, combat isn’t supposed to be a smooth ordeal, but it’s important for the audience to be able to follow the characters through the chaos. This was particularly true with the character Ashley Ashura. While we could make out some of the destruction he wrought, the animation was generally too quick and the shots too tight to make heads or tails of what was going on. Had the animation team animated the action from different perspectives, it would have mitigated the issue and made many more of the action set pieces enjoyable to watch.

In the end I have to ask, was the Code Geass: Akito the Exiled series necessary for the Code Geass franchise? There are a couple of ways to consider this question: did the story add to the franchise as a whole and what were some of the reasons for producing it? I can only speculate about the latter, but I felt the OVA was born out of a desire to keep the franchise afloat just a bit longer. There’s nothing inherently wrong about this, companies do it all the time, but it seemed as though what was a cash cow for Sunrise between 2006 and 2010 didn’t have the staying power the executives at Sunrise thought it did. As such, creating the Akito the Exiled series may have been an exercise in profiting off a fading intellectual property before it fell into the recesses of the memories of anime and manga fans. This is a very cynical look at the series and I don’t think it holds much water. But, since some people might come to that conclusion, I felt the hypothesis should be clearly stated. However, that’s not what I really think. Rather, I feel a director at Sunrise had a story he or she wanted to tell and the Code Geass franchise was the perfect delivery method for it.

Then what about my first argument, did the Akito the Exiled series benefit the Code Geass franchise? I actually think it had a positive effect on it. For one, we saw an interesting side story about a small group of characters who were relatively unrelated to the main narrative. The series also expanded on the world of Code Geass and gave us a perspective of that world we may not have considered before, especially since the main series focused on East Asia. This makes me wonder what other stories and characters were there in other parts of the world and how were they affected by the machinations of the main series and even the Akito the Exiled series. For example, what sorts of characters were living in Africa or even Central and South America during the events of both series? Both these geographic locations have dealt with European rule to one degree or another and seeing these ideas brought up again may be interesting for modern audiences. As such, while I found the series a bit disappointing throughout, I’m actually glad it was made. Do I look forward to another Code Geass anime property? Not really. But, there certainly could be kernels of interesting ideas in those hypothetical series as well.

Code Geass: Akito the Exiled To Beloved One is a mixed bag when it comes to its narrative quality. The climatic action scenes were certainly enticing, yet the series as a whole suffered when the ill-timed and all too confusing metaphysical musings of this installment are taken into consideration. Had the production team focused on the strength of the series rather than try to insert their meditations on life, existence, and the concept of time, this installment would have faired much better. At the very least, they could have spread the story out over the course of the five chapters of the entire OVA in order to create a more well-rounded narrative arc. That being said, the action was engaging once again, and while it was plagued with a few animation choices that made some sequences erratic, the quality of each action scene was incredible. As the finale in the Akito the Exiled series it was a bit underwhelming, but the installment came to an end that was appropriate for the story that was being told. Although I felt this series added the Code Geass franchise, I can’t help but think most people could forgo watching it and not really miss anything. That being said, Code Geass fans shouldn’t pass this installment up, as you will certainly enjoy it.

Work Info
Title: Akito the Exiled series, Code Geass: Akito the Exiled To Beloved One (コードギアス亡国のアキト 愛シキモノタチヘ Code Geass Bokoku no Akito Itoshiki Monohe)
Under: Sunrise Inc.
Official Site: http://www.geass.jp/akito/
More Info: http://ja.wikipedia.org/wiki/コードギアス_亡国のアキト

The title logo for Dance with Devils.

I knew the Devil was a great fiddler, but not a phenomenal dancer. I guess that’s why the world’s best dancers are all devilishly handsome.

I don’t engage in too many series targeted at adolescent girls and young women because I perceive that type of content to be homoerotica. Before anyone judges me and says not all anime and manga material targeted at adolescent girls and young women is in that genre, I know this. It’s just my bias. On top of this, I actually have little animosity towards homoerotica, as I still want to buy the gay erotic manga Handwitch out of curiosity and I’ve taken some pleasure in watching Junjyo Romantica: Pure Romance. However, I had my first real experience with an anime series for adolescent girls and young women with the 2015 series Dance with Devils (ダンス ウィス デビルズ). All I can really say about the series is, wow. Disregarding the fact it was a lackluster romance series for a moment, I couldn’t help but feel there was sense of battered woman syndrome regarding the protagonist and the male characters vying for her affections. It made watching the series incredibly uncomfortable in a way I haven’t felt since reading the manga series Kodomo no Jikan. But at least there was clear commentary about the Japanese educational system in Kodomo no Jikan. For its part, however, about the best we can say about Dance with Devils was that it wasted its potential on the musical numbers seen in a handful of the episodes. Had the series been a genuine musical from the start, it would have made the viewing experience entertaining at the very least.

One thing that interests me about anime is new ways of presenting stories. I’m not referring to visual means or creative storytelling techniques, but in methods that haven’t found a foothold in the industry. Consider, film and theater use a variety of ways to present a story to their audience and in some cases they work well. However, I feel theater has cornered the musical production market over the film industry. Yes, there are films that are musicals, many Disney films are, but generally when I hear the word “musical” I think of theater productions. It begs the question then, why haven’t many anime production companies tried their hand at creating a musical anime series? Sure, there are plenty of series that offer one musical number, but very few if any traverse the musical territory in full. It’s an interesting prospect and provided an anime production company was willing to invest in the scores, choreography, singers, and the like it could yield fascinating results. However, it seems as though not many anime production companies want to take the risk of creating a series that follows the musical format.

Dance with Devils came very close to being a full musical production, but it still fell short. It’s a shame, too, because there were some wonderful songs written for the series. But, it was the lack of songs, or rather their brevity and the time between them, that kept the series from reaching its full potential. It’s frustrating thinking back on it because, while I had issues with the singing voices of the cast, this was a unique way of presenting an anime series to viewers. In fact, it was jarring when the protagonist, Ritsuka Tachibana, began singing five minutes into the first episode. Yet, as surprising and comical as this was, the mere fact the production team at Brains Base, the anime production company that made Dance with Devils, made this decision was bold. However, as I’ve already stated, there was a distinct lack of song numbers throughout the series.

A still from one of the song numbers.

I understand if the production team was trying to use the musical numbers as a method to entice viewers and if this were true it was a failure on their part. As viewers, the first episode informs us of the nature of the series and when we were presented with two song numbers it became instilled in us we would be hearing many more throughout the series. Yet, when looking back there were a handful of episodes where a song number wasn’t included. This greatly disrupted the presentation of the series, but more importantly made it pedestrian. Even when a number was included in an episode they ended within two minutes, making them feel out of place rather than integral to the identity of the series. As such, I felt Brains Base should have commissioned Elements Garden, the music composition company that made the pieces for Dance with Devils, for more songs even if it would have increased the production costs. At the very least they would have had a full album’s worth of songs to put on the market.

While I may complain about the lack of songs, they were, for the most part, entertaining to listen to. As I said, the singing voices seemed a bit off key at times, but this added to the charm of the series being a musical. This is why I say it was a shame there were so few musical pieces heard throughout the series. They really made this series fun to watch and added a great deal to the characters’ personalities. What I mean by this is listening to any given piece in the series informed us of the characters’ personalities. As such, if a song was in a minor key there was a sense the character potentially had a tragic past. If the tempo was upbeat we could infer the energy of the character. Although this may not be the best tool for every anime series produced, how Brains Base used it here was remarkable and should be commended, even it was underutilized.

That’s as far as I can go in complementing Dance with Devils though, as the narrative was genuinely uninteresting, not because it followed certain tropes of the harem subgenre of romance series, but because the story lacked tension. That’s not to say there wasn’t any tension—there was sense of anxiety watching Ritsuka being hounded by literal demons and vampires—but Ritsuka lacked a great deal of agency throughout the series. True, she was trying to solve the mysteries presented to her, but at every turn the male characters, particularly her brother, Lindo Tachibana, stifled her by saying either, “I’m protecting you,” or “Give in to me and I’ll give you what you want.” In fact, one of the best instances of the supporting cast interfering with Ritsuka was in the opening of the fourth episode. Here Lindo quite literally barred Ritsuka from leaving their house. Granted, the production team worked around this by making sure Ritsuka was independent enough to exert her will on others. But, when the story was predicated on her solving a mystery with little to no avail, there wasn’t much of a story at all.

Added on top of this, the main conflict wasn’t appealing. Perhaps it’s the fallout from the Twilight novel series or just a general lack of interesting male characters, but what the men in Dance with Devils wanted with Ritsuka wasn’t inspired. It was no more than Ritsuka being the key to master the world. This is a plot point other anime, manga, and even videogame series have used and seeing it crop up here and utilized rather poorly was frustrating. This made Ritsuka not a character per se, but an object for the male characters to fight over. In turn, because Ritsuka was essentially an object for the men to fight over, it gave them very little in terms of personality. In a certain sense I shouldn’t be complaining too much as female characters have been relegated into positions of little personality from time immemorial and I’m just receiving a small taste of it here. However, in order to make a compelling narrative each character needed more than just one song to inform us of their personality and motives. I admit, we learned one of the character’s motives during the twelve episodes and it was noteworthy. But, as always, delving into this could ruin the surprise factor.

Ritsuka Tachibana attempting to break out of her own home.

The major issue with Dance with Devils, though, didn’t come from the narrative or lack of songs, but the treatment of Ritsuka by the supporting male characters. As I said above, Ritsuka seemed more of an object for them to win and as such gave them little personality. But, the problem stemmed much deeper than this. I equated the relationships to battered woman syndrome (BWS) in my introductory remarks and to a degree this was true, perhaps not to a degree seen in other series, such as Diabolik Lovers, but there were certainly instances where Ritsuka succumbed to the abusive tendencies of the male characters. While I mentioned the opening of the fourth episode above, the fifth episode was a fine representation of the male characters treating Ritsuka poorly and Ritsuka essentially obliging. Although this episode lacked the telltale signals of BWS, it certainly had elements of it incorporated into the episode. For example, findlaw.com describes the cycle of BWS as follows:

First, the abuser engages in behaviors that create relationship tension. Second, the tension explodes when the abuser commits some form of abuse: physical, psychological, emotional, sexual, or otherwise. Third, the abuser tries to fix his wrongdoing and apologizes. This third stage is frequently referred to as the “honeymoon” stage, and involves the abuser making amends for his bad behavior. During the honeymoon stage, the abuser is forgiven, and the cycle starts all over again.

Examining the fifth episode, we actually saw many of the same patterns in the male characters Mage Nanashiro and Rem Kaginuki. As such, watching Ritsuka engage the male characters was disturbing to say the least.

Herein lay the greater issue: Is this what Japanese women view as romantic? I honestly can’t say because I know very few Japanese women and I try not to pry into the lives of others. But, it can be said there is a culture of psychological oppression of women in Japan. Consider, even though Prime Minster Shinzo Abe tried to push Japanese companies to create women-friendly work environments, women are still encouraged to leave their place of work if they marry or become pregnant. On top of this, prior to writing this article the highest courts in Japan upheld a law that required one party in a marriage to take the surname of his or her spouse. In many cases—I believe it’s over 90%—Japanese women take the name of their husband. Thus, Japanese women can be considered second-class citizens compared to their male counterparts in certain instances. In regards to domestic abuse cases, though, I can’t actually say if there’s been a rise or decrease over the years. But, if an anime instills the idea that women can be treated as Ritsuka was in Dance with Devils, it makes me question if young Japanese men and women will be influenced. I’m not speaking of overt influence mind you, that would be ridiculous, but it could reinforce Japanese gender stereotypes that have thrived since at least the early 1900s, if not well before that.

Personally, I found Dance with Devils to be a lackluster series. This came more from the narrative presented to the audience more than anything else. However, it can be said Brains Base could have utilized the musical aspect of the series much better. I was also hoping for more out of the protagonist, Ritsuka Tachibana, but it seemed as though the producers were interested in making her an object for the male characters to fawn over rather than a three-dimensional person. Then again, very few characters were multilayered in this series, so it’s not much of an issue that Ritsuka was one-dimensional as well. The real issue stemmed from how she was treated by those same male characters. It wasn’t just that she was a prize to be won, but the relationship dynamics in the series mirrored the issue of battered woman syndrome in the real world. I fear this may reinforce some gender role stereotypes within viewers and I wish the production team would have addressed this a bit more than in the final minutes of the series. That being said, I’m actually glad Dance with Devils was made. It gave me some insight into anime series targeted at adolescent and young women and provided me with the basic tropes for a romance series for this audience. As such, if you can disregard the flat characters, blasé narrative, lack of musical numbers, and issues of batter woman syndrome plaguing the series, you may find it as insightful as I did.

Work Info
Title: Dance with Devils (ダンス ウィス デビルズ)
Under: Brain’s Base, Elements Garden
Official Site: http://dwd-anime.com/
More Info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dance_with_Devils

One of the posters for　Sinbad: Mahō no Lamp to Ugoku Shima.

I wonder if Sinbad has ever sinned so badly it felt good? If so, he should consider changing his name to Singood.

In the past I’ve written how I’m not the biggest fan of high fantasy. I don’t want to reiterate those points here, but suffice it to say it has much more to do with the vocabulary than the setting. However, a modern setting for fantasy intrigues me to no end. That’s not to say I find fantasy series that place their story in familiar settings superior because fantasy series such as Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers or Blade and Soul caught my attention for their unique settings—even if the latter focused on sex appeal rather than narrative. This is why I’ve found Nippon Animation and Shirogumi’s retelling of Sinbad the Sailor appealing. True, I had some issues with the first installment of the three-part film series, but those issues were less prevalent in the second installment, Sinbad: Mahō no Lamp to Ugoku Shima (シンドバッド 魔法のランプと動く島). I say this because the three-act structure was far more defined in the film and though the pacing lagged a bit in the second act, this added to the adventurous nature of the film. There were also some wonderful visuals interspersed throughout the film and it felt far livelier than the previous installment. I should also mention the Sinbad film series is less a family film than it is a children’s film. So, while some story elements felt odd the underlying plot developments were rather charming.

I wrote fairly in depth about the source material of the Sinbad film series in my article “Returning to a Classic with Sinbad.” But, for those who may have forgotten it’s based on Scheherazade’s The Seven Voyages of Sinbad the Sailor and the One-Thousand and One Nights. As such I felt we had to treat the individual installments of the Sinbad film series in the same vein as the source works: drawing us in but never fully completing the story so we would come back for another tale. These elements were prevalent in Sinbad: Mahō no Lamp to Ugoku Shima but to a lesser degree. What I mean by this is we are looking at the middle installment of a three-part film series—although with the current trend of films based on young adult novels, the last installment of this series may be broken into two parts. As such, the overarching narrative brought us closer to the narrative center of the series while still providing us with a unique story. Yet, when placed next to the first installment of the Sinbad film series this installment flowed much better and never felt as though we were being rushed through any of the plot points. Thus, while it felt as if there were only two acts in the first film, here there were three well-defined acts.

The use of the three-act structure in Sinbad: Mahō no Lamp to Ugoku Shima added more depth to the story than one might expect. I don’t want to compare this film to the first film in the series, Sinbad: Sora Tobu Hime to Himitsu no Shima, all that often because the emotional weight was lacking in that film since we were quickly pushed through many of the plot points. However, because Sinbad: Mahō no Lamp to Ugoku Shima used the three-act structure to present the story, as an audience we were able to take in the interpersonal moments presented throughout the film. For example, there was a short scene near the end of the second act when the principle characters, Sinbad, Sana, and Ali, were pondering the situation they were in. During their conversation some great character background regarding Ali was presented and the scene also expanded on why Sinbad wanted to become a sailor. Mind you, this wasn’t exposition or a scene to fill out time in the film, but rather a genuine moment to understand the characters’ relationships as well as what motivated them. I wouldn’t, however, go so far as to call the scene touching. Yet, small moments like these in a film or TV series can add depth to the content presented to us.

There was one drawback to the three-act structure and interpersonal scenes, though, and that was how the film became languid. This was more of an issue during the second act of the film. While we were presented with remarkable visuals, it seemed as though the production team focused too heavily on the scenery rather than advancing the narrative of the film and the series as a whole. Some may understand this simile, but think of this installment in terms of a Dungeons & Dragons campaign module where instead of fighting monsters, solving mysteries, or dungeon crawling, you spent the majority of the campaign having the Game Master or Dungeon Master describe the minute details of the surroundings. It’s fine in small doses and great for establishing the mood, but not if the entire campaign is centered on it. This was close to how the second act in Sinbad: Mahō no Lamp to Ugoku Shima felt. To be honest, though, it wasn’t mind numbing per se, but rather felt as though some of it could have been cut. A fine example was when Sinbad and Sana were walking through a forest and a low hanging branch blocked their path. This wasn’t a poor scene as it was comical in nature, but it felt as if it was less important than some of the other shorter scenes later in the film.

The wide-angle shot of the footprint.

That being said, had the second act not been so languid we would have missed the beauty inherent in this film. Granted, this contradicts the statement above, but since film is a visual medium we often need something to stimulate our visual senses. Here it was the use of the vibrant greens and blues of the forest and water as well as the vivacious colors used to accentuate the flowers and fruits growing in the forest. However, of all the scenery none compared to the glade that appeared about half way into the film. What made the glade so stunning wasn’t just the dazzling blues, but also the inclusion of a band of horses. To be clear, it wasn’t as if a great deal of effort was placed into the animation of the horses, but their designs and the fact they filled out a portion of the film that was lacking in terms of objects for Sinbad and Sana interact with was delightful. This may seem like a very small point to focus on, but the moment Sinbad and Sana entered the glade it felt as though we were on an adventure with the two characters and there was a sense of awe in seeing something spectacular and new.

It’s the adventurous spirit that was the overarching theme of the Sinbad film series. Adults may actually find this tedious, but we have to keep in mind the target audience of these films aren’t necessarily adults or families, but children. Thus, it’s only reasonable there was a sense of awe when Sinbad was exploring the island the film took place on with Sana. What’s more, the narrative had to reflect the sensibilities of what young children would enjoy more so than what adults would find engrossing. In all honesty, there were many directorial choices that were laughable at best when it came to foreshadowing. For instance, as an adult it was patently clear a giant creature inhabited the island when there was a wide-angle shot of a large footprint. Yet, somebody on the production team, most likely the director, chose to shade in the edges of the screen so that we would focus on the footprint. It’s a very small qualm, but when stepping back and remembering children may not catch on to this as quickly as adults it was understandable. So, while this was an odd directorial choice, the reason it was used made sense.

In turn, though, the story elements were far more charming and added a great deal to the narrative of the film as well as the series. I stated above there were a few interpersonal moments in the film, but the underlying theme came from a budding, albeit simple, romance between Sinbad and Sana. This drove the climatic confrontation in the third act of Sinbad: Mahō no Lamp to Ugoku Shima and, though it was predictable, progressed the story in a way that was pleasant in its own right. Even the overarching narrative benefited from this installment as we received more information regarding Sana’s people, the Magic Kingdom, and the nefarious plot of the antagonists. To use a directorial term and theory coined by J.J. Abrams, this is what the mystery box is about. We weren’t given the full extent of the agendas of the various characters in long-winded expositions, but it was just enough to keep us curious and wanting to find out more. As such, the few expository scenes scattered throughout the film never went into great detail, left enough to our imagination, and made us curious about what we were missing.

In terms of composition Sinbad: Mahō no Lamp to Ugoku Shima was a far better film than the previous installment. Yes, there were bits that lagged in the film, but it was more than made up for by the wonderful visual elements. Although the fantasy elements were missing for a large portion of the film, this installment still felt like an adventure, especially in the final act. The use of a three-act structure improved the pacing of the film as well and all the plot points felt as though they weren’t rushed. This gave us small interpersonal moments that made the characters more memorable as well as adding new layers and dimensions to the characters and the story. Of course, some of the plot elements were tiresome, but this was more of an issue because I am an adult and not a child. I have to bring up the languid moments again if only because some children may find those portions of the film uninteresting. However, they were short enough that children shouldn’t fidget in their seats too much. As such, while I felt adults would find the film unappealing, children and those who have an adventurous spirit will enjoy it.

Work Info
Title: Sinbad: Mahō no Lamp to Ugoku Shima (シンドバッド 魔法のランプと動く島)
Under: Nippon Animation
Official Site: http://www.sinbad.jp/
More Info: N/A

The cover of the first volume of Takkoku.

Table tennis gets a lot of flack in the United States of America. That’s because they’re not winning. Maybe someone should propose making American table tennis great again.

Of all the literary genres utilized by manga authors, I feel the most difficult to convey is the sports genre. While the American film industry has created an ideal template for the genre, manga authors have traveled down the path of supokon—the idea of over-the-top sports spirit.   True, this led to massively popular sports series during the 1960s and 70s, but as the genre evolved the idea of supokon ironically made sports series ridiculous rather than gripping. Granted, there are sports series that shy away from supokon, but they’re few and far between. However, one author embraced the silly nature of modern supokon by using it as a backdrop to a romantic comedy series. This series was none other than Takkoku (タッコク!!!) by Tsubasa Fukuchi. In all honesty, mixing the supokon and romantic comedy genres was a wise decision on his part because of the foolish nature of both. Yet, with this series the genres were amplified by the ages of the characters and the circumstances behind the sport in question, table tennis. More importantly, though, as the story progressed there was a natural shift in the narrative from the traditional Japanese romantic comedy to the action genre, which surprisingly fit the series quite well, if not better.

I’ve found manga authors of sports series tend to have a difficult time incorporating any given sport into their story. The reason for this is they conflate an interesting and gripping narrative with the characters having some sort of special maneuver for their position. Unfortunately, this turns a perfectly viable sports series into an action series. Consider, what makes an action series engaging is the protagonist overpowering the antagonist through cunning, wit, or even a superpower. Yet, in a sports series it’s not the victory that’s important—though in many cases it is—but rather the hard work and dedication the players put into practicing. As such, when reading or watching literature and media about a sports team the most gripping aspects are the training and the tension in the final match. However, when some form of superpower is added into the mix the narrative quickly devolves into how the players will overcome their opponent’s powers. My go-to example of a sports manga series that did this is Kuroko’s Basketball. However, the same could be said about The Prince of Tennis or Kyojin no Hoshi. Thus, what should be an enthralling match becomes a clash of super powered techniques, which we can find in straight action series. While this isn’t quite the same as the idea of supokon, it’s similar to it insofar as the superpowers are one more roadblock for the main characters to overcome. It’s silly, but it has a sound logic to it.

What happens, then, when a manga author utilizes the silly nature of supokon and superpowers in a comedic way? The results may vary between authors, but Fukuchi found an interesting way to tackle this in Takkoku. Simply put, he merged both concepts with the romantic comedy genre, with a heavy emphasis on the comedy. In all honesty, this worked quite well because readers were always aware that the superpowers in the series were meant to add to the humor. In fact, the first chapter summed up why the story needed superpowers for the humor to work and why they were also necessary for the series: the Japanese government enacted a law that stated before entering a romantic relationship, children and teens had to play a game of table tennis. This alone was a ridiculous premise, but it helped emphasize the fact that the tone of the story would be comical with a tinge of sports interspersed throughout. Ultimately, this legitimatized the superpowers by making them humorous.

The result of Kako and Gaku’s first table tennis match.

The finishing maneuvers of the heroine, Kako Tamano, illustrated this quite well, as they weren’t just absurd, but were also utilized in a comedic fashion. The first chapter demonstrated this with Kako’s Big Bang Crusher hitting the protagonist, Gaku Marunouchi, with such force he flew into the side of their school building. If Takkoku hadn’t been a comedy first and foremost this would have felt out of place. Yet, with the understanding the series was comedic, the scene further instilled the idea the superpowers were meant to provide humor to the situations the characters were in. This was further expanded upon in the subsequent chapters in a similar manner with the other characters’ special maneuvers. However, it was Gaku who exemplified the ludicrous nature of superpowers and special maneuvers in sports series. Where the other characters were prone to using one or two maneuvers, the manner in which Gaku won each table tennis match was outlandish and not because he used some maneuver as well—though that’s a dubious statement. One of the best examples of this came in the second volume with the makeup techniques Gaku said he learned while he was living in Hollywood. When Gaku demonstrated his skills in makeup artistry they were unparalleled, but the speed at which he applied and removed the makeup was far beyond what one would expect. As such, this added to the humor inherent in the series as well.

What made Takkoku unique from other sports manga I’ve read over the years, though, is it also made a shift from the romantic comedy genre to the action genre. While this may be disconcerting to some, the shift worked because it was clear the mixture of the romantic comedy and supokon genres had its limitations. To be clear, the limitation was the format of Gaku being challenged to a table tennis match, nearly losing because of the opponent’s special technique, and then overcoming the technique to win the match every few chapters. Although this format initially worked, in regards to the romantic comedy aspect of the series it wore out its welcome quickly. Added on top of this, the format was far more conducive to an action series as it’s what one would expect from that genre. In fact, Fukuchi kept the same format for the last two volumes of the series, but rather than using the table tennis matches as a means for Kako and Gaku to enter a romantic relationship, he used the sport as means of stopping an alien invasion. In this manner, while the series retained the core principles of supokon, it was paired with the far more appropriate action genre.

I’d even go so far to say the supokon and action genres fit much better with each other because of the high-spirited nature of both, especially within this series. I’ve made the argument in the past that if a sports series were to utilize superpowers, the action genre would be a better fit. Considering Fukuchi already incorporated special techniques into this series and the format was closer to the action genre, the mid-series shift from romantic comedy to action was understandable. The unfortunate side effect was it removed much of what made the series appealing to begin with, the comedy. Granted, there were hints of humor scattered throughout the final two volumes of the series, nonetheless the action took center stage. For instance, the fifth volume had a gang of mysterious men chasing Kako and her friends because they found out too much information about the top secret organization “AAA.” While this is a common trope in the action genre, there was some humor interjected into the ordeal. Yet, since the scene was far closer to how an action series would deal with the situation, it worked well within the narrative.

It may seem as though I’m overemphasizing the sports aspect of Takkoku and while it’s an important factor of the series as a whole, the core narrative was always the relationship between Kako and Gaku. This was where a great deal of the humor in the series came from and without it the story would have been flat. Granted, a portion of the humor came from the scenario of playing table tennis before entering a relationship, but the penalties as well as the ages of the characters made the plot compelling and funny. Addressing the former first, it’s difficult to conceive of a penalty for people who didn’t abide by the law in the series, but Fukuchi found a clever workaround. These were the robotic “Judge Men” and their harsh punishments. What made the Judge Men work within the bounds of the romantic comedy genre was how they sporadically appeared when Kako and Gaku or Gaku and other girls touched each other, as well their use of corporal punishment as a deterrent. Considering the ages of the characters, this made for a weird sort of logic.

Kako upset at the notion Hikari would date Gaku.

I’m specifically referring to the characters’ ages because the early teens are when people generally begin exploring romantic relationships. Thus, with the characters of Takkoku being so young it was understandable why Kako and Gaku wanted to express their love for each other, but couldn’t. After all, most people that young would have difficulties expressing their affection for each other without physical contact. However, as a comedy series the two needed to interact apart from the table tennis matches or there wouldn’t be anything to laugh at. Of course, in reality one can enter a relationship without having too much physical contact with one’s partner, but this wouldn’t make for a fun series, either. As such, Fukuchi worked around this scenario by keeping the most benign situations humorous, making sure Kako and Gaku physically touched each other every now and then. Outside of that, though, it was Kako’s reaction to all the girls that wanted to enter a romantic relationship with Gaku that kept the series entertaining. While it manifested itself as Kako cheering for Gaku during a table tennis match, there was one instance in the second volume that exemplified Kako’s feelings towards Gaku.

It was no more than the minor character Hikari Dōjima explaining that some table tennis players purposely broke couples up. What was entertaining about this was Hikari used the example of her and Gaku dating and Kako trying to break them up. The resulting panel was of a super-deformed Kako and Hikari with the former exclaiming, “I’m going to be Gaku’s first,” all while choking the latter. These instances of Kako as well as Gaku displaying their love for each other kept the series humorous while reminding readers of the inherent romance.

In terms of a sports manga series, Takkoku was a fascinating read if only because the author eschewed many of the common practices of the genre. Or rather, he embraced the silliness of supokon and played with it in a way to bring out the full comedic potential. Granted, this was through the romantic comedy genre, but the two genres worked nicely together. As such, the sport of table tennis took a back seat to the romance and comedy. But in reality, supokon is better as a narrative support rather than the main focus, that is, unless we’re examining an action series. With Takkoku making the shift to the action genre in the final two volumes, the full potential of super powered sports came to fruition. Because of this, we received two vastly different perspectives on the supokon genre and it was pleasant. However, it was the relationship between Kako and Gaku that made the series compelling to read. They had a wonderful humorous dynamic together and seeing the trials and tribulations they went through just to become a couple was outright funny. The supporting characters were nice comedic foils to Kako and Gaku as well. This gave the series the appearance of a Japanese comedic double act and this, too, added to the series as a whole. If you can find the series I suggest reading it because it’s not only funny, but showed the potential of what a silly supokon manga series can do.

Work Info
Title: Takkoku (タッコク)
By: Tsubasa Fukuchi
Under: Shogakukan, Shonen Sunday
Official Site: N/A
More Info: https://ja.wikipedia.org/wiki/タッコク!!!

Two of the posters for The Boy and The Beast.

Sometimes I question whether or not I’m my father’s son. Then I look at myself in the mirror and examine my mannerisms and realize I am, to which my father says: Hah-Hah, sucker!

With the legendary animator Hayao Miyazaki’s retirement in 2013 I feel as if some expected a void to open within the anime film industry, particularly animated films with the backing of NTV (Nippon Television Network Corporation). In fact, those outside of Japan may not know this, but one of the many reasons why Studio Ghibli, the animation studio started by Miyazaki, was able to gain a great deal of popularity was through the support of NTV. Just looking at the films the network airs every Friday night, one can find at least four Studio Ghibli productions a year, sometimes more. Yet, since 2006 NTV has slowly been endorsing and financing the director Mamoru Hosoda as the next incarnation of Miyazaki. It should come as no surprise either, as Hosoda has released four phenomenal films since 2006—The Girl Who Leapt Though Time (2006), Summer Wars (2009), Wolf Children (2012), and The Boy and The Beast (2015). You may be wondering, then, why I feel Mamoru Hosoda is the next incarnation of Hayao Miyazaki. Like many of Miyazaki’s works being broadcast on NTV multiple times a year, Hosoda’s works are creeping into the lineup as well. While it’s a more recent and yearly event, prior to the release of Hosoda’s most recent work, The Boy and The Beast (バケモノの子 Bakemono no Ko), NTV aired his previous works three Friday nights in a row. If that’s not a resounding endorsement, I’m not sure what is.

I find it unsurprising NTV would vouch for Mamoru Hosoda because we’ve seen how he’s grown as a director and scriptwriter over the course of his ten-year career. Granted, he often recycles the theme of finding a place between two different worlds. Yet, he’s found interesting ways to present the theme in each of his works. Thus, when looking at The Boy and The Beast we saw this theme play out again. The film also had three solid acts that focused on different aspects of the protagonist’s growth into adulthood. However, it was the parallel between two of the characters in the third act that made the film remarkable. What I mean by this is where the first two acts of the film felt as though they were exploring the nature of familial relationships, the final act shifted to the issue of understanding our identity and dealing with the strain of losing a part of it. One odd characteristic of the film, though, was the casting choices. While I’m not opposed to non-voice actors taking on roles in animated films, some of the cast lacked the aptitude for voice acting.

When I think of a Hosoda film, apart from his unique artistic approach, the first thing that comes to mind is his narrative style. I’m not necessarily speaking of his writing style, but rather the choices he makes when creating a story for his films. Looking at his earlier works it was rather clear he enjoys examining the crossroads between two different worlds and the choices characters have to make in regards to each world. For example, his 2012 film, Wolf Children, explored the decision the children had to make to live either as humans or wolves. But, consider the underlying message the story of those two children conveyed: did they find solace in nature or in the civilizations humans created. His 2009 work, Summer Wars, was similar with its tropes, but considered the bonds we make through online social networking services and those in our real lives. Thus, while Hosoda is rather monotonous with his tropes, he finds unique ways to augment them for the narrative of each film.

Kyuta and Kumatetsu training over the years

As a result, when looking at his most recent film, The Boy and The Beast, we saw the trope he loves ever so much, but used in a new and interesting way. This revolved around the two narratives at play in this film. The first narrative surrounded the relationship between a father and son and the second involved the core of our identity. I’ll be expanding on the latter later in the article, as it warrants an explanation of the second and third acts. But, suffice it to say I found it far more interesting than the former. That’s not to say an exploration of the relationship between a father and son isn’t interesting, it’s just that George Lucas’ Star Wars franchise spoiled it for me at a young age. However, what was fascinating about Hosoda’s interpretation of the subject was it had influences from martial arts, religious, and philosophical teachings. Consider, while not to the same degree, but a young athlete in any sport may see his or her coach as a second father figure—a person to give him or her guidance in life when his or her moral compass may be led astray. Yet, when examining traditional East Asian methods of mentorship, the teacher is often considered a surrogate father to the student. Hence, the mentor not only instructs the pupil, but also acts as a guide through life—think of either rendition of the film The Karate Kid. Therefore, in a certain sense familial lineage is far less important than one’s lineage through one’s tutelage because it is a representation of knowledge passed down from master to student. Professor Lawrence W. Gross argued in his doctoral thesis, Manzan Dōhaku and the Transmission of the Teaching, that practitioners of Dōgen Zen are an embodiment of this thought process.

I say The Boy and The Beast was influenced by this philosophy because when looking at the principle characters of the film, the protagonist, Kyuta, and his surrogate father and tutor, Kumatetsu, we saw these philosophies come to life. The most obvious instance of this was the training process between the two. However, it was their interactions with each other where we clearly saw the idea of passing down knowledge from one generation to the next. The first time Kumatetsu instructed Kyuta on swordsmanship was an excellent example of this as Kumatetsu struggled to explain something he was intimately familiar with to Kyuta. Yet, it stemmed much deeper than this. While treating the sequence as a montage, there was a lovely section where Kumatetsu, Kyuta, and two other characters were traveling the world of sprits, meeting different masters, and having those masters explain what they thought strength was. The idea martial artists would philosophize about the nature of strength was fascinating, but in regards to the relationship between Kumatetsu and Kyuta it was a method for the master to pass on knowledge to his student. In fact, I would even argue the belief a student must metaphorically steal his or her master’s teachings could be seen between the two characters. To put it simply, a student must observe his or her master’s every movement, mannerisms, and lifestyle in order to better understand the lessons. Thus, in later scenes of the first act we saw Kyuta mimicking Kumatetsu’s every move. Yes, this was a bit on the nose with its presentation, but it drove home the concept of the teacher-student relationship.

Yet, to understand how Kumatetsu was also a surrogate father to Kyuta we must examine the nature of the fictional functional but dysfunctional parent-child relationship—I know this is an odd statement, but bear with me. Oftentimes in fiction we’re presented with a parent-child relationship where it seems dysfunctional on the surface, but is surprisingly functional when looking at the core bond between the characters. In fact, there’s an old Japanese adage that roughly translates to, “So close they constantly fight,” and it was clear Mamoru Hosoda had this adage in mind when creating the bond between Kumatetsu and Kyuta. As the adage suggests, two people are consistently arguing with each other and in The Boy and The Beast Kumatetsu and Kyuta were constantly in opposition to each other. Yet, we must also realize this wasn’t just a sign of their affection for each other, but also the only way the two knew how to communicate. For instance, during the climatic scene in the second act we saw Kumatetsu in a martial arts competition with his rival. However, rather than supporting Kumatetsu, Kyuta criticized him, which not only spurred Kumatetsu into action again, but also began an argument between the two characters. It was an odd display of their affection for each other, but the supporting character, Sōshi, nicely summed it up by saying, “They’re one and the same and without one the other struggles.”

Kyuta and Kumatetsu arguing.

While this may have been a different approach to the concept of a father-son relationship, it was certainly the crux of the story for a fair portion of the film. However, the most stimulating aspect of the narrative was the reflection on one’s identity. Again, this is a trope Hosoda tends to overuse, but I felt The Boy and The Beast explored it in far more relatable terms than in his previous films. This requires an understanding of two different characters and how they were parallels and foils to each other. The first character was obviously Kyuta. From the beginning of the film it was clear he felt as though he had no place in the human world and thus found a surrogate parental figure in the spirit world. Yet, when he returned to the world of humans and met his biological father, it was clear he struggled with his identity—was Kumatetsu, the spirit who raised him for eight years, his father or was his biological father, the person who had a hand in giving him life, his father? There was certainly no a simple answer for Kyuta and it begged the question to the audience to examine the connections in their own lives. For many, the response is quite simple. However, in a world that’s becoming increasingly heterogeneous I’m sure there were those in the audience wondering about their own identity.

For example, and not to get too personal, I’m the son of an American and Japanese national. I had dual citizenship until I was twenty-three, but because the Japanese government requires dual citizens to either renounce their Japanese or foreign citizenship by that age, I’m no longer a dual citizen. I struggled to understand my new identity as an American national and a foreigner in Japan for years after that, but have come to accept my nationality has little bearing on my core identity and that I’m an amalgamation of many different ethnicities who tries to represent the best of each. Thus, in a certain respect, the struggle Kyuta encountered in the second and third act of The Boy and The Beast struck a cord with me. Although I doubt many people living in homogenous communities like Japan will fully grasp this struggle, having the experience shown to them as a metaphor was rather inspired.

It was the second character, Ichirōhiko, though who exemplified the notion of an identity crisis. Where Kyuta’s struggle came from living between two worlds, Ichirōhiko’s conflict was born from a lack of understanding of his personal history. While it pains me to delve into the details, it was revealed Ichirōhiko had a similar past to Kyuta, as he was adopted by the boar spirit Iōzen, but he had no recollection of his heritage. In other words, it was as if the parents of one ethnicity adopted a baby from another ethnicity. Yet, what made Ichirōhiko’s identity crisis fascinating was how it wasn’t explicit to the viewers until one specific scene. We must recognize one aspect of Ichirōhiko’s personality before discussing this particular scene, though. Unlike Kyuta, Ichirōhiko revered and idolized his father and sought to be like him when he grew up. One of the few phrases Ichirōhiko uttered throughout the film, “I want to have a long snout and elegant tusks like [my] father,” reflected this. Thus, in the montage scene where he matured into a young adult we saw him ask his father, Iōzen, when he would begin developing his nose and tusks. While it was heartbreaking watching Iōzen respond to Ichirōhiko, we saw the love and affection Iōzen had for his son. Yet, this was where we saw the clear divide between Ichirōhiko and Kyuta’s struggle. What I mean by this is, where Kyuta was able to accept he was a product of two different worlds and outlooks, Ichirōhiko could only envision one outcome for his life. Therefore, when he diverged from that path, the cracks in his vision became ever more apparent to him. In this regard, Ichirōhiko and Kyuta were parallels to but also foils for each other.

Iōzen’s sons, Ichirōhiko (right) and Jirōmaru (left).

It was the third act of The Boy and The Beast that put this on display for the audience and, while it was a magnificent set piece, the themes running through it were remarkable. What was up to this point a story about the relationship between a father and son saw a thematic shift to competing philosophies of self-identity and the demons born from them. Hence, when examining the core elements of the final act, features of Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick; or, The Whale can be seen throughout. The most obvious was the form Ichirōhiko took when threatening Kyuta, but also in how Kyuta was confronting his own demons. Of course, Hosoda only used cursory elements of the novel for this film, but they played well for the final act and ending.

While many of the narrative elements of The Boy and The Beast were stunning to say the least, the casting choices were somewhat odd. Many of the characters were not voiced by professional voice actors, but rather by an assortment of traditional actors. While I generally have no qualms with this practice—Robin Williams was a wonderful choice for the Genie in Disney’s Aladdin—I feel many Japanese actors are not well suited for voice over roles. That’s not to say the majority of the voice actors in this film were poorly cast, but rather one can hear the lack of voice acting experience with some of the characters. Both of Iōzen’s sons, Ichirōhiko and Jirōmaru, were wonderful examples of actors without much experience in voice acting. In the first act of the film the actors Haru Kuroki and Momoka Ohno portrayed the characters. While I have no qualms about their voice acting in this film, it was fairly clear both were still inexperienced in this field of acting. But, when the two characters matured into young adults the roles were taken over by two well-respected voice actors, Mamoru Miyano and Kappei Yamaguchi. After the cast change one could truly understand and appreciate the talent of trained voice actors. Of course, that’s not to say the traditional actors were all poor choices for their roles, as the gravelly voice of Kōji Yakusho was a perfect fit for the large and overbearing Kumatetsu and Masahiko Tsugawa brought nobility to his role as Sōshi. But, if one were to focus on the voice acting of each character, one would find some were certainly better than others.

I feel in certain cases this may have come from Hosoda’s direction rather than the lack of voice acting experience by the actors. While it’s certainly true many of the actors had very few voice acting roles in the past, I have seen animated films that used traditional actors as opposed to voice actors. Disney generally does this, and as Hayao Miyazaki’s career grew ever longer he, too, began using traditional actors as well. So, it’s possible to get a great voice performance out of traditional actors, but without proper direction the audience can be treated to flat voices, as was the case with Aoi Miyazaki and her performance as the young Kyuta.

The Boy and The Beast was a great addition to Mamoru Hosoda’s body of work. Although it still retained the trope of a character trapped between two worlds, he used it to heighten the narrative he presented in this film: the exploration of parent-child relationships and the idea of identity. While I felt both ideas have been examined in other films, he brought his unique vision to the topics, such as what constitutes the bond between a father and son. There was also a slight shift in tone between the three acts of the film, but they all stay focused on the themes presented. So, where the first act showed the developing bonds between Kumatetsu and Kyuta, the second explored Kyuta’s identity, and the third depicted the conflict between differing ideas about identity, they all led back to the core idea of relationships. Of course, I found some of the casting choices frustrating at times. However, I felt this came not from a lack of experience in voice acting, but rather poor direction by Hosoda. Yet, the disappointment was balanced out with an inspired cast of both traditional and voice actors. While I thought Hosoda’s previous work, Wolf Children, was perfect for women, The Boy and The Beast was a wonderful family film and it would be ridiculous not to see it.

Work Info
Title: The Boy and The Beast (バケモノの子 Bakemono no Ko)
By: Mamoru Hosoda
Under: Studio Chizu
Official Site: http://www.bakemono-no-ko.jp/index.html
More Info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Boy_and_the_Beast