One of the posters for　Mobile Suit Gundam The Origin III: Dawn of Rebellion.

I’ve heard a few stories about military cadet schools. Thankfully, none of them ended in a coupe, just a lot of alcohol.

I’ve had my issues with the Gundam franchise in the past due to the low quality of some of the screenplays. However, as I watch more of the franchise it’s become clear the two best writers for it were Yoshiyuki Tomino and Yoshikazu Yasuhiko, two of the original creators of Mobile Suit Gundam. I feel this has to do with their firm understanding of the franchise, but also because they realize how their stories should progress and how the characters would react to the situations they were placed in. Yoshiyuki Tomino in particular always had a way of conveying his stories in a way that brought out the drama and conflicts inherent in his narratives. That’s not to say Yoshikazu Yasuhiko hasn’t achieved this with the Mobile Suit Gundam The Origin series, but the first two installments lacked some of the intricacies seen in the franchise. In spite of this, the third installment of The Origin OVA (original video anime) series, Mobile Suit Gundam The Origin III: Dawn of Rebellion (機動戦士ガンダム ジ•オリジン III 暁の蜂起 Kido Senshi Gundam The Origin III Akatsuki no Hōki), exemplified the superb writing skills of Yasuhiko as this was the most chilling installment of the series thus far. The story was chilling not just because we saw the extremely calculating nature of the protagonist, but also because of the climatic action scene. However, what this installment did exceptionally well for the overall narrative was create bonds between a handful of characters. Yet, these bonds also played against the tension in the installment as plot points in the original series undercut what should have been gripping moments.

Part of what makes the Gundam franchise, particularly the Universal Century franchise, interesting is the quality of the screenplays. This is true for the individual episodes, but can also be seen within the series as a whole. Granted, there are weaker entries in the franchise, but those series are generally rushed into production without much forethought being given to the narrative. However, the Universal Century franchise has seen a fair share of well-written screenplays for their series. This is because the original creators understood what made interesting characters, conflicts, and scenarios. While some may argue this wasn’t the case for entries such as Mobile Suit V Gundam, many of the earlier works had moments in them that were not only jarring, but made for excellent fiction as well. Yet, there are limits to the stories one can tell in the Universal Century franchise. I say this because as more works within that franchise are released, it lessens the impact of the overall narrative. That’s not to say all the works are poor, but having an understanding of the limitations is important.

The same can be said with Yoshikazu Yasuhiko’s The Origin series. While the first two installments were fascinating, the narrative tension was undercut by the fact we understood where the story was leading. This was especially true with the major characters of Mobile Suit Gundam because their stories in The Origin series were better left to the imagination of the audience. Yet, possibly the best decision on Yashuhiko’s part was focusing on Casval Rem Daikun, or more popularly known as Char Aznabul, as there was a lot to explore with his character. The first two installments of The Origin series certainly began exploring what shaped Char into the person he was in the original series, yet it was Dawn of Rebellion that crystalized what made his story as well as the narrative in The Origin series fascinating.

The scene were Char could act upon his grievances towards Garma.

What exactly was it, then, that made this installment exciting? The primary factor actually came from the calculating nature of Char. True, hints of this character trait of his had been present in the first two installments—as I said he appeared to be a sociopath in the second installment—but Dawn of Rebellion had his sociopathic nature in the limelight from the opening moments. However, unlike the previous two installments, here Char displayed patience rather than lashing out at those around him. It was actually chilling to see how patient Char was because of the subtly generated tension created by how far he was willing to go to enact his revenge. For instance, in the middle of the installment he made a poignant observation regarding the United Earth Federation Space Military Defense Academy he was attending. This scene achieved the sowing of the seeds of dissent, but more importantly it propped up his relationship with Garma Zabi. At first glance this may not seem all that significant, but consider it in these terms: Char needed the trust of Garma in order to further his plans. Thus, this one scene helped encapsulate the conflict of The Origin series.

It was those character bonds that propelled the narrative in Dawn of Rebellion, though, because without them the story would have been flat. This is why I emphasized the quality of a screenplay above. The reason being, this script had to be written in a way to reflect how Garma saw Char as a roadblock before he could display any semblance of friendship towards him. While this may seem like it was an easy task for the scriptwriters to achieve, in actuality it wasn’t. The main reason for this was the scriptwriters had to contend with Char’s personality and his internal conflict as well as having to deal with Garma’s external conflict. I’ve already stated what Char’s conflict was in previous articles, but to reiterate, it was his seething hatred of the Zabi family. In turn, Garma had to face the external pressures of upholding the Zabi family name, which he interpreted as implying he had to be a strong man. As such, there had to be a moment where the characters could bond in a way to express both conflicts without compromising their relationship in Mobile Suit Gundam. I wouldn’t call the screenwriter’s solution ingenious, but it created the right amount of pressure on the narrative to pull the audience in even further. Had this one part of the installment been lacking, no amount of action or displays of Char’s vengeful nature would have saved it.

What’s more, the development of Char and Garma’s relationship was engrossing because it was built on deception. This was quite fascinating if only because it furthered the tension between what Char wanted and what he needed. This was exemplified in two different scenes in Dawn of Rebellion. The first was during a military rucksack march. What was intriguing about the scene was it was the first time in The Origin series where two of the characters had the opportunity to voice or act upon their grievances towards each other. Yet, what came from the scene was a kind gesture from Char, and Garma exposing his weaknesses. It’s the former that was more important as it seemed this was an opportune moment for Char to seek his vengeance. But again, he needed to deceive Garma in order to win his trust. This scene was put together fantastically, but it was outdone in the opening of the third act of the installment. To be brief, Char encouraged Garma to begin a cadet revolt against the United Earth Federation Space Military Defense Academy. While the former example was about building trust, here the words Char used were well chosen because they prodded at Garma’s weaknesses while at the same time encouraging his ego. These two scenes demonstrated the quality of the screenplay as well as why the audience should invest themselves even more into the narrative.

Char leading the assault during the climatic scene in Dawn of Rebellion.

Yet, looking back over the scenarios Yasuhiko created between Char and Garma there actually wasn’t any tension at all. It’s a sad truth about The Origin franchise because many of the plot points saw their conclusion in the 1979 TV series, Mobile Suit Gundam. What I mean by this is the example with the rucksack march appeared tenuous in the moment, but those familiar with the Gundam franchise knew nothing could happen to Garma as his fate was sealed in the 1979 series. There were many moments like this throughout Dawn of Rebellion and it undercut the narrative tension quite a bit. The problem, though, was I doubt there was a good workaround for this. I say this because it was established in the TV series Garma saw Char as a confidant and friend. Therefore, we had to see why this was so in Dawn of Rebellion. On top of this, it placed into conflict what the audience expected of Char and what was needed of him for this story. While both these facts worked to a degree in this installment, it’s surprising more people didn’t notice this in the manga series of Mobile Suit Gundam The Origin. However, prequel stories consistently have to work around these constraints, yet how it was handled in Dawn of Rebellion was satisfying enough.

Where this installment succeeded the most, though, was in the climatic action scene. This was a twofold process as it relied heavily on the buildup as well as the actual action. Addressing the latter first, it was a culmination of all the pieces seen in the installment regarding Char’s deception, silver tongue, and calculating nature. However, going into great detail about it would, in fact, deprive people of the nail-biting nature of the scenario. In turn, the buildup was fascinating because it explored the nature of a colony trying to gain independence as well as an uprising of the people. I likened the protests in the first installment of The Origin series to the Tiananmen Square protests in 1989. But, the riots in Dawn of Rebellion were far closer to the pushes for independence in the Baltic nations after the fall of the Soviet Union in 1991. What this did was put into perspective the anger the background characters were feeling and visualized what caused the events in Mobile Suit Gundam. This is why the early Gundam TV series worked: they adapted real-world events for a space opera and placed interesting characters in them. That’s not to say the modern series are poor, but to see this practice in The Origin series brought a breath of fresh air to the Universal Century franchise.

Mobile Suit Gundam The Origin III: Dawn of Rebellion was possibly the best OVA or film I’ve seen in quite some time. This isn’t an easy hurdle to overcome and had little to do with me being a fan of the Gundam franchise. The development of Char’s character and the relationships he made with those around him were captivating to the point it made one forget there wasn’t any tension inherent in many of the situations. But, that’s the beauty of a well-written screenplay; it can make you overlook even the most glaring flaws of a narrative. What truly made this installment enthralling, though, was the climatic action scene and the lead-up to it. Granted, the action scene was an extension of Char and Garma’s relationship, but the buildup reinforced the idea the space colonists in the Universal Century franchise had a great deal of resentment towards the United Earth Federation. This resentment mirrored similar struggles in the real world. Although the backdrop may have been the Vietnam War for the original series, here it felt as though Yasuhiko drew inspiration from the civil wars among the Baltic nations and the ongoing conflicts in the Middle East. For an OVA that’s only seventy minutes long, Dawn of Rebellion managed to achieve what many other feature-length films cannot. As such, I highly suggest people watch this installment, even if you haven’t seen the first two.

Work Info
Title: Mobile Suit Gundam The Origin III: Dawn of Rebellion (機動戦士ガンダム ジ•オリジン III 暁の蜂起 Kido Senshi Gundam The Origin III Akatsuki no Hōki)
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

The cover of the first volume of Naruto.

It’s amazing how fifteen years of Masashi Kishimoto’s work flashed before my eyes in three weeks. Then again, it feels like the last fifteen years of my life went by in three minutes.

One of the most influential anime and manga series of my teens was unquestionably Masashi Kishimoto’s Naruto (ナルト). I have fond memories of watching the anime series with friends and being engrossed with the manga series. Yet, as I grew older and the series progressed it slowly lost its appeal to me. It wasn’t as though I thought the series was poorly written, like so many people do, but I felt the author lost sight of the larger narrative. This led to my parting with the series around 2010, though every now and then I would check in to see where the author had taken the story. However, when the series came to its conclusion on November 10, 2015 I felt as though a part of my youth had also come to an end as well. Ever nostalgic as I am, I decided to revisit the series and see if Kishimoto had rectified some of the issues I had with the series in the final five years of its syndication. To a degree he did, but it varied widely between the different issues.

To be honest, I never felt Kishimoto was a bad author—although many would disagree with me on this point—but his weaknesses were far more apparent than his strengths. What I mean by this is when looking back over Naruto, it was quite clear the major narrative arc was unfocused and disjointed. More specifically, the rivalry between the two protagonists, Naruto Uzumaki and Sasuke Uchiha, was fragmented.  There were three main reasons for this and they stemmed from the constant shifts between the two characters, how bland Sasuke’s arc was, and the overuse of flashbacks to propel the story. Yet, as disconcerting as these issues were, the author certainly had a way of drawing readers in by laying out the purpose of each story arc in clear and concise terms very early on. However, even though the narratives in each arc were well defined, the series as a whole became muddled because of the above mentioned issues. Of course, the inclusion of a number of minor characters helped flesh out the story and this was where Naruto truly shined.

Sometimes we lose sight of what most upsets us about different works of fiction and we make blanket statements about an author or director and his or her works. While I try to avoid this when possible, in private conversations I’ve found myself doing this, even in regards to the subject of this article, Kishimoto and Naruto. However, when we step away from a series for an extended period of time we have the opportunity to flesh out our arguments and even look back over a work to see if our ideas hold. For example, in regards to Naruto, I felt because the author wanted to spend an extraordinary amount of time on Sasuke rather than the titular character, Naruto, he should have separated the two narratives into different series and titled one Naruto and the other Sasuke. But, looking back over the series after five years away from it, I understood why the author chose to do this. Granted, it still made the series disorganized, but in an orderly kind of way—if that makes any kind of sense. Yet, no matter how many aspects of Naruto upset me, I feel it’s important to address the author’s strengths before looking at his weaknesses. After all, he isn’t a bad writer or a “talentless hack” as some would describe him.

The best place to begin, then, is with what drew so many people to Masashi Kishimoto’s work. The simple answer certainly was the creative world and cast of main characters he developed. However, I felt it ran much deeper than this. Yes, the main characters, Naruto, Sasuke, Sakura Haruno, and Kakashi Hatake, and the world they inhabited were colorful in their own respective ways, but without a foundation for each story arc in the series, the characters’ respective personalities and their marvelous world wouldn’t have stood out. Thus, it was important the goals and villains were clearly defined early in each story arc. By doing so, this created a solid foundation for any given arc and made it easy for readers to become engrossed with the plot and for the author to add new ideas as the story progressed. Granted, as Naruto developed there were too many ideas placed on the foundational narrative, making it unstable. But, when looking at the core of each story arc they were clear and concise. We need look no further than the first story arc of the series, the Land of Waves arc, to understand how the author created solid narrative foundations.

Tazuna explaining his predicament.

It was no simpler than a guard mission for the main characters. However, within the first few chapters we learned what sort of agendas were working against each other. In fact, the core information of why the character Tazuna needed ninja bodyguards was given in the third chapter of the arc and thus explained why we should invest in his plight. At the same time, though, we were also given the identity of the major antagonist, Zabuza Momochi, and how the main characters faired against him in combat. Because these core ideas were well defined early in the arc, this gave the author a base from which he could add ideas and make what was a simple story into a rich and interesting one. For instance, throughout the arc we saw that Tazuna’s grandson, Inari, had a pessimistic attitude towards Tazuna’s goal of completing the bridge that would help the economy of the Land of Waves. However, over the course of the arc we saw why Inari had this outlook and how his ideas changed Naruto and subsequently the other characters. While one would think this would upset the core narrative of the arc, it actually added to it and gave it far more emotional depth.

Kishimoto was certainly ingenious when it came to developing the core ideas in Naruto and was a talent few authors in the shonen genre could match. But, when examining how Kishimoto progressed any arc, we also saw him developing the blueprints for later events in the series as well. A minor example of this came at the end of the thirty-eighth volume when the Nine-tailed fox mentioned the name Madara Uchiha. At first this name seemed as though it had no bearing on the narrative, but actually the author was subtly foreshadowing a plot thread. The amazing part about this was nearly eleven volumes later he capitalized on this small idea. Madara wasn’t the only instance of a small conversation piece alluding to later events in the series either. Although cases like this rarely occurred, it was still interesting to see how much thought the author had placed into the progression of his story.

However, a much broader example of foreshadowing coming to fruition and the proper buildup to it was between the thirty-eighth and fortieth volumes of the series. Here, readers were privy to the vengeance Sasuke desperately wanted to achieve. Granted, this was waylaid by another story arc—an issue I’ll be covering further in this article—but since it was one of the major plot points of Naruto, many of the basic building blocks leading up to this point, such as Sasuke’s training, his worldview, and why he wanted to achieve this vengeance, were already available to readers far before the thirty-eighth volume. While I may not have found this arc as captivating as previous story arcs in the series, having the core ideas firmly established before entering this arc made it easy for readers to become absorbed with the minutia of the content. Therefore, the finer details of Sasuke forcing information about his brother, Itachi Uchiha, from characters such as Deidara, or acquiring a team of renegade ninjas to help him on his path accentuated the core of the arc.

Unfortunately, we came across two of the major issues with Naruto in the example above. I admit, one was a personal issue with the series—Sasuke’s arc never being all that interesting—but the fact Kishimoto would interrupt the progression of Sasuke achieving his vengeance was certainly a major issue in general for the series. To be more specific, about halfway into the arc the author cut away from this narrative to begin a different one surrounding the characters Jiraiya and Pain. In all honesty, while I enjoyed the new narrative, abruptly changing the narrative was a disservice to readers. This wasn’t the only time a shift in the narrative occurred, either. Only a few volumes prior to Sasuke’s vengeance, readers had the chance to see a story revolving around the characters Shikamaru Nara, Choji Akimichi, and Ino Nakayama develop in tandem with Naruto developing a new technique and only seven volumes later breaking from this story to focus on Sasuke’s once again.

It wasn’t how Kishimoto decided to have two protagonists in the series that upset me—if this were the case, series like Uchu Kyodai would drive me mad—but the constant and unexpected shifts between the different narratives did. The fiftieth volume, as well as the events from the fifty-fifth to the sixty-sixth volumes, exemplified this as there were three different narratives poorly interwoven together. Looking at the narrative in the former, the fiftieth volume, we saw the five Kage’s, the heads of the ninja villages, making an alliance, Naruto learning about his friend’s decision to deal with Sasuke, and the character Killer Bee’s confrontation with Kizame Hoshigaki scattered throughout the volume. Each plot point was interesting in its own right, but each had little in terms logical progression let alone any sort of conclusion, making the volume frustrating to read. If we were comparing this to a theatrical production, for instance, every scene would come to a conclusion before progressing on to the next. Yet in Naruto, we could be in the middle of stimulating action or dialog and then have an arbitrary scene change, thus causing the overall story to lose its focus.

Kizame Hoshigaki and Killer Bee fighting.

The events between the fifty-fifth and sixty-sixth volumes displayed the lack of focus quite well. So we have an understanding of these volumes, the fifty-fifth volume began the fighting in the Fourth Ninja World War. But, in order to keep the series exciting, Kishimoto consistently shifted the action between three or four different fronts, Naruto’s training, and Sasuke’s quest for knowledge. Yes, the action and dialog made the eleven volumes thrilling, but again, we were forced to jump between different scenes causing us to lose focus of the larger picture. For instance, in the fifty-fifth and fifty-sixth volumes we found ourselves bouncing between the second, third, and fifth regiments of the allied ninja army in quick succession. Again, each sequence was electrifying but we never saw them come to any sort of conclusion before progressing on to the next. At the very least, better transitions would have helped alleviate many of the problems with the leaps between the narratives.

However, I don’t want to be misunderstood, as there were a handful of instances where the transitions were much better. Most were found in the first twenty-seven volumes of Naruto, but even the later volumes had one or two well-done transitions. I felt the reason the first third of the series had smoother transitions wasn’t because the author was a better writer early in his career, but rather the narrative was contained between Naruto and Sasuke, as opposed to the world as a whole. So, while there was an issue with poor transitions in the series, it came much later in Naruto rather than throughout the entire series.

I will say, though, the narrative shifts to Sasuke’s story were possibly the most aggravating aspect of the series. This wasn’t because the story arcs involving Sasuke were poorly written, as I stated above the minute details could be absorbing, but rather because the character was hardly appealing to begin with. In order to understand the unpleasant nature of Sasuke’s character we have to juxtapose him to Naruto, as well as understand the two characters’ personal history. The personal history of each character was simple to understand, they were both orphans. Granted, it was a bit more complicated than this—Sasuke’s brother killed his entire extended family and Naruto was orphaned at birth for various reasons—but suffice it to say, both were ostracized by their community from a young age. However, the discrepancy between the two characters came from their underlying attitudes and interpersonal connections.

For example, the first chapter of the series demonstrated Naruto had a positive attitude towards life despite being rejected by the community and was more than happy when he developed a relationship with another character. Yet, when we first encountered Sasuke we found he not only had a negative outlook on life, he also shunned those around him, or rather saw them as disposable tools to achieve his goals. Yes, Sasuke developed ever so slightly between the fifth and thirteenth volumes, but this was stifled by the appearance of his brother, Itachi. While I don’t want to equate the first appearance of Itachi to Sasuke becoming a deplorable character, it was a reminder that Sasuke’s goal in life was vengeance against his brother. If that was all Sasuke had to offer as a character, it was no wonder he hardly developed when the narrative shifted to him in later volumes. Looking at Naruto again, whenever Kishimoto chose to focus on him, Naruto always developed in some manner, be it in the techniques he could use, the relationships he made, or his understanding of why people harbored feelings of bitterness and regret. Yet, when focusing on Sasuke, though his agendas changed, we saw him consistently reiterate the same point: vengeance. Therefore, while Sasuke made an interesting juxtaposition to Naruto early in the series, as the overarching narrative progressed it became tiring seeing the lack of development in Sasuke’s character.

While I felt one major reason Sasuke never developed was mentioned above, the use of flashbacks to retell the same story about his brother’s betrayal also contributed to this as well. The use of flashbacks in general was a major issue in and of itself, but the murder of the Uchiha clan was brought up the most. Honestly, when it was first summarized in the seventeenth volume and then later expanded on in the twenty-fifth, it was captivating. The two flashbacks provided a great window into Sasuke’s worldview and were fascinating plot points to explore as the series progressed. However, over the course of Naruto this one plot point was referenced at least four times, including the two mentioned above, and it became tiring. Yes, it was told from different perspectives, thus altering minor details, but the core idea never changed except for altering Sasuke’s overarching goals.

Sasuke recalling his brothers betrayal in the twenty-fifth volume of Naruto.

Had the reliance on flashbacks been limited to Itachi’s murder spree, I believe this would have been a minor annoyance rather than a major issue. Yet, the series was plagued with a number of flashback scenes. In fact, if you were to compile all the flashbacks into single volume books, it wouldn’t surprise me if they filled five to seven volumes. I admit, the flashbacks that lasted five pages at most were touching, but as Kishimoto expanded on any given flashback there was always the possibility they’d became dull. For instance, the three chapters devoted to the backstory of the character Kabuto Yakushi in the sixty-first volume explained why he had traveled down his path in life. Although there was a certain appeal to Kabuto’s story and created sympathy for him, it appeared in an odd place within the narrative of the Fourth Ninja World War. Added on top of this, the flashback had a pedestrian ending and added little to Kabuto’s confrontation in the sixty-first volume. By comparison, the seven pages used to explain the character Rock Lee’s dogma in the tenth volume were far more emotional and accentuated the events that were occurring at that time.

The gap in the quality of the flashbacks was certainly one issue, but their quantity was problematic as well. Their use early and in the middle of Naruto was appreciated, however the final twenty volumes saw a massive influx of them. As with the shifts between Naruto and Sasuke’s narratives, the consistent use of flashbacks detracted greatly from the narrative Kishimoto was delivering. As readers, when we’re forced from the main narrative to minor ones in order to fill small gaps in the story, as was the case with this series, it becomes tiring. Yes, the flashbacks expanded on a handful of minor characters, but by the end of the series little was needed to inform us about loveable characters such as Might Guy or villains like Obito Uchiha. Yet, at the same time I can’t help but feel some of the flashbacks helped characterize a vast majority of the minor characters.

I rarely feel as though minor characters outshine the major characters in their respective works, but in Naruto many did. That’s not to say the minor characters stole the spotlight, but rather they helped prop up the major characters in different ways. For example, the character Gaara, who was a wonderful amalgamation of Sasuke and Naruto’s respective backgrounds when he first appeared, was a brilliant representation of the path Naruto could have traveled. While Gaara ultimately had a more prominent role in the series as a whole than the other minor characters, he demonstrated how minor characters brought out the most interesting aspects of Naruto and Sasuke. Yet, characters like Shikamaru, Choji, and Ino truly embodied the idea of minor characters both outshining while supporting the major characters. Unlike a handful of recurring characters, Kishimoto gave these three characters a great amount of agency throughout the series. As such we saw them grow at a level we hardly see in minor characters in other shonen series.

For example, when examining the story arc between the thirty-fifth and thirty-eighth volumes of Naruto, Naruto wasn’t the main focus. Rather, Shikamaru, Choji, and Ino took center stage with Naruto appearing sporadically. While this ultimately fell into the trappings of a narrative shift, for this arc it worked quite well. This was partially achieved by having the three characters face the reality of death, but also by having them come to understand their role within their community, particularly Shikamaru’s. Thus, the highlight of the arc wasn’t the action, but rather the dialog between the three characters and their mentor, Asuma Sarutobi. In fact, one of the best lines of dialog of Naruto came from this arc. It was when Asuma was comparing the villagers to shōgi, or Japanese chess pieces, to Shikamaru. The specific line of dialog had Asuma liken Shikamaru to the knight and himself to a pawn, but Asuma’s suggestion that the children were the king piece was intriguing. From this conversation we saw a change in attitude and personal growth in Shikamaru and by proxy Choji and Ino. One wouldn’t expect this from minor characters and as such it’s a testament to Kishimoto’s writing.

Since Masashi Kishimoto worked on Naruto for fifteen years, it most definitely can be called his magnum opus. True, there were issues in the number of shifts between narratives, one of which was poorly conceived, and the overuse of flashbacks detracted from the overarching narrative he was trying to create. Yet, many of the flashbacks seen in the opening ten volumes of the series were used to great effect. This was only because they were much shorter than the flashbacks used later in the series. A stronger focus on the titular character, Naruto, and shortening many of the later flashbacks would have mitigated many of the issues in Naruto and would have helped to bring the author’s strengths to the forefront. Yet, this doesn’t mean we never gleaned his strength as a writer. Masashi Kishimoto was certainly skilled in regards to setting a solid foundation for each story arc within the series, which allowed him to add novel ideas as the series progressed. Part of this came through the number of plot points he alluded to before their respective story arcs commenced, and this greatly helped the reading experience. The wide range of fully formed minor characters also benefited the series as they not only propped up the main cast of characters, but also outshined them in their development at times. As an aside, my personal favorite minor character was Hinata Hyuga, though she never reached the level of development as some of the other minor characters.

I have no doubt some still believe Masashi Kishimoto was a poor author and Naruto only proves this to them. However, when examining the series, we saw he knew how to entertain his core audience, children and young teens, which made Naruto a fantastic series for that demographic. As such, the series truly lived up to the ideals of a shonen manga: they should be entertaining for the young. Nonetheless, I can see how there is a certain appeal for older audiences as well. It doesn’t come from the action, but from the dialog the author crafted. Finding those moments can be difficult in such a long series, but they are certainly rewarding for those who are patient enough to wade through the content. While I don’t want to speak for every adult, older audiences will certainly find the first twenty or so volumes amusing, but beyond the twenty-fifth volume, it most likely will become tiring for them. However, children and teens will find the series highly entertaining.

Work Info
Title: Naruto (ナルト)
By: Masashi Kishimoto
Under: Shueisha, Shonen Jump
Official Site: http://www.viz.com/naruto
More Info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Naruto

The title logo for Infinite Stratos.

Sometimes I can’t help but refer to the ladies in the anime series Infinite Stratos by racial and national epithets. I know it’s wrong and I have no animosity towards any of the races and nations represented in the series. But, somehow using dated terms to describe the characters can be amusing.

There are some series and films that take multiple viewings before they become entertaining. The reasons vary from person to person and the work, but one of the often-cited explanations is, “It’s so bad it’s good.” While I’ve had the pleasure of seeing one or two films that fall into this category, I have yet to find an anime series in the same vein. I have, however, had the pleasure of deriving entertainment from an anime series I previously wrote off as extremely formulaic. The anime series I am speaking of is 2011’s Infinite Stratos (IS <インフィニット•ストラトス>). Upon a second viewing of the series, while it still felt like a formulaic harem romance series, I saw how one could appreciate the comedy inherent within the character types and the character dynamics. Nonetheless, apart from this the series spent very little time developing the main characters, excluding the protagonist, which meant only one single personality trait was allowed to shine. Whether or not this was a holdover from the first six volumes of the novel source material is dubious, but considering the reading level of the publication company Media Factory, that was more than likely the case.

I’m no stranger to the harem subgenre of romance anime and manga. I’ve read and watched more than I can remember and after many years of exposure to the genre I’ve grown tired of it. That’s not to say I no longer derive pleasure from reading or watching series that fall into this subgenre, but rather the rate at which I read and watch them has dropped. The main reason for my departure from this subgenre of fiction was the formulaic nature of many of the series. What I mean by this is when examining the tropes and character types in the genre, whether intentional or not, they followed a prescribed narrative. Two harem series I like to cite in terms of textbook cases are Ken Akamatsu’s Love Hina and Kentaro Yabuki and Saki Hasegawa’s To Love-ru. In both series the standard female character types of hot-cold, mysterious, easy going, shy, and energetic, among others, as well as the popular male protagonist trope of being obtuse could be observed. Although I have spoken out against the overuse of these character types in the past, I have to admit, having these shorthand traits makes it easier to identify each character as well as understand their general reaction to different situations. Thus, when the protagonist interacts with a hot-cold female character, for instance, we instantly know she’ll be unkind to him in public and display an excess amount of affection in private. This rote style of writing certainly has its benefits, but if it isn’t used well it can ultimately lead to a stale reading or viewing experience.

Infinite Stratos wasn’t an outlier when it came to the tropes used in the series. In fact, the most irritating trope within the series was the obtuse nature of the protagonist, Ichika Orimura. Frist, I have to concede that while Ichika was blasé, it also felt as though he was an amalgamation of Eastern and Western styles of classic chivalry—though if we were applying classical Japanese chivalry, he would have ripped pieces of his shirt off and written love poems on them for each heroine à la The Tales of Ise. As such, when examining Ichika, he was always polite, albeit somewhat stuck in tradition, before being oblivious. There were many instances of this throughout the series, but one of the best examples came in the first episode when Ichika was challenged to a duel by one of the heroines, Cecilia Alcott. Here we saw Ichika offer a handicap to Cecilia because he intrinsically felt a gentleman would never overpower a lady. This was a fantastic gesture by Ichika, but it was clear Cecilia was far more adept at piloting an Infinite Stratos, the powered armor of the series, than Ichika was. Thus, while Ichika may have been numb to the advances by the female characters, the idea he had a sense of Old World and Asian chivalry about him made him more interesting than most protagonists in this genre.

The five heroines of Infinite Stratos. From left to right: Laura Bodewig, Cecilia Alcott, Houki Shinonono, Huang “Rin” Lingyin, and Charlotte Dunois.

That being said, considering the genre the series occupied, “harem,” the five heroines, Houki Shinonono, Cecilia, Huang “Rin” Lingyin, Charlotte Dunois, and Laura Bodewig, were always vying for Ichika’s affection. I understand the comedy inherent in this setup and Doug Walker said it best in Nostalgia Critic: Dawn of the Commercials, “…Men just aren’t smart enough to recognize when they’re being hit on. We’re kind of dumb that way. If a woman isn’t interested, that’s the one we go for. But, if a woman is interested, we’re blindly naive to it for some reason.” However, there are enough anime and manga series that rely on this trope, making its appearance in Infinite Stratos feel ordinary. Admittedly, there was freshness to the trope when it was first applied to each heroine, but once we had experienced the joke it became stale.

For example, when Rin was introduced in the third episode there was a conversation between her and Ichika where Rin commented if Ichika remembered the promise they made when they were younger. Although Rin’s wording of the promise was vague, it was essentially her proposal to Ichika. Yet, because he was ever imperceptive, he mistook it as her offer to let him eat at her family’s restaurant free of charge. This was a great play on words as well as a wonderful miscommunication between the two characters, but also signaled two noteworthy aspects of their relationship to viewers. First, Ichika never saw Rin as anything more than a friend. While sad for Rin, it also meant the prospect of the two entering a romantic relationship during the series was nearly impossible. This led directly to the second point, the writing off of Rin as no more than a background character in terms of her romantic pursuit of Ichika. As one of the major characters of the series this shouldn’t have been the case and while she did play an important role in the narrative as a whole, for the crux of the series she was no more than background noise. Consequently, the use of a naïve protagonist in this series in this manner ultimately meant the metaphoric death of the heroines.

However, despite overplaying Ichika’s unsophisticated nature, the production team for Infinite Stratos utilized the heroines’ personalities in unique ways. Where many harem series will have the female characters follow the creed, “may the best man (in this case woman) win,” and be somewhat civil in their attempts to engage the protagonist, here the five ladies were self-aware the others were vying for Ichika’s affection and tried to stop their advances. This placed far more of the comedy in the relationship between the heroines as opposed to their interactions with Ichika. One of the best examples of this appeared in the ninth episode when Ichika and Charlotte went shopping together. While this was a small victory for Charlotte, as she got to spend private time with Ichika, we saw Cecilia, Rin, and Laura shadow the two. It was clear the latter three were trying to find out what Ichika and Charlotte where doing together, but it was also a chance for them to hinder any sort of romance between them.

These instances made the series far more engaging because it put the characters at odds with each other even though they were friends. At the same time, though, this also gave viewers the full gamut of how diverse the personality traits of each heroine was. As a result, when looking at the episode I cited above, we saw the stoic German warrior-woman in Laura, the French romanticist in Charlotte, or, while not seen specifically in this episode, the prim and proper English aristocrat in Cecilia. These distinct personality types opened many opportunities for comedic interactions between the heroines, as well as allowing for interesting exchanges between them when they interrupted each others courting of Ichika. For this reason alone, despite using some of the tropes of female characters in harem series, the defiance of conventional industry wisdom by having the characters at odds with each other, rather than being civil, made for a better viewing experience.

Rin, Cecilia, and an unseen Laura stalking Ichika and Charlotte in the ninth episode.

Unfortunately, the five heroines of Infinite Stratos only had two episodes dedicated to their introduction, backstory, and development. While this didn’t make the heroines one-dimensional, though it can be argued the five were kernels of an idea, it made them very flat and unremarkable. What I mean by this is during the episodes that focused on one particular heroine, they were interesting, charismatic, and striking. Yet, after their two episodes had passed, as I said with Rin, they began to blend into the background. This was a major issue for the series because each heroine had the potential to grow and become even more than what they were when they were introduced. This was particularly true for Charlotte and Laura, but even Houki, Rin, and Cecilia had room for expansion, especially considering they were not just romantic and scholastic rivals, but also rivals as pilots of the Infinite Stratos machines.

I actually felt the lack of character development was a holdover from the light-novel source material. So we have an understanding, the first seven novels of Infinite Stratos were published under Media Factory’s publication MF Bunko J, then moved to Overlap’s publication Overlap Bunko. As such, when talking about the Infinite Stratos novel series, I’m specifically referring to the first seven published by Media Factory. While I haven’t read the light-novel series, I’m familiar with the reading level of the books. In all honesty they’re not that difficult to read and someone in the higher levels of primary education could read the books without much trouble. Therefore, it can be expected little emphasis was placed on creating well-developed characters. Placing Infinite Stratos against another beloved children’s novel series, Harry Potter, and not to denigrate either series, both series had underdeveloped characters. Yet, when considering the reading levels and target demographics of both the Infinite Stratos and Harry Potter series, this was forgivable. As such, the real issue of underdeveloped characters in the Infinite Stratos anime series likely came from how it was adapted from a light-novel series.

When the anime series was initially made, only six books had been published. Accordingly, we can assume a set of two episodes was one volume of the novel series with enough just enough content to spare for thirteen episodes. Although I can only speculate, the production team may have been working under tight production deadlines and wanted viewers to experience all the series had to offer. However, if they had taken more time to expand on the events in any volume of the novel series, we would have had a better understanding of each heroine. Take, for example, the first Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya anime series. Only two volumes of the source material were adapted into the anime series and the production team did an excellent job dedicating the proper amount of time to each character, their overarching goals, and how they interacted with the protagonist and heroine in the first six episodes, the first novel, and expanded on those same ideas in the final six, the second volume. But, a great deal of the development in Infinite Stratos was rushed beyond belief. It’s not as though a 253-page book, the length of the first volume of Infinite Stratos, lacked material. In fact, I would think that would have been enough to provide an audience with three episodes worth of content if the pacing and character development had the right cadence. Yet, as a general overview of the novel series, as frustrating as the character development was, the anime series was tolerable.

In all honesty, I had little love for Infinite Stratos when I first watched it in 2011. Truthfully, I only watched the series then because one of my favorite voice actresses, Marina Inoue, voiced Laura. As such, my lack of passion came from how routine the series felt in terms of the characters’ personalities and narratives. However, five years away from the series and a second watching gave me an appreciation for how the production team took the tropes that are common to the harem subgenre of romance series and applied them in remarkable ways. This came from how the five heroines were foils of each other not just in their personalities but also in their romantic pursuits of the protagonist. Granted, the protagonist wasn’t all that interesting, but the strength of the series came from the female characters, though very little time was devoted to developing them. Although I don’t want to point fingers at a specific cause, the lack of development seemed as if it was born from the reading level of the source material rather than with the production of the anime series. While not my favorite anime series, Infinite Stratos had its merits, as few as there were. I’m sure younger audiences will enjoy the series, but anyone over twenty-five may find it dull.

Work Info
Title: Infinite Stratos (IS <インフィニット•ストラトス>)
Under: 8-Bit
Official Site: http://www.tbs.co.jp/anime/is/
More Info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Infinite_Stratos

The title logo for Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders.

In The Beatles song “Get Back” Paul McCartney said, “Jojo was a man who thought he was a loner.” Yet, clearly Jojo isn’t a loner in the Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure franchise. Were The Beatles lying to me?

In late 2012 fans of the Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure manga series likely rejoiced when the first episode of the anime adaptation began. After watching the series I, too, quickly became a fan of the franchise for its overblown voice acting and action. Thus, when the final few minutes of the series was a lead-in to the third story arc of the manga series, Part 3 Stardust Crusaders, I was genuinely excited. However, upon watching the anime rendition of the story arc, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders (ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 スターダストクルセイダース, Jojo no Kimyo na Boken Stardust Crusaders), I was less than impressed with a fair portion of it. To understand exactly what disappointed me about the series we have to address two current practices of the anime industry I dislike. These would be airing anime content during the late-night block and needlessly dividing a series into multiple seasons. Yet, these weren’t the only issues I had with the series. While narratively interesting, I couldn’t help but feel the episodes in the first season of Stardust Crusaders were akin to any Pretty Cure, Sailor Moon, or Super Sentai—known as Power Rangers abroad—series. Yes, beginning later in the first season and throughout the second season the episode format improved, but it seemed more out of necessity to fill a twenty-four episode quota rather than provide entertaining content. On top of this, while this may seem blasphemous to loyal fans of Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, I never found the protagonist all that appealing. While the surrounding characters had far more personality, he appeared impassive. This had the effect of making him far less interesting compared to the protagonists of the previous series as well as the background characters in this series.

One aspect of Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure that initially attracted me was the sensational nature of the supporting characters from the first two story arcs, Phantom Blood and Battle Tendency. Granted, this came from the overacting by a handful of the voice actors, but this added to the appeal of the series. However, although some of the characters had colorful personalities, every single character was charismatic, including minor characters who briefly appeared, such as Dio Brando’s servant. Hence, while some of the characters were silly, their presence always added to the series, be it the tension, comedy, drama, or what have you. More to the point, though, the magnetism of the supporting characters paled in comparison to that of the protagonists, Jonathan “Jojo” Joestar and Joseph “Jojo” Joestar. As a minor aside, it’s a tradition within the Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure franchise for the protagonist to be nicknamed Jojo. I know this is confusing, but for the purpose of this article I’ll be referring to the protagonist of Stardust Crusaders, Jotaro “Jojo” Kujo, as Jojo unless otherwise specified. For example, I previously stated Jonathan seemed to fight for his family’s honor rather than a noble cause, where Joseph was a more reluctant and lazy hero. Yet, these qualities brought out interesting aspects of their respective personalities. In fact, I said about Joseph, “But [he] used misdirection and double talk quite effectively, which makes him far different from his grandfather.” Having identifiable personality traits made Jonathan and Joseph not just appealing, but also created a base the author of the franchise, Hirohiko Araki, could build on. To put it simply, I loved watching Jonathan and Joseph.

I mention the protagonists from the first two story arcs because by comparison Jojo was an exceptionally flat character. This is possibly a sacrilegious statement to make among fans of the franchise, but it is unfortunately true. As I stated above, Jonathan and Joseph had certain qualities about them that formed a base that could be built on. In turn, Jojo lacked any semblance of a personality. While some might argue he was a level-headed and stoic young man—and I’m willing to grant the level-headed argument—stoic as a main personality trait is rather boring. For instance, examining the two protagonists in Sherman Alexie’s film Smoke Signals, Victor and Thomas, the stoic Victor was far less appealing to watch than the energetic Thomas. I don’t mean this in the sense Victor wasn’t interesting, truthfully his character arc was mesmerizing, but rather because he rarely emoted, watching him wasn’t as appealing compared to Thomas. In the same vein, the lack of emotion Jojo displayed made him not just monotonous, but far less memorable than even the throwaway characters seen throughout Stardust Crusaders. This may sound like a bold statement, but in a sense it is undeniable. Just looking at the forty-fifth episode, “DIO World Part 1,” we were introduced to the throwaway character Senator Wilson Phillips. He had little to no bearing on the narrative of the series, but he displayed far more personality in the few minutes he was on screen than Jojo did in the entire series. Honestly, the Senator’s nameless bodyguard exhibited more character in a couple of lines as well.

Of course, not all fictional characters should be judged on personality alone. Admittedly, the actions Jojo took in the series were fitting for how he was presented: a pseudo-delinquent. However, as with his personality he was never an active player in the events unless his hand was forced. Again, this may have been due to his calm and collected personality, but I never felt as though he exhibited agency more so than he responded to the action around him. Consider the opening episodes of Stardust Crusaders. Here we saw Jojo wasn’t taking an active role in the discussion about finding DIO, but rather having the people around him, namely his grandfather, Joseph, and Mohammed Abdul, make the decisions. In fact, it was Joseph who ultimately made the decision for the three, and later six characters, that Noriaki Kakyoin, Jean Pierre Polnareff, and the dog Iggy would go to Egypt to deal with DIO. While I understand the reasons why Joseph made the decision, I was rather shocked Jojo had very little input since, after all, it was his mother’s life they were going to save. Granted, because the series focused on Jojo, he did most of the fighting in the early episodes. Yet, until the final four episodes it felt as if he were no more than a robot at best and statue at worst.

The main characters of Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders. Top: Jotaro “Jojo” Kujo, Noriaki Kakyoin, and Mohammed Abdul. Bottom: Jean Pierre Polnareff, Joseph Joestar, and Iggy.

Thankfully, where Jojo was flat every other character, and I sincerely mean every character, was far more vivacious. This includes Iggy and the antagonists that were animals and inanimate objects. Part of this came from the dialog, but like the previous series much of it had to do with how animated the voice cast was. For example, looking at the antagonist Enya the Hag, while her lines mainly focused on praising DIO or talking about how she wanted vengeance on Polnareff, the bombastic way Reiko Suzuki delivered her lines made Enya memorable. The presentation was similar to Robert E.O. Speedwagon and Rudol von Stroheim from the previous series, but subdued. In fact, had the characters in Stardust Crusaders all spoken like Speedwagon or Stroheim the effect of presenting lively characters would have greatly diminished. Granted, as I said, some of the voice actors delivered their lines in bombastic ways, but there was balance between when it was used and not. Joseph was a wonderful example of this as he normally had his wits about him. But, there were certain instances when panic got the best of him and he cursed in a colorful manner. Reading this may invoke imagery of Joseph stringing together multiple expletives, but in actuality it was the way he cursed that was entertaining.

What was surprising, though, was while the human characters’ personalities could be presented through dialog and action, the production team used gestures to convey the animals’ personalities. There were a few instances when this came to the forefront of Stardust Crusaders, but the series was dotted with examples after Iggy was introduced in the twenty-fifth episode. Of course, we had the opportunity to hear Iggy’s thoughts in the thirty-eighth and thirty-ninth episodes, yet every last personality trait of his was presented through his actions. It’s difficult to imagine reading, but Iggy’s personality was clearly conveyed from the way he ignored Polnareff and Joseph, the facial expressions he had when he was excited, and how he feared DIO’s guard falcon, Pet Shop. The sole reason Iggy was expressive, despite being a dog, was why I said he had more personality, and thus was far more interesting, than Jojo. This is a sad thought because Jojo was the titular character.

Featuring unique personalities and powers in each episode of Stardust Crusaders certainly helped retain my interest in the series. What I mean by this is every week viewers watched another fun encounter between Jojo and company and DIO’s henchmen. There were many to choose from and each had qualities that separated them from the rest. However, having one encounter per episode made the series appear as if it were a children’s show like Sailor Moon or Dai-Guard. The issue with this method of storytelling in a franchise like Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure was it removed much of the tension needed to build the story. More precisely, this meant if an encounter was completed in one episode, the next was going to be with a more powerful character. Yet, when the action was broken between episodes it forced viewers to contemplate exactly how the characters would escape the situation. The tenth to twelfth episodes were wonderful examples of this as two episodes were a set followed by a self-contained episode. In the set of episodes, “Emperor and Hanged Man Part 1 and 2,” we saw DIO’s henchmen Hol Horse and J. Geil corner Polnareff. Yet, because we saw the tension build in the tenth episode and released during the climatic battle between Polnareff and J. Geil in the eleventh, the dramatic structure was spread out to keep us in suspense. Unfortunately, because the encounter with Joseph and Nena in the twelfth episode was completed in one episode, there was a distinct lack of buildup, tension, and release. As such, the dramatic structure fell flat.

Admittedly, the lack of buildup, tension, and release was more of an issue in the first eighteen episodes. Yet, even when the action was divided between two episodes, I couldn’t help but feel the series was akin to something a young child would watch. That’s not to say the self-contained episodes never advanced the plot, as those episodes had Jojo and company making progress toward Egypt, but removed much of the potential tension in the series. Consider the final eight episodes of Stardust Crusaders. Although these were the climatic episodes of the series, they featured three encounters between Jojo and company with Telence D. D’Arby, Vanilla Ice, not the musician, and most importantly, DIO. To a degree, these episodes suffered from a simple defeat-the-antagonist structure. However, had each encounter been assembled into an episode, for a total of three, they would have lacked the emotional substance and weight needed to truly convey the grandiose content of the eight episodes.

Naturally, having the content spread out over the course of two episodes created better tension in the series. Yet, I actually felt there was a push to sprawl the content over a number of episodes to fill quotas. Yes, having the later encounters stretched between episodes was better for the series, but at the same time the content could have filled one episode, as was the case in the first eighteen. Granted, this is only speculation, but because David Productions, the company that produced Stardust Crusaders, was contracted to make forty-eight episodes this may have left the company with one option: expand on, rather than thin out, the content of the source material. To some this may seem like a shortcoming on the part of the production team, but as with the example above, in the end this was a boon for the series.

The one scene with the throwaway character Senator Wilson Phillips.

Regrettably, the benefits of spreading the content over multiple episodes and having vibrant characters, despite the lack of characterization with Jojo, suffered from two factors out of the hands of David Production. These would be the late airtime and the series needlessly being split into two seasons. I know I dwell on airtimes quite a bit and it really isn’t an issue for those living outside of Japan. Nevertheless, I thought I would lay out my grievances. This is a two-fold issue for me and can be broken into two arguments, the first of which is accessibility. I realize there are more avenues for people to access anime content nowadays, such as recording or online streaming. However, I always wonder about people, especially younger people, who want to watch the content in real time. By pushing the airtime to the late-night block, it forces those who want to watch the initial airing to stay up until an unreasonable time. Admittedly, for someone in their early twenties this isn’t much of an issue as they have stamina to spare. Yet what about those who are older, in their thirties and forties, and young teens? I guarantee there were people in those demographics who wanted to watch Stardust Crusaders in real time but couldn’t because of the late airtime. I, for instance, don’t enjoy staying up past midnight. But, because the airtime was 12:30 at night where I live, if I wanted to watch the initial airing I had to stay up until 1:00 in the morning. This isn’t a pleasant experience to say the least and it begs the second argument, why do broadcasters no longer consider the target audience for anime content?

Again, I have to yield the point TV Tokyo Corporation still airs anime during primetime television as well as on weekend mornings, as does Fuji Television Network and TV Asahi Corporation. Even local stations air older anime series during primetime hours, which is lovely for fans of older series. However, there was a time in the 1990s when anime was aired during both primetime and late-night. Of course, the image of late-night anime during this time period is ultra-violent and hypersexual. But honestly, the content for younger audiences was also rather violent and sexual to a degree. Take Rumiko Takahashi’s Ranma ½. While not overly violent, the series had a fair share of the protagonist fighting other characters. And though we may think there was no sexual content in Ranma ½, there was quite a bit of nudity. In fact, there were a number of moments in the series where we could clearly see the heroine and female Ranma’s nipples. In today’s market the mere thought a primetime anime would show female nipples is unthinkable and yet an entire generation grew up watching this type of content in the 1990s. In terms of violence alone, Japanese children of the 1980s had the privilege of watching Fist of the North Star and any fan of the medium knows how bloody that series was. Thinking about how people in the 1980s and ‘90s were exposed to this type of content makes me wonder why Japanese people feel the need to “protect” their children from violent and somewhat sexual content, when they, themselves, grew up on it.

Thus, in regards to Stardust Crusaders, I felt the content wasn’t horrific enough that children, and by children I specifically mean between the ages of eight and twelve, shouldn’t watch the series. What’s ironic, though, was, prior to airing the second season of Stardust Crusaders, the broadcast company Tokyo Metropolitan Television Broadcasting Corporation (Tokyo MX) aired a selection of the first season of the series. During this broadcast the host—if I recall correctly he was Jojo’s voice actor, Daisuke Ono—read Twitter comments from fans. For the most part the comments reflected what happened in a particular episode or people talking about their memories with the franchise. However, one comment stuck out. A father remarked how he and his son enjoyed watching the series together. While there are plenty of families that still watch television programs together, it was the age of his son that surprised me. He was apparently ten years old. This begs the question, if one parent felt the content was appropriate for a ten-year-old, how many more felt this way as well? I would even take it one step further. If parents felt this was appropriate for ten-year-olds, then shouldn’t Stardust Crusaders have been aired at a time that’s accessible to all audiences? To put it in better context for readers living in the United States of America, would a broadcaster air a series like My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic during the late-night block when no child would be watching? No, and the reason why is they would be ignoring their target demographic, children—though I’m sure bronies would argue they’re the prime audience.

This made me think about anime series that are appropriate for primetime and late-night in Japan. Of course there are some exceptions, but for the most part any anime series based on a shonen, or young boys, or shojo, young girls, manga series is most likely suitable for all audiences. This would mean series like Kuroko’s Basketball, Samurai Deeper Kyo, Kenichi: The Mightiest Disciple, or Natsume’s Book of Friends would potentially be fit for all ages. In turn, adaptations of seinen, or teen, publications may be suitable for older audiences because of the narrative and visual content. Yet, we also have to consider shonen and shojo series like To Love-ru because they have a great deal of lewd content. Thus, it’s incumbent upon both producers and broadcasters to understand that if they’re fine with children reading the content, then watching it should be appropriate as well.

But, there’s one other wrinkle in the issue of broadcasting anime at an earlier time in Japan. This is the propensity for major broadcast companies in Japan to air easy to make variety programs during primetime television. It’s a trend that cropped up in the early 2000s and while my concern is anime programming, the influx of variety programs has also pushed a fair number of dramas out of primetime as well. I don’t want to be too nostalgic here, but prior to the 2000s Japanese primetime television had far more variety with the types of programs aired than it does today. I feel the consolidation around one type of television program has damaged not just the anime industry, but Japanese broadcasting as well. I’ve spoken to a handful Japanese people about this and they tend to agree. As such, because the variety programs resemble each other, they’ve stopped watching television all together. Compounded on top of this, with younger demographics flocking to the internet for their entertainment, I’m not sure how much longer the current model will be sustainable for Japanese broadcasters. This is especially true since more anime production companies are providing content online for the international market.

Iggy fighting Pet Shop.

In regards to multi-season anime series, this is more of a case-by-case issue within the anime industry. There’s a plethora of series where I’m not disappointed with a break between seasons, such as Love Live! School Idol Project. Yet, there’s an equal number of series where this is unneeded. The reason for this is the breaks tend to come at inappropriate times, such as during the height of the action as in Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion, Fafner in the Azure: Exodus, or Stardust Crusaders. I understand some companies do this out of necessity because they catch up to the source material and don’t want to stray from it. However, it also stems from leaving audiences longing for the next bit of story and drumming up publicity. Yet, in my experience I’ve found myself losing interest in multi-season series because production companies can’t be bothered to create a long-running series. More to the point with Stardust Crusaders, there was absolutely no need for a three-month break between the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth episodes. I say this because the source material for Stardust Crusaders, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 3 Stardust Crusaders, was published in Weekly Shonen Jump from 1989 to 1992. This means the first episode of Stardust Crusaders aired twenty-five years after the initial publication.

This begs the question that since this story arc was completed as of the writing of this article, twenty-three years ago, what made either David Productions or the broadcast companies feel the need to divide the series into two seasons? The production company didn’t have to worry about catching up to the source material as it was completed more than twenty years earlier and apparently this arc is a favorite among Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure fans. So, what was the need for two seasons? Was it so important for Tokyo MX to wedge an anime adaptation of Terra Formars between the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth episodes of Stardust Crusaders? Were the ratings for Stardust Crusaders abysmal? I don’t think either was the case. Had the series not been split into two seasons, I feel Stardust Crusaders would have been far more enjoyable. This makes me wonder if the fourth story arc in the Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure anime franchise will do the same. I sincerely hope not because it would severely upset the viewing experience, as was the case with Stardust Crusaders.

I don’t want people to misconstrue what I have to say about Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders, because despite my disappointment with the series I enjoyed it quite a bit. It was as absurd as the previous series, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, in the bombastic voice acting and it had a wonderful cast of supporting characters and antagonists. What’s more the vibrant supporting cast helped prop up the lackluster qualities of the protagonist. Granted, there were a few instances where Jojo emoted to some extent, but they were few and far between. Although not the most upsetting aspect of Stardust Crusaders, by making the first eighteen episodes self-contained David Productions removed a great deal of the tension in the series, thus making it comparable to many children’s programs. While this issue was rectified after the eighteenth episode, I would have preferred it if David Productions had lengthened each encounter with DIO’s henchmen in the same manner as the final eight episodes. Of course, this would have stretched the series beyond what the broadcasters and the producers wanted, but it would have benefited the series as a whole.

I also realize I spent a great deal of time writing about exactly what bothers me about airing anime in the late-night block and the trend of breaking series into multiple seasons. While it ultimately depends on the series for both, with a franchise like Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure many of the early story arcs from the source material don’t need to be divided into seasons, especially in the middle of the action. More importantly, though, the late airtime in Japan hampered the potential number of viewers for such a popular franchise. Considering how Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure was originally published in Weekly Shonen Jump, one would think the content was suitable for children. As such, primetime would have been a more appropriate airtime. In the end, though, I have to yield the point there are far more methods for people to view the content than when I was younger. But, it would be nice to watch certain series at an earlier time. As I said, there are disappointing factors about Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders, but they hardly interrupted the enjoyable aspects. While there’s no need to watch the first series to understand this one, watching both back to back is probably the best way to revel in Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure. Either way, Stardust Crusaders was a series anybody can appreciate and should watch.

Work Info
Title: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders (ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 スターダストクルセイダース, Jojo no Kimyo na Boken Stardust Crusaders)
Under: David Production
Official Site: http://wwws.warnerbros.co.jp/jojo-animation/
More Info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/JoJo’s_Bizarre_Adventure:_Stardust_Crusaders

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

I’m still waiting for artificial intelligence like the kind seen in science fiction films and TV series. Then I remember the artificial intelligence goes insane and tries to destroy humanity.

The anime series Arpeggio of the Blue Steel -Ars Nova- was nowhere near a great series, but it wasn’t a poor one either. The series had moments of wonderful character development and action and the story was predicated on an interesting idea. The first film, Arpeggio of the Blue Steel -Ars Nova DC-, was, unfortunately, a poor-man’s rendition of the anime series. But, the production company Sanzigen was working on a follow-up to the film after its release. Nearly a year later, on October 3, 2015, Arpeggio of the Blue Steel -Ars Nova- Cadenza (蒼き鋼のアルペジオ –アリス•ノヴァ- Cadenza Aoki Hagane no Arpeggio -Ars Nova- Cadenza) was finally released. I had very mixed feelings about the film because on the one hand there were action set pieces that were thrilling. However, on the other hand, the new villains lacked characterization and not in the sense they didn’t have unique personalities. Rather, the villains were one-dimensional. I also felt the production team was overzealous with the narrative they were trying to present. This made me believe the body of the film was better suited for a second TV series as opposed to a film, especially considering the quality of the new characters. One major facet of the franchise I failed to elaborate on in previous articles was the use of musical terminology to describe the series and films. Very few franchises seem to do this and it was quite pleasing.

As I said, Arpeggio of the Blue Steel -Ars Nova- was neither a good nor bad series. Yet, one facet where the series exceled was the characterization of the different Mental Models, the artificial intelligence on the different ships. They all had unique personalities, but more importantly they grew and changed as the series progressed. While I won’t say this was a mark of great writing, it demonstrated the production team understood that in order for viewers to truly care for and appreciate the characters, they needed something they could latch on to. Granted, a unique personality is one way to capture the hearts and minds of an audience, but I feel many people enjoy watching characters change over the course of a series. Thus, even the minor characters in Arpeggio of the Blue Steel -Ars Nova- had their place within the larger narrative. As such, the same could be said about the first compilation film Arpeggio of the Blue Steel -Ars Nova DC-. Although a majority of the character development was rushed, we still understood there was much more to the Mental Models then initially let on. To me, this is what made the franchise somewhat memorable.

Yet, when transitioning to the newest film in the franchise, Arpeggio of the Blue Steel -Ars Nova- Cadenza, the same introspection in regards to the characters was lacking. More precisely, little was done to make the new villains, Hiei, Myōkō, Nachi, Ashigara, and Haguro, stand out. True, the five characters all had unique personalities and the film had an interesting premise concerning a student council. However, very little was done to create narrative tension and make the Mental Models an imposing presence. What I mean by this is when examining the three characters who took an active role within the film, Hiei, Ashigara, and Haguro, they were no more than roadblocks for the crew of the I-401 Iona before their final confrontation with Musashi. For example, the second action scene could have been a fascinating look into Ashigara’s motivations and why she wanted to fight. Yet, in its place was a charged action sequence that lacked the narrative tension required to keep the audience affixed to the screen. I actually contend we can learn a great deal about a character after a loss. Hence, seeing how Ashigara, as well as the other four villains, dealt with their respective losses could have informed us about these characters. Unfortunately, what we were left with were five characters who had little bearing on the overall narrative.

The four new villains. From left to right: Nachi, Ashigara, Hiei, Haguro, and Myōkō.

Despite her minimal screen time, it was Musashi who felt rounded out as a character. There were a couple of reasons for this, but in the end it came down to how, like Kongō from the anime series, Musashi had pathos. While delving into the details would ruin a great deal of the film, suffice it to say it revolved around jealousy. As such, during a long expository scene between Musashi and Iona in the second act, we came to understand why Musashi was engaging in a war against humanity. Nonetheless, because Musashi’s presence in the film was kept minimal, the weight behind her motives never felt important. Granted, there are times the less we know about, understand, and see a villain the more nefarious they become. But, if she appeared more often in this film, Musashi could have been a menacing presence, despite looking like a prepubescent girl.

However, despite the new characters lacking a distinct set of memorable qualities, every action scene involving them was spectacular. It was one of the few aspects of the franchise that was thrilling to watch, but more so in regards to Arpeggio of the Blue Steel -Ars Nova- Cadenza. While I may have said the second action scene, with Ashigara, lacked narrative tension, it created a great deal of suspense in terms of what Iona’s crew faced. This was because the scene not only depicted a grand chase between two war vessels, but it also displayed a creative arsenal of weapons used by Ashigara. Yet, it was actually the third action scene that truly brought the best aspects of the Arpeggio of the Blue Steel franchise to the forefront of the film. Although the grand spectacle in the second half of the scene was on par with many of the other action scenes from the franchise, the buildup made it invigorating. Here Iona had to navigate the underwater currents of an island chain in the Arctic Ocean. This alone didn’t warrant any tension, but the conflict came from the helmsman maneuvering the currents without power and without making a sound. Added on top of this, the scene was cut in such a way the fly-by-night operation was depicted from two perspectives: Iona’s and Hiei’s. These two layers created a great deal of suspense because the audience was privy to all the information, as opposed to the characters’ limited knowledge of each other.

Yet, with all the praise I gave the action, when placed next to the plot development the film became overstuffed with content. Granted, three actions scenes weren’t too much for the film, but with the amount of story that needed to be covered, there was too much content. I understand time had to be made to introduce the new characters, but very little was done with them to warrant the amount of information presented to the audience. I’m specifically speaking about Hiei and company’s introduction more so than Musashi’s, as they had a creative introduction, which, unfortunately, was used ineffectively. This came from the ethereal space the Mental Models used to communicate with each other—a concept I explained in a previous article. With Hiei, this space mirrored a Japanese school’s student council office. This was certainly a beautiful way to covey how Hiei wanted order among the entire Fleet of Fog, but was also a fantastic opportunity to flesh out the characters before entering the bulk of the story. On top of this, the student council office only appeared one or two times throughout the entire film, which felt like a betrayal to how the Mental Models communicated with each other. It went much further than the use of the communication method of the Mental Models as well.

While the communication method was an issue of wasted potential, there were other instances in Arpeggio of the Blue Steel -Ars Nova- Cadenza that were narratively fascinating, but felt as though the production team rushed through the plot points. One instance was when Takao was speaking to a military agent in the second act. Honestly, this was essentially a setup for the moral conflict in the third act, but it was handled very quickly from a narrative standpoint. Yes, it conveyed what the audience needed to know, yet if this scene had an episodic treatment, rather being a scene in a film, it would have had narrative weight and fleshed out Takao’s opinion of the machinations of the different world governments. As such, though this was a key moment in the film, moments like these would have had a greater impact on the franchise had Arpeggio of the Blue Steel -Ars Nova- Cadenza been an anime series rather than a film.

Musashi explaining her war to Iona.

As much as I may harp on the film and the franchise as a whole, I can’t help but say the respective titles of each installment were thematically intriguing. I’m specifically speaking about the musical terms, Ars Nova, DC, and Cadenza added to the end of the titles. Although I haven’t studied music in years, I recognize two of the terms used in the franchise. The easiest to explain is DC, or Da Capo. This annotation denotes a return to the beginning of a musical piece. Thus, its use in the Arpeggio of the Blue Steel franchise denoted the first film was a return to the beginning. A Cadenza can be a bit difficult to understand for those not familiar with music, but essentially it’s a solo before the end of a musical piece. In terms of this franchise, then, it could have signaled Arpeggio of the Blue Steel -Ars Nova- Cadenza was an intermediate film. However, because the climax tied up many of the loose ends, I felt this wasn’t the case. Hence, a better musical annotation for this film may have been Coda. But that’s just arguing semantics. The last of the three terms I referenced, Ars Nova, is the most complex of the three if only because there is a lot to unpack. Yet, I feel we only need to examine one facet of the term.

The term Ars Nova was coined in the fourteenth century to denote a new style of music developed in France. In fact, the term is Latin for “New Art.” I didn’t feel the production team was using the musical definition of “Ars Nova” for the franchise, but rather the Latin definition. If this were the case, this added an interesting layer to the production design of the franchise as a whole. Consider, Sanzigen, the animation company that made the anime series, was using an uncommon form of animation for the series: CGI that mimicked traditional animation. As such, the “Ars Nova” in the titles of the franchise could have denoted how the production team was using a new art form as opposed to traditional animation. This is an interesting thought and I hope it’s true, if only because it’s one layer of the franchise we may not pick up unless we’re paying close attention.

Arpeggio of the Blue Steel -Ars Nova- Cadenza was certainly a fun but flawed film. Many of the character elements were lacking compared to the TV series and the first film. Added on top of this, much of the story felt as though it was meant for a second season of a TV series rather than a film. However, the action scenes were spectacular and kept the film from becoming too dull. While the musical annotations and terms were a minor aspect of the franchise, I enjoyed their use in the titles of the respective anime series and films. Granted, I didn’t touch on the term “Arpeggio,” as I felt the latter terms had more bearing on the narrative. Although this wasn’t the best film ever made, it was a fine conclusion to the Arpeggio of the Blue Steel -Ars Nova- anime series. However, I recommend refreshing yourself with the story by re-watching the anime series or the first film because some of the plot points in Arpeggio of the Blue Steel -Ars Nova- Cadenza may lose you.

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

The cover of the first volume of Touch.

During the burning summer months there’s only one thing a person can do, sit in an air-conditioned room. But, if you never go out how can you have a hot summer romance?

When I look at all the different genres in the manga industry, the sports genre has a fascinating bent to it. Where the action genre might use a grandiose adventure, the mystery genre an engrossing puzzle, or the romance genre a captivating drama to lure readers in, the sports genre tends to utilize very simple premises. These are generally teams winning national tournaments or an athlete becoming the best in his or her given sport. This approach was most likely popularized by the 1966 baseball series Kyojin no Hoshi. While I don’t want to delve too deeply into that series, it was certainly one of the first instances of a manga character devoting his life to a sport. Thus, the evolution of drama in the sports genre became less about the character relationships and dynamics—though one could argue without strong characters in Kyojin no Hoshi the series would have failed—but rather the training and how each game or match was played. Slam Dunk was by far one of the best series in the genre to demonstrate this and I’ve already written extensively about that series. Yet, Slam Dunk was also an outlier in terms of the sport that was presented when it comes to the sports genre.

There’s nothing wrong with being an outlier, after all variety is a wonderful thing. However, baseball is one of the most written about sports within the manga medium. I attribute this to the popularity of baseball in Japan, but also because the sport boasts one of the largest summer events in Japan: the summer Japanese High School Baseball Championship at the Hanshin Koshien Stadium in Osaka. Both the popularity of baseball and the Championships make the sport very easy to write about. But again, I feel the drama in a sports series is born not from the characters but from the different games. While this certainly makes a series interesting in its own right, I find character relationships and dynamics far more griping. In 1981, though, Mitsuru Adachi influenced the sports genre in an almost indescribable manner with his series Touch (タッチ). What made the series remarkable for its time were the ingenious relationships and dynamics between the principal characters in the different story arcs. It was not only mired in the traditions of the Japanese High School Baseball Championship, particularly the idea of dedicating your youth to a sport, but also in the romance it presented. This was also compounded by one of the most shocking plot twists within the medium. While I admit this was one of the best series ever written, I can’t help but find the series difficult to write about. This is because of how similar the style, tropes, and progression of the series was to Mitsuru Adachi’s later major works. Granted, this was the first time he used those tropes to their fullest potential, but unfortunately his writing hasn’t changed much in thirty years.

I feel it’s important to address Mitsuru Adachi’s writing style before examining his seminal work, Touch. I admit he’s one of best authors to blend the sports genre with character drama, most notably romance. However, when examining his major works—these would be Touch, H2, Cross Game, and Mix—he became increasingly predictable in the stories he was presenting. There’s actually nothing wrong with this, after all why fix a formula when it works so well? Regrettably, this makes writing about each individual piece rather difficult. In fact, one could substitute a piece about Mix with Touch, if only because Mitsuru Adachi returned to Meisei High School in Mix. True, there are differences in the narrative he presented in each series, but one can’t help but see the similarities in each work. They range from the tropes, styles, themes, progression, and, at times, plot points. The most obvious of these is a focus on high school baseball and romance. I have no animosity towards reusing these themes, after all baseball is a major stable of Japanese culture—I would even argue more so than American culture—and who doesn’t enjoy a wonderful romance? If it were just of matter of reusing these two themes, I wouldn’t have much of an issue with his writing.

The flashback where Minami set up a target and had the brothers throw a ball at it.

Yet, when delving into Mitsuru Adachi’s writing style even further, an overlap in his major works can be seen. Much of this concerns the progression of the stories, though we can find some stylistic and plot similarities as well. To elaborate on the progression, each of his series has three major story arcs surrounding each high school grade level, with some minor variations. However, as a means of becoming familiar with the main characters, Adachi often incorporates the characters’ final year of junior high school into the first story arc. I feel the reason for this clear division is so that the main characters progress towards their goal of playing in the Japanese High School Baseball Championships can be shown. Thus, the first story arc generally revolves around the characters more or less developing their team, the second finding their rival school, and then the third overcoming the odds to advance to the Championships. Again, I have no qualms with this progression, but because the author hardly deviates from this pattern, reading his baseball-centered series can be tiring.

Added on top of this, similar plot points, as well as recognizable stylistic choices, are prevalent in his works. As I stated above, the second story arc tends to revolve around the main characters becoming aware of the team they have to beat in order to advance to the Championships. Although this adds tension to the final story arc, the problem here is the characters don’t have to overcome the entire team, but rather just one player, the fourth, or cleanup, hitter. I understand the reasoning behind this, the ultimate matchup between an unbeatable pitcher and the ultimate slugger, but in the end this is uninspired writing. While I haven’t played baseball in years, I feel there’s dramatic variety in different matchups. For example, in Touch there was an interesting discussion between the protagonist, Tatsuya “Tacchan” Uesugi, and the pitcher for the Seinan High School baseball team, Isamu Nishimura, about the role of a pitcher. What made this interesting compared to the standard pitcher verses cleanup hitter dynamic, aside from the variety, were the differences in pitching philosophies and how Isamu and another character displayed this. In a certain sense, I found this aspect of Touch refreshing by comparison to Adachi’s other works.

As for the stylistic choices, I am not referring to the author’s artistic style. This is something that’s difficult for manga authors to change and I rather enjoy Mitsuru Adachi’s art style. What I mean by stylistic choices is actually the humor and paneling he utilizes. While less prominent in Touch, there were still instances of his fourth-wall-breaking humor. Although I enjoy fourth-wall-breaking humor, for the drama he creates in his works it can be distracting. As for the paneling, this is one aspect of Adachi’s writing that works well with the narratives he creates, especially during the baseball games. He’s very effective at creating different speeds through his paneling and because of this it can feel as though time has come to a standstill in one volume or sped up in another. I’ll elaborate on this later in the article, but suffice it to say aside from Takehiko Inoue’s Slam Dunk, aspiring manga authors who want to write in the sports genre should study how Mitsuru Adachi was able to maximize pacing, both slow and fast, through his paneling style.

Tatsuya, Kazuya, and Minami playing poker before the semifinal game of the Prefecture qualifying match for the Championships.

Reading the above statements makes it seem as though Touch isn’t all that unique among the series written by Mitsuru Adachi. However, this isn’t the case. In fact, Touch was the first time he implemented many of these tropes, styles, and plot points. Thus, in a sense the series pioneered his current writing style. Yet, this isn’t the only reason why the series is beloved by so many people. Although I feel many people enjoy the series for the characters, as do I, surprisingly I found them rather bland at times. Nevertheless, where the author excelled was the relationships and dynamics he created for the characters. True, there’s a lot to unpack with the characters, yet the most remarkable was the relationship between the three primary characters, Tatsuya, his twin brother Kazuya “Kacchan,” and their neighbor, childhood friend, and romantic interest, Minami Asakura and in the third story arc between Tatsuya and the substitute coach for his baseball team, Eijirō Kashiwaba. Both relationships provided readers with different types of drama, but more importantly they brought out the best drama in the series.

Examining the relationship between the brothers and Minami, it was predicated on a number of factors, including but not limited to the dynamic between the brothers, the dynamic and relationship between the brothers and Minami, and a promise Kazuya made to Minami. Addressing each individually, the dynamics between the brothers was possibly the most interesting of the three mentioned above. While I can’t speak for all siblings as I myself have never had the pleasure of having a sibling, one would assume Tatsuya and Kazuya would compete in many facets of their lives. This certainly would have made the series interesting in its own right. However, the brothers not only had a good relationship with each other, but there was a sense Tatsuya, the older of the two, often differed from Kazuya. Differed not in the sense he let his brother make all the decisions, but when it came to competitions and Minami, Tatsuya would let Kazuya have the spotlight. It may seem odd Tatsuya would do this, but in looking at his personality and that of Kazuya, it seemed sensible.

A good example of this came early in the fourth volume of Touch. It revolved around a flashback of Tatsuya, Kazuya, and Minami when they were children, but it exemplified the nature of Tatsuya and Kazuya’s relationship. In the flashback, Minami set up a target in their backyards and had the brothers throw a ball at it and the winner received a kiss from Minami. What was fascinating about this scene was how an insecure, jealous, and competitive nature arose in Kazuya towards his brother. This display was certainly one instance in which the complicated relationship and dynamics between the brothers could be gleaned. However, I felt Tatsuya’s deferral came about not just because of the history of the three characters, but also because he recognized Kazuya would go to great lengths to achieve what he wanted, whereas Tatsuya preferred milling about.

This was where the promise Kazuya made to Minami factored into the complex nature of the relationship between the three characters. Unsurprisingly for an Adachi series, the promise was Kazuya would take Minami to the Japanese High School Baseball Championships and not in the sense they would watch a game at the stadium together. Rather, the two would attend the same high school and he would take their baseball team, and by proxy Minami, to the Championships. As I stated above, Tatsuya had a sense Kazuya would go to great lengths to achieve what he wanted and this was the ultimate representation of it because Kazuya was not only going to take Minami to the Championships to fulfill a childhood promise, but also to make her happy and prove his worth to her. As such, we saw Kazuya living out his dreams while Tatsuya stood idly by and hoped Minami would appreciate him for the nice person he was. That’s not to say Tatsuya wasn’t doing anything to advance a romantic relationship with Minami, but rather he saw how Kazuya wanted to be with her more than he did.

The somber moment of Tatsuya and Kazuya’s parents in 127 page of the seventh volume.

The sixth volume of Touch demonstrated this when the three characters were playing poker before the semifinal game of the Prefecture qualifying match for the Championships. The premise of the scene was well crafted considering, while the characters weren’t actually gambling, Tatsuya purposely lost to his brother in the final round. Even if this act were to relieve any pressure Kazuya might have been feeling, it was understandable why Kazuya was upset—what’s the purpose of competing if you know there’s no chance of losing? The remarkable thing about this scene was how the following lines of dialog and action showed the complexity of the relationship and dynamics between the three characters. It came from how Kazuya proposed that Minami be the prize for the final round of poker between Tatsuya and Kazuya. While Minami intervened in the match, it was interesting how Kazuya was glad she did because he was worried he might lose. This informed readers how serious Kazuya was about beating his brother to a romantic relationship with Minami. Yet, the next couple of lines between Tatsuya and Minami also gave readers a better sense of the complex nature of their relationship as Tatsuya said Kazuya was serious about winning Minami and Minami asked if they had continued their game, would Tatsuya have purposely lost again. Although these nine pages did a wonderful job of summarizing the relationship between the three characters, seeing it play out in the first seven volumes of Touch beforehand made this scene particularly rewarding.

Before continuing, there’s a large elephant in the room that must be addressed. While it may seem sacrilegious to discuss, we have to examine the death of Kazuya, as it was one of the major events in Touch. This not only was, and still remains, some of the best writing in manga history, it drastically altered the relationship between Tatsuya and Minami. Addressing how well it was written first, it not only involved how the seventh volume progressed, but also the tension it created as each chapter went by. This was the genius of Adachi at work, as we have to examine the volume in smaller sections to fully appreciate what was going on. What he did in the first three chapters of the volume was create a new dynamic between Tatsuya, Kazuya, and Minami by having the brothers make a formal declaration they would be vying for Minami’s love. This was vastly different from the previous volumes, but the shift in their relationship brought the tension of the series to a head.

However, the next four chapters in the seventh volume changed the focus to the Prefecture finals Kazuya was pitching in. The intriguing aspect of this section of the volume was how it placed two competing plots against each other—the actual game and Tatsuya at a hospital and then walking to the stadium. This was where some of Adachi’s best paneling work could be seen. Where the pace of the game was fast and loud with dialog, cheering, and onomatopoeias, the pages with Tatsuya were slow and relatively absent of dialog. By doing this, the narrative tension in these chapters was excruciating, as there was hope the Meisei High School baseball team could win without Kazuya. However, the four chapters also provided enough information to readers to glean some tragedy had befallen Kazuya, but not enough to paint a clear picture of what happened exactly. Hence, when readers were shown the fate that had come to pass it was not only jarring, but also immensely emotional. In fact, the 127^th page of the volume captured the somber moment of Tatsuya and Kazuya’s parents through the shading in the second panel and their faces in the fourth and fifth panels. This page would have been less effective had the buildup to the event been handled in a different way and so it was a true testament to Adachi’s writing prowess.

The final few chapters of the seventh volume also had exceptional writing. Unlike the previous chapters, though, it kept the pacing of the middle four chapters and the dynamic change seen in the first three chapters. However, what made these chapters touching weren’t just the emotions, but seeing the characters deal with the loss of Kazuya in their own way. For instance, we saw Tatsuya blare one of Kazuya’s records despite Tatsuya’s dislike of classical music while he ruminated over their final words together. In turn, we saw Minami trying to keep her composure until she had a moment to herself. In fact, I would go so far as to say the five stages of grief were played out in two of the chapters through the use of dialog and clever paneling. What’s more, the appealing nature about the whole ordeal wasn’t just how emotionally charged Kazuya’s death was, but how earnestly the subject of death was approached.

Tatsuya saying, “If you get mad at every error, you’re unfit to pitch.”

When I think about death in a manga, I can’t help but remember the adage, “They’re not dead until you see a body.” As funny as the saying is, anime and manga fans have been conditioned to think of death as a nonissue within the medium. While more of a trope in the action genre, when a character dies in a series little time is spent ruminating about it. Granted, there are instances when it can’t be avoided, as was the case with Jiraiya in Naruto. Yet, I feel there are cases we’ve come to expect dead characters will be brought back to life through some loophole in the narrative. This has spoiled us as readers because it implies death has no bearing on fictional characters or the narrative the author is presenting. American director and screenwriter Max Landis has spoken about this in regards to American comics, particularly the Superman story arc “The Death and Return of Superman,” and I feel it rings true with manga as well. In this regard, the mere fact Touch made it explicitly clear Kazuya was dead was bold for the medium. Of course, because the series was grounded in reality, the idea of death couldn’t be toyed with in the same way as other fictional series. More importantly, though, the death of Kazuya exemplified how death could alter the narrative, relationships, and character dynamics of a story.

The fascinating thing about the death of Kazuya was certainly how well it was written, but it also affected how Touch took on a vastly different tone after the seventh volume. While I found the eighth to fourteenth volumes more or less the setup for the final story arc of the series, there were some notable aspects that need to be addressed. The first was how Tatsuya took Kazuya’s mantle upon himself. This wasn’t just the mantle of taking Minami to the Championships, but also Kazuya’s undivided love for Minami. Although this created a number of interesting conflicts between Tatsuya and the catcher for the Meisei High School baseball team, Kōtarō Matsudaira, during the early volumes of the second story arc, I felt it was best seen in the thirteenth volume when Meisei played Sumi Technical High School in a practice game.

What was engrossing about this game arose from how it demonstrated the different pressures weighing down on Tatsuya. Consider, Tatsuya couldn’t advance his team past the second round of the Prefecture qualifying match that year, leaving him with only one more chance to fulfill the promise Kazuya made to Minami. I feel this would be an immense amount of pressure for anyone, but in Tatsuya’s case he understood what this meant to Kazuya and Minami. Thus, this was Tatsuya’s chance to test his pitching prowess against one of the top ranked high school baseball teams. In fact, when one of Tatsuya’s classmates was speaking to Isamu, the pitcher for Seinan High School, we glimpsed the pressure Tatsuya was facing. If that weren’t enough, though, we also saw an admirer and teammate of Tatsuya’s, Takeshi Yoshida, begin to overtake and threaten Tatsuya’s position as the star pitcher for their team. What was interesting about this aspect of the game was to this point it seemed Tatsuya was the de facto successor to Kazuya. Hence, no matter what the outcome, all the pressure would have been levied on Tatsuya to live up to Kazuya’s dream. But, with Takeshi slowly creeping up on Tatsuya, we saw the irritation well up in Tatsuya. The first panel on the fifty-eight page of the thirteenth volume exemplified this with Tatsuya saying, “If you get mad at every error, you’re unfit to pitch.”

The practice game between Meisei and Sumi Technical was certainly the highlight of the second story arc. Of course, there were other sections of this arc that had their merits within the series as a whole, such as Minami joining the Meisei High School rhythmic gymnastics team while still managing the baseball team. Not to delve too deeply into subject, what was fascinating about this was how it not only separated Minami from Tatsuya, but also gave Minami a goal only she could achieve: participating in the Inter High School Rhythmic Gymnastics Tournament. This was possibly the biggest factor that altered Minami and Tatsuya’s relationship, aside from the death of Kazuya. Yet, having the two characters spend time apart from each other allowed them to grow in many ways. It’s difficult to explain, however the 172^nd page of the ninth volume presented the concept in an ingenious way. To put it simply, Tatsuya envisioned both Minami and himself as caterpillars, but Minami had matured into a beautiful butterfly and left him behind. This was a great metaphor for their relationship and displayed the fact the characters were beginning to find their place in the world without Kazuya.

Tatsuya envisioning both Minami and himself as caterpillars.

The final story arc of Touch was the most appealing, though. Granted, I wrote heavily about the relationship between Tatsuya, Kazuya, and Minami, as this was certainly the most memorable aspect of the series. However, the final arc was an amalgamation of Tatsuya realizing Kazuya’s dream, but it was also a great character drama and a wonderful demonstration of the Japanese idea of dedicating one’s youth to a single goal. The first two ideas meshed well together, but I feel an explanation about the Japanese ideals of dedication needs to be addressed first, especially in regards to the Japanese High School Baseball Championships. However, in order to fully understand this we must examine the connotations behind the Japanese word for youth: seishun.

At its core, seishun means nothing more than youth, but as the Japanese language has evolved, when older people see those in their mid-teens dedicating themselves to some task the phrase, “seishun da ne,” “that’s youth” or “they’re living it up” instantly comes to mind. It’s a fascinating concept and one that’s not seen in English. In regards to the Championships, though, the sight of losing teams taking some of Hanshin Koshien Stadium’s dirt home is a perfect visualization of the concept of seishun. The players devote such a large portion of their youth for the chance to play in the Championships. Thus, the act of taking a small part of the stadium home with them after their team loses is a small reward. But, what’s remarkable about this act is it not only signals the end of the senior players’ high school careers, but serves as a memento for the team and a vow to return to play in the stadium again.

The concept of seishun is seen in a different light in the final arc of Touch, though. While I said Kazuya’s dream and the character drama meshed well together, without the underlying idea of seishun this arc wouldn’t have had a firm foundation to stand on. Examining the concept with Kazuya’s dream, this is seishun at its core—remember Kazuya dedicated his life to taking Minami to the Championships. Yet, compounded on top of this were three things: Tatsuya taking Kazuya’s mantle so Tatsuya could fulfill Kazuya’s promise to Minami, the memory of Kazuya, and the final story arc being Tatsuya’s last opportunity to do so. If this doesn’t scream dedicating one’s youth to a goal, I’m not sure what does. However, there was one more layer that made this arc fundamentally about the concept of seishun. This was the grueling training the team endured under their substitute coach, Eijirō Kashiwaba. I say this because while a large portion of seishun constitutes dedication to an endeavor, the concept also implies a great deal of labor will be expended in the pursuit of the given goal. Therefore, when reading through the final arc of Touch, one can’t help but feel the passion of the players and their hopes of achieving their dreams. Although it can be argued an adult can still experience the ideals of seishun, in the case of this series it was attributed to the players.

Tatsuya collapsing from the exhaustion of his workout and Eijirō smiling.

While the concept of seishun had the effect of giving the series direction, it was how Eijirō embodied a villain that gave the arc purpose. There were two reasons for this. The first was he had his own agenda that worked against the hopes and dreams of the Meisei High School baseball team, specifically Tatsuya’s. This was fascinating because it created an interesting dynamic between Tatsuya and Eijirō from the beginning of the arc. To focus on this in more detail we must explore Eijirō’s character. Like Tatsuya, when Eijirō was younger he, too, was a member of the Meisei High School baseball team and chasing after his older brother’s dream —I’m sure we can all guess it was playing in the Championships. Yet, unlike Tatsuya, Eijirō was expelled from the baseball team for having a history of delinquency. Unfortunately for Eijirō, he was never able to forgive the team and vowed petty vengeance on them by making the current team lose in an embarrassing way. Thus, when placed side-by-side with Tatsuya’s goals it created tension throughout the arc that was difficult to pull away from. This came in the scenes where the team was practicing, but also during the Prefecture qualifying games.

For example, there were two particular scenes in the sixteenth volume where Eijirō overworked Tatsuya with methods that were rather unorthodox and very close to torturous. What were remarkable about the two scenes weren’t just the methods Eijirō used, but also how the clash between Eijirō and Tatsuya’s respective objectives was clearly delineated on the 133^rd and 134^th pages of the volume. In one moment, Tatsuya had collapsed from the exhaustion of his workout, to which Eijirō smiled. Then in the next moment, Tatsuya began his the workout again, wiping the same smile off Eijirō’s face. In this one moment we saw how desperate the two were to achieve their respective goals, thus showing neither would yield under any circumstances. The second instance was similar, but it was presented from Minami’s perspective. Yet, the picture painted was that of desperation for both Tatsuya and Eijirō. These two scenes unquestionably set the tone of the arc and definitely created the proper mood for the rest of the series.

However, we can’t ignore the six games played during the final arc of Touch in regards to the narrative tension between Tatsuya and Eijirō. Focusing on all the games is a difficult task, yet they all had an underlying theme to them. Yes, that theme was the clash between Tatsuya and Eijirō, but where the drama during the team’s practice sessions came from Eijirō trying to demoralize the players, the games were focused on him undermining the team by using their weaknesses against them or hardly giving any instructions to them. Although the former was only seen in the first two games, the latter ran throughout the course of the six games. This was most apparent during the batting scenes as Eijirō commented on the strategies of the opposing pitchers as well as the batting of his players. This created different tension from what had been presented up to this point as it forced the players to rely on their individual wits rather than the entire team working together as a well-oiled machine.

The lack of instructions by Eijirō during the games is linked to why he made such an appealing villain as well. We must keep in mind there were very few characters who knew Eijirō wanted to crush the Meisei baseball team. Hence, what came from this were the players trusting Eijirō’s coaching style, despite calling him heartless. Considering the keystone of the Meisei High School baseball team was Tatsuya as the pitcher and Kōtarō as the cleanup batter, prior to Eijirō arriving the team had little hopes of advancing to the Championships. Yet, through the rough exercises and training regime created by Eijirō, the team could have been unstoppable with the right direction. Granted, even without Eijirō’s direction the team overpowered their opponents. As a result, there were scenes when the team gleefully presented themselves to Eijirō to be worked to death. The twenty-first volume demonstrated this quite well near the end of the seventh chapter in the volume.

Eijirō noticing the players were still full of energy after a no-hit no-run game.

Here we saw Eijirō notice the players were still full of energy after a no-hit no-run game, thus he suggested they do field practice. The team, ever so eager, rejoiced at the prospect and headed straight to the field. It was the exchange between Tatsuya and Eijirō that followed that made the scene memorable. I felt this conversation revealed an aspect of Eijirō that wasn’t previously explored in detail. This regarded how determined Eijirō was at ending the hopes and dreams of the Meisei High School baseball team, as he hesitated far too often. True, he had to act the part of a coach at the very least, but if he truly wanted to see the team fail he would have gone to greater lengths to have the team lose. This gave Eijirō a duality previously unseen in his character and gave readers a genuine reason to understand why the players for the Meisei High School baseball team placed their trust in him. These instances added to the conflict in the final arc, but also demonstrated the drama Adachi created for the series.

There is far more to discuss in regards to Mitsuru Adachi’s seminal work, such as how the characters Isamu Nishimura, Yuka Nitta, and Akio Nitta affected the relationship between Tatsuya and Minami, but I found them to be less important than the relationship between Tatsuya, Kazuya, and Minami in the early volumes and Tatsuya and Eijirō in the later volumes. That being said, Touch is easily one of the most influential series within the sports manga medium. The drama in each story arc was well conceived and difficult to quit reading. However, it was the death of Kazuya in the seventh volume that impacted both the narrative and the medium. While there are many examples of characters dying in manga prior to Touch—look at all the characters in The Rose of Versailles—how death was explored and presented in this series was rather jarring. Very few anime and manga series have been able to replicate the emotions to the degree Mitsuru Adachi did and it’s a testament to his writing. Yet, through Touch we gleaned the tropes the author has incorporated into his other major works. I am willing to overlook the repetitive nature of his narrative style with this series as it was the first of its kind, but that repetition was difficult to ignore when examining this series.

This doesn’t mean one can’t derive enjoyment from reading Touch. Granted, there were a few dated aspects of the series since, after all, it was published in the 1980s. But, many of these cultural and period gaps can be overlooked quite easily. Unsurprisingly, Touch is also a perfect summer read, as it embodies one of the greatest Japanese summer traditions, the summer Japanese High School Baseball Championship at the Hanshin Koshien Stadium in Osaka. Thus, those who want to understand the appeal of Japanese high school baseball will find this series appealing. Even if you aren’t a fan of baseball, it can be noted Touch only used the sport as a backdrop to the amazing drama presented in the manga. Therefore, anyone can enjoy the series on different levels. To be completely honest, though, no respectable fan of the medium should pass this series up and I’m ashamed it took me so long to examine it in great detail, especially considering Touch is so easy to find. In fact, there have been multiple publications of it, including the original, anthology, pocketbook, and complete versions. However, I highly suggest the original prints if you can find them.

Work Info
Title: Touch (タッチ)
By: Mitsuru Adachi
Under: Shogakukan, Shonen Sunday
Official Site: N/A
More Info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Touch_(manga)

The title logo for Shomin Sample.

I can think of a couple of fantastically wealthy people who are oblivious to the lifestyle of the middle class. But, the less said about them the better.

If there’s one type of series the anime industry isn’t short of, it’s harem series. I’ve voiced my thoughts on the subject in the past and while it still pains me to see the same tropes used in many different anime series over the course of a year, there are times authors and directors put a new spin on the material. Granted, it can be difficult finding these series, but one does crop up every now and then. One such series was 2015’s Shomin Sample (俺がお嬢様学校に「庶民サンプル」として拉致られた件 Ore ga Ojōsama Gakkō ni “Shomin Sample” Toshite Rachirareta Ken). This was a fascinating series on a number of levels because it used the standard template for a harem series, but adjusted it in such a way so as to bring a refreshing story to the audience. Surprisingly, the most prominent element was how little romance was incorporated into the story. By eschewing this one trait of a harem series it allowed the production team to explore, mock, and comment on our perceptions of the extremely wealthy as well as the middle class. That’s not to say there weren’t elements of romance present in the story, but they were relegated to the fringes of the series. On top of this, the core cast of characters, particularly the female characters, lacked the personality traits common in other harem series. What had me intrigued, though, was the use of the Japanese entertainer Dandy Sakano’s catchphrase “Gets.” It’s not as though he’s that popular a figure, though he was in the early 2000s, but it was refreshing hearing his catchphrase in this series.

It should be noted I’m not opposed to anime and manga series following the tropes of any given genre. They provide authors and directors a template to work with and solidify the ideas they want to present to their audience. However, I also understand why it can be frustrating seeing those same tropes appear as shorthand time and time again. Giant robot anime series, for example, tend to have the protagonist switch his robot in the middle of the series and many shonen action series rapidly increase the power of the main character. As such, while powerful tools for authors and directors, if the particular tropes aren’t used effectively they can upset the presentation of a given story. The harem subgenre is filled with its own tired tropes such as the litany of personality types, situations, settings, and so on. But, the core of the story is always focused on the romance between the protagonist and the main heroine.

Yet, what would happen if a harem series rejected or downplayed the notion female characters had to be enamored with the protagonist? While some might think this would defeat the purpose of a harem series, in a certain respect it would shine a new light on the genre. Consider, not all boys and girls instantly fall in love with each other and there are times when a relationship works much better when those involved are friends rather than lovers. It’s an interesting prospect and one Shomin Sample used quite well. That’s not to say there weren’t elements of romance intermingled into the series, but rather they were kept off screen by removing them as the focal point. This was achieved in a number of ways—the most notable through toying with the perception of the protagonist, Kimito Kagurazaka—but the romantic elements did all have their place within the greater story. Examining the perception of Kimito first, he still had some of the trappings of a protagonist from a harem series such as being obtuse. However, by playing a boy who enjoyed the physique of muscular men as opposed to relishing in women’s thighs created a dynamic of friendship with rather than him being a romantic lead for the heroines. As such, even if he was obtuse to the advances of the heroines there was a legitimate reason why he was this way.

Rekio Arisugawa ordering fast food in Shomin Land.

It was the other factors embedded in the series, though, that kept the idea of a harem alive while eschewing the romantic aspects of it. This came from the main heroine, Aika Tenkūbashira, having an interest in middle class culture as well as her timid personality. Looking at the latter first, the first half of the series focused on Aika trying to use her interest in middle class culture to garner some popularity among her classmates. This was a fascinating premise because the school Kimito and Aika attended was not just an all-girls school, but also one for the extremely wealthy. As a quick aside, the reason Kimito was attending this school was because he was a sample middle class citizen so the students could become accustomed to life outside their bubble after graduating. As such, this played into the notion Aika was in Kimito’s harem, but their relationship was predicated on friendship. It was actually Aika’s interest in middle class culture, or rather the Japanese middle class lifestyle, that added to the narrative of the series.

By incorporating and fusing the Japanese notions of middle and upper class lifestyles into the narrative, the production team was able to, albeit not purposefully, comment on and poke fun at the stereotypes of these two income levels. For example, in the early episodes of the series Kimito was generally awestruck by the lavish lifestyle the students enjoyed at Seikain, the all-girls school mentioned above. In a certain respect anyone not accustomed to that particular lifestyle would be taken aback, but it also manipulated the wealthy girls perception of the middle class. This could be seen in the types of food prepared for Kimito and the other students.   While it’s customary in anime and manga for wealthy girls to say fast food or cup ramen is delicious, in Shomin Sample the idea was presented in a creative manner: having Kimito’s meals split between every student in the school. However, it was the field trip to a cruel parody of Disney Land but with a central Tokyo theme, Shomin Land—literally Middle Class Land—that appeared in the seventh episode that mocked many of our perceptions of both the wealthy and middle class.

There were too many fun examples in the episode to point to, but the two that stood out were the scenes at a clothing store and a fast food restaurant. Consider, both of these activities are quite mundane from the perspective of middle class citizens and many of us have a sense of what’s fashionable and how to order meals at fast food restaurants. Thus, these activities are second nature to the general population. But, would someone who had lived a sheltered life understand how to do these tasks? I would assume they could, but seeing the stereotype play out in Shomin Sample was entertaining in its own right. For instance, when Kimito was in the clothing store he was able to convince his classmate and friend, Karen Jinryō, that very tight hot pants and crop top T-shirts were in style. In the end, because Karen had no foreknowledge of fashion trends she followed along. While it can be said this style of clothing is popular with some people, seeing Karen duped into wearing the outfit was fun. On top of this, the idea Kimito was toying with Karen’s sensibilities gave some depth to his character.

However, as I stated above, there were instances of budding romances in Shomin Sample. They were more common in the later episodes, but a few of the early episodes also used it as the butt end of a joke. One example was no more than Rekio Arisugawa, one of Kimito’s classmates, misunderstanding a show of friendship as a proposal for marriage. This was a nice gag and wasn’t overplayed, which was rather surprising at first seeing as this was a harem series. Nonetheless, it fit into the theme of the series. The later episodes, though, incorporated the premise of romance much better as we had a thorough understanding of the characters. It used the notion of fortune telling to push the four prominent girls into figuring out who would be the ideal significant other for Kimito and expanded on the idea in smaller sections over the course of the last five episodes. If this had been a larger part in the narrative it’s almost certain the joke would have failed. Yet, only using half an episode to explore this concept was a wise choice on the part of the production team.

Aika Tenkūbashira (right) mimicking Dandy Sakano’s (left) “Gets” pose.

For example, when the four girls, Aika, Karen, Hakua Shiodome, and Reiko, were first determining their compatibility with Kimito, the application they used didn’t satisfy the girls, except Karen. From there, Aika and Reiko both looked for other applications that would rate their compatibility with Kimito as more favorable for them. This allowed us to witness the rivalry between the four girls as well as their good-natured friendship, but only half an episode was used to present this scenario to the viewers. Yet, when this plot point was referred to in later episodes, it bolstered the girl’s identity because the audience knew the girls all wanted to make an impression on Kimito. It was a unique twist to the standard practices in a harem anime series and was certainly welcomed.

What was intriguing about Shomin Sample, though, was how it integrated the catchphrase of the Japanese comedian Dandy Sakano. Honestly, it’s not much of a catchphrase, as it’s only “Gets,” but it took Japan by storm in the early 2000s. True, the catchphrase has worn out its welcome since then, yet this was a play on the sensibilities of the sheltered super wealthy in this series and their perception of popular culture. Added on top of this, the phrase wasn’t used to the extent it became dull. For instance, there was one scene in the series when Kimito gave Aika a replica of Dandy Sakano’s yellow suit to go along with the catchphrase. However, it was such a small portion of the series and never overtook the humor inherent in the relationships and dynamics of the characters. So, while it was nice seeing and hearing this catchphrase again, its appearance was spaced out enough to keep it fresh within the context of the series.

Shomin Sample was honestly not the best harem series I’ve ever watched. However, it had a wonderful tone throughout, specifically eschewing the common tropes found in a harem series. The jovial jabs at middle and upper class stereotypes were also well done and none of the jokes felt as though they were spiteful. However, I will say they worked much better in the opening episodes more than the later ones. The characteristics given to the protagonist were also a welcome change to this type of story and, while I felt he still had an obtuse and dense nature about him, the fact he was forced to enjoy the muscular form of men gave the characteristics purpose. The use of Dandy Sakano’s catchphrase, “Gets,” was also used sparingly, making it fresh every time it was used despite having worn out its welcome in Japanese popular culture. I’m actually disappointed the production company Silver Link didn’t offer Dandy Sakano a few lines, as it would have been nice hearing a character in his likeness saying it along with the characters in the series. I may have kept many of the episodes on as background noise while I was doing other things, however there were many captivating moments and I consistently had to stop what I was doing to pay attention to the series. As such, while one may find watching an episode every now and then the best way to enjoy the series, it’s certainly worth watching.

Work Info
Title: Shomin Sample (俺がお嬢様学校に「庶民サンプル」として拉致られた件 Ore ga Ojōsama Gakkō ni “Shomin Sample” Toshite Rachirareta Ken)
Under: Silver Link
Official Site: http://syominsample-anime.jp/
More Info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shomin_Sample

The DVD cover of Yōsei Gakuen: Yankī-kun to Yankī-chan.

I was never a delinquent when I was a student, just an incredibly lazy student. My Japanese teachers would certainly disagree with this statement, though, because they thought I was both.

One facet of Hiro Mashima’s Fairy Tail I enjoy is how he’s willing to write side stories that are completely unrelated to the main narrative. In fact, some of the stories Mashima has written aren’t connected to the narrative at all. Truth be told, a handful have nothing to do with Fairy Tail in the least bit. One such short story was included as a mini-booklet with the limited edition twenty-seventh volume of Fairy Tail. Yet, as a limited edition release, one booklet was hardly enough to entice fans of the series. As such, an OVA (original video anime) of the mini-booklet was included with the limited edition twenty-seventh volume manga. Honestly, the anime adaptation of the short story, Yōsei Gakuen: Yankī-kun to Yankī-chan (妖精学園 ヤンキーくんとヤンキーちゃん) was far better than the printed version. There were a number of reasons for this, but they all centered on two major factors: the story was a play on the characters’ personalities and the overarching setting of Fairy Tail. More specifically, the story centered on one or two different character traits and blew them out of proportion, which, in turn augmented the narrative of the Phantom Lord story arc to great effect. However, it was the high school setting that brought out the best aspects of the comedy in the story.

It can be incredibly difficult for authors to parody their own work as they have too deep of an investment in their characters, setting, and narrative. As such, many of the best parody and satirical works of any given anime or manga series are actually fan-created works. Granted, fan-created works in Japan have the connotation of being pornographic. However, there’s a wide selection of non-pornographic works as well. In fact, there have been cases when publishing companies will take fan works and publish them for the general market. It’s a rare occurrence, but publishing companies such as ASCII Media Works and Hakusensha have done this in the past. I can’t speak on any authority about how manga authors feel about the sale of fan works that parody and satirize their work, but what I can say is the fan work market is a boon to the anime and manga industries, as well as for the Japanese economy. Thus, if authors were less invested in their works, it wouldn’t be odd if a manga author parodied or satirized his or her own work. Yet, very few have.

While I don’t consider Hiro Mashima a great author, I enjoy how he’s willing to explore his work Fairy Tail in ways one might not consider. For example, his short story Welcome to Fairy Hills took a deeper look at the women’s dormitory of the wizard’s guild Fairy Tail. Of course, the female characters were a bit oversexualized in that particular story. But honestly, it added a few layers to those same characters readers might not have thought of. Yōsei Gakuen: Yankī-kun to Yankī-chan was in the same vein. Yet, rather than placing the story in the context of the larger narrative of Fairy Tail, Mashima examined the characters through the lens of high school life and delinquents. In a certain respect the main characters aren’t that far from delinquents in the main narrative of Fairy Tail. However, placing all the characters in a high school setting allowed for comedic interactions to be presented that weren’t seen in the main story. A majority of this came from the characters’ personalities, but it also came from how fans had certain expectations about them.

Four of the zodiacs as teachers. Left to right: Taurus, Aquarius, Scorpio, and Aries.

For instance, the four main characters, Natsu Dragneel, Lucy Heartfilia, Grey Fullbuster, and Erza Scarlet, retained many of their character traits from the main story of Fairy Tail, but they were augmented to fit certain Japanese classroom personalities. In this case, Natsu and Grey were the class clowns and troublemakers, Lucy was an innocent transfer student, and Ezra was the stern class representative. These roles weren’t far from their regular roles, but when placed within a school setting it breathed new life into the characters. This was especially true considering there wasn’t much comedic expansion Mashima could do with the characters in the main series other than have them interact with new allies. Yet, as students there were multiple ways to take the comedy seen in Fairy Tail and place them in this setting. For example, Natsu and Grey always had a rivalry in Fairy Tail, but in Yōsei Gakuen: Yankī-kun to Yankī-chan it was presented as the two fighting over food preferences and which part of the school was their territory. It was a silly thought, particularly the latter, but not that uncommon in high schools.

However, it was the play on all the characters that made the OVA humorous beyond belief. Yes, the main focus was on Lucy and Ezra, but all the major characters in the wizard guild Fairy Tail were seen at one point or another filling unexpected roles. True, many of the characters were students, but characters such as Happy, Carla, and the different zodiacs taking the roles of teachers was amusing. While the zodiacs were a better fit to be teachers, the idea Happy and Carla had any control over the other characters was unthinkable. Yet, the limited screen time they had added to the idea these characters were in charge of a body of students. However, what was possibly the most entertaining role reversal was with the characters Makarov Dreyar, Macao Conbolt, and Wakaba Mine. One would expect these three characters would have filled the roles of school administrators, but this was far from the truth because they were in fact students as well. These were bit parts in the OVA, which actually worked for the joke, but the mere thought of three older men as high school students constantly talking about spending a night out on the town was comedic gold.

Where Yōsei Gakuen: Yankī-kun to Yankī-chan shined in regards to the setting, though, was how the crux of the story retooled the Phantom Lord story arc. So we have an understanding of the arc, this story arc centered on the rivalry between the wizard guilds Fair Tail and Phantom Lord in Fairy Tail. As a school story, this arc was fashioned as a fight between rival school delinquents but added the twist it was spurred on by Ezra’s date preparations and not the abduction of Lucy. By shifting the focus to Ezra, this actually brought out the humor inherent in her character as well as her relationship with Jellal Fernandes. More specifically, Ezra was always portrayed as a calm and collected character who always thought of her friends and allies. Thus, by playing up this character trait it allowed Mashima to display how passionate and violent Ezra could become while also joking about her feelings towards Jellal. As such, this defied viewer’s expectations of Ezra, while still retaining the core of what made her entertaining in the main series.

Yet, the retooling of the Phantom Lord story arc went much further than redefining a handful of the characters. In fact, it kept a majority of the major plot points intact, but played them for a lark. For instance, one of the events that spurred the fight between the two wizard guilds in the main narrative was the way three members of Fairy Tail were brutally beaten. It was a powerful and shocking moment in the series. Yet, in the OVA the same imagery was used, but played for laughs by replacing the three characters with Makarov, Macao, and Wakaba. What’s more, the message the antagonists left behind for the characters read more like a traditional Japanese letter of challenge rather than a slight against the guild’s honor. Granted, the tone of this scene in the OVA was far more somber than the rest of the story, but it still parodied the Phantom Lord story arc effectively. However, it was the climatic action scene that lampooned the arc the best. Part of this stemmed from the fact it took a grand battle and simplified it to a schoolyard brawl, but it also ridiculed the major scenes.

Makarov, Macao, and Wakaba beaten in the same manner as the main series.

For example, one of the main skirmishes in the Phantom Lord story arc was between Grey and Juvia Lockster. True, there were humorous elements to their battle, yet in Yōsei Gakuen: Yankī-kun to Yankī-chan it exaggerated the infatuation Juvia had for Grey. In fact, the OVA worked this infatuation earlier into the story with an obvious line of dialog where Juvia stated she felt restless while staring directly at Lucy. However, during the climatic action scene in the OVA, what took multiple episodes and chapters of the anime and manga series to present was shortened to nearly one sentence: Juvia trying to proclaim her love for Grey. The mere fact the essence of Grey and Juvia’s relationship was summed up in less than a minute was not just spectacular, but incredibly entertaining.

The one aspect of the OVA that was far superior to the mini-booklet short story was how it expanded on it. Most of this was in the minor details, such as the fight or Ezra, Lucy, and Wendy Marvell’s shopping for clothes, but it also came from the interactions between the characters and showing the characters different roles in a school setting. At first this may not seem as if it added much to the story, but in actuality it padded out the material enough to give viewers a fully formed narrative. True, some of the additional material was used to fill time, yet in a certain sense it also added to the setting of the story. For instance, I said above Happy, Carla, and the different zodiacs were teachers at the school. But, in order for viewers to fully comprehend their roles as teachers there needed to be some time relegated to showing viewers this. As such, the few minutes where the zodiacs displayed their talents never felt wasted. Even the throwaway moments with Happy and Carla had a wonderful payoff at the end of the OVA, making their presence welcome. While some people may want a one-to-one translation of the source material into an anime, adding this sort of content actually rounds out a story rather than maintaining certain plot elements simply as a kernel of an idea.

By comparison to the first two Fairy Tail OVAs, Yōsei Gakuen: Yankī-kun to Yankī-chan was far better in its presentation and story. I say this because the first was a compilation of the anime series and the second seemed to focus on the oversexualization of the female characters too much despite adding to the series as a whole. Yet, with Yōsei Gakuen: Yankī-kun to Yankī-chan we received a fun little story that played with the characters’ personalities and the Phantom Lord story arc. This was especially wonderful considering, rather than placing this story in the middle of the main narrative, it expertly used a school setting and ultimately let one or two of the comedic aspects of the characters shine. Reworking the Phantom Lord arc also made the OVA’s story resemble West Side Story in that it placed two “gangs” against each other. As such, we received elements of school life and delinquency in one story. However, it was how the OVA expanded on the source material that made it far superior to that source material. Although the additions were minor, they helped flesh out certain aspects of the story, as well as create a rich environment for the characters to occupy. While I wouldn’t recommend the OVA to everyone, fans of Fairy Tail and original works may be interested in watching it.

Work Info
Title: Welcome to Fairy Hills!! (ようこそフェアリーヒルズ!! Yokoso Fairy Hills!!)
Under: A-1 Pictures, Kodansha, Shonen Magazine
Official Site: http://gentei.kodansha.co.jp/fairytail/
More Info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fairy_Tail

The title logo for Girls Beyond the Wasteland.

My life is like a bad dating simulation game, especially since I always wind up with the break-up ending.

It should come as no surprise to anyone I’m no longer enamored with school-life anime series. The main reason for this is I’m well out of that environment and it’s actually foreign to me. I mean, I don’t know what high school students do for fun anymore, let alone what college students find entertaining—though I suspect it involves a lot of alcohol. However, there are caveats regarding my interest in school-life series, the most prominent being it has to have an interesting premise. School Live! was one such series I enjoyed despite being a school-life series thanks to a mixing and matching of genres. Thus, despite being few and far between, it’s possible for me to find school-life series enjoyable. While not of the same caliber as School Live!, the 2016 series Girls Beyond the Wasteland (少女たちは荒野を目指す Shōjotachi ha Kōya wo Mezasu) was a series that captured my attention, if only momentarily. This wasn’t because the characters were interesting or the story was engrossing, but because the premise was more than I expected. That being said, the series suffered from a cast of bland characters and a narrative that, while interesting and funny at times, failed to keep my attention.

In general, what makes a compelling anime series is the characters or story. If these two aspects aren’t strong, any series will suffer. Yet, there are times when a series premise can overtake other aspects of the story. The difficulty here is making sure the premise is interesting enough to keep a series compelling throughout its run. Sometimes this is as simple as brothers-in-law fighting over their inheritance, as was case with the opening chapters of Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, or creating a love triangle between neighbors, such as in Touch. However, the most fascinating series I’ve watched dealt with the inner workings of different professions. This may be because I’m an adult and looking into multiple professions is an eye-opening experience for me. Honestly, though, I just like adults dealing with adult issues rather than children focusing on their trivial problems—and before anyone points out not all children’s problems are trivial, I recognize this.

That being said, school-life series don’t tend to have interesting premises. For the most part they focus on the daily lives of the characters and while that can be appealing to some, it quickly becomes tiring. Yet, school-life series that focus on club or sports activities generally have a better ratio of interesting series to mind-numbing ones. I mean, one of the greatest sports series ever written, Slam Dunk, was based on high school basketball. It’s the school-life series surrounding fine arts clubs that begin to lose me. However, when the idea of a fine arts club is crossed with the idea of creating something to put on the market, it allows the audience to see the process the characters go through to bring the product to fruition. This is what separates a fantastic school-life series from a middling one. Thus, it was the premise of Girls Beyond the Wasteland that made it an intriguing series to watch more so than other aspects of the series.

Buntarō Hōjō being locked in his room in the eighth episode.

So then, what was the fascinating premise of Girls Beyond the Wasteland? It was no more than a school club developing, producing, and publishing a dating simulation game. This may not seem all that enticing at first, but this idea runs in the same vein as Shirobako, Seiyu’s Life!, and to a degree Bakuman. Yet, the fundamental difference between Girls Beyond the Wasteland and the series listed above is the characters in Girls Beyond the Wasteland were high school students and not professionals. As such, it wasn’t a look into the industry as much as it was an examination of the process of making a dating simulation game. The steps may not be appealing for those inside of the industry or mired in independent game creation, but this was the strength of the series because it detailed the process in simple terms in each episode. Granted, the details were certainly streamlined and fictionalized, but it managed to cover the difficulties of things such as coding, story development, art direction, and schedule management.

For example, the eighth episode of the series focused on the protagonist, Buntarō Hōjō, being behind in the story development for the game his club was making. What’s interesting about this wasn’t the fact Buntarō suffered from writer’s block, but how it affected the games scheduled release date. It was clearly laid out why this was important for the story and through it we understood the pressures levied on content creators working on tight deadlines. While the series handled Buntarō’s writer’s block in a humorous manner by having the other club members lock him in his room with no contact with the outside world, it raised the question how game production companies handle this issue with their creative team. This was one of the problems with Girls Beyond the Wasteland because it could only look at these issues through the lens of students. Even so, by addressing the trials and tribulations of game production, the series was engrossing.

I wish I could say the same about the overarching narrative of the series, though, because there wasn’t much of a foundation for the premise to build on. Again, the focus of the series was a high school club creating a dating simulation game. Yet, for most of the series it was never explained why the club was creating the game. Granted, it was suggested game creation was a cutthroat venture by the heroine, Sayuki Kuroda, and that prompted the main story. However, I’m not sure that plot point was enough to keep the story and characters focused or interesting for twelve episodes. Of course, there were twists and turns in the story and as interesting as they were, they felt forced rather than born from a natural progression of the narrative. The best instance of this came in the tenth and eleventh episodes. The twist in the eleventh episode actually had a small effect on the overall narrative, making it difficult to discuss, however the turn in the tenth episode was frustrating to say the least. This was because a rival game company was introduced into the story.

While there’s nothing wrong with creating a rival for the main characters, at such a late juncture in the series not only was it out of place, but it also felt forced. Hence, when looking over the series to that point it was clear this wasn’t a series about competition, but a group of students overcoming hurdles while working towards a goal. What this ultimately did was make a story that was passable frustrating because the rivalry should have been a plot point introduced early in Girls Beyond the Wasteland. At least then more weight could have been placed on each setback in the game’s production, which would have made the series a bit more engaging.

Buntarō, Sayuki Kuroda, and Hosokawa talking at a restaurant.

However, the characters needed to be fleshed out to make the series more enjoyable. The issue here wasn’t necessarily all the main characters being devoid of personality, but rather half of them lacked discernable characteristics. We’re not talking about a large cast of characters, so when half of them need more personality it’s actually troubling. For example, Sayuki hardly emoted in the series and this was upsetting because she was the head of the club. As such, we needed to see clear signs of leadership and ever more outbursts from her and not just her quiet demeanor. A similar issue was present with the characters Yūka Kobayakawa and Uguisu Yūki as well. However, with these two characters only a few episodes were dedicated to them, so it’s understandable why they were underdeveloped compared to Buntarō.

That’s not to say every character was tedious to watch as there were in fact two characters who stole almost every scene they were in. The first was Atomu Kai. What made Atomu so fascinating wasn’t his personality per se, but the trauma he suffered in his love life. Thus, when any mention of his past romantic endeavors were mentioned he not only became extremely negative, but also abrasive. It’s rare a character in an anime series would harbor such feelings towards the opposite sex, but in the context of a school-life series it worked rather well. The second character who stole every scene he was in was the minor character Hosokawa. Watching and listening to Hosokawa was like watching and listening to a person who was a character. What I mean by this is he exuded so much personality that ever scene he was in was guaranteed to have interesting dialog. Had it not been for the inclusion of Hosokawa in Girls Beyond the Wasteland there wouldn’t have been much in terms of mesmerizing or at the very least fun characters.

I’m going to be very upfront about this. Girls Beyond the Wasteland is a great background noise series. It offered just enough in each episode to keep the audience curious about the development and creation process of dating simulation games, but lacked the qualities of a truly amazing series. While I feel part of the issue stemmed from the series being a school-life series, it came much more from the lack of a solid narrative and captivating characters. Perhaps the issues also came from how the series was adapted from a dating simulation game, but I can only speculate. Of course, not all the characters and plot points were bland. Rather, they lacked the polish one would expect from a series in this genre. I don’t doubt there are fans of this series and to them I say enjoy it all you want. Even long-time fans of the medium can find enjoyable aspects of the series. But, if you are new to the medium, you may want forgo watching it until you’ve experienced more of what the anime industry has to offer.

Work Info
Title: Girls Beyond the Wasteland (少女たちは荒野を目指す Shōjotachi ha Kōya wo Mezasu)
Under: Project 9
Official Site: http://shokomeza.com/
More Info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Girls_Beyond_the_Wasteland

The cover of Platonic Invade ~Koi no Shinryakusha~.

Space aliens come in all shapes and sizes. But, my favorites are the ones who have computer operating systems that can be hacked with Windows 95.

With so many manga series published every year, it’s a wonder a fraction of those series manage more than a year in syndication. What’s more, of those short-lived series it’s amazing a handful are complied into books. Although this may seem like a disparaging comment, the mere fact manga authors are able to see their works reach a wide audience is fantastic, especially considering their fan base may not be too large. Yet, it’s also a sad fact many of these short series end prematurely or are placed on indefinite suspended publication status. As much as it pains me to say this, I recognize why publishing companies do this: why publish a series if it’s underperforming? However, I strongly feel authors should see their works published in an anthology or single book if multiple chapters were syndicated in a magazine. Granted, there are risks inherent in publishing a book of an underperforming series. Even so, fans of the medium may find a title they would have never imagined. One such series for me was Bunpei Sumiyama’s Platonic Invade ~Koi no Shinryakusha~ (プラトニックインベイド~恋の侵略者~). It’s a shame the series was only one volume long because it had an interesting, albeit predictable, premise. Added on top of this a fair portion of the jokes were well conceived and there were a few touching moments interspersed throughout the narrative.

I can’t begin to fathom the number of manga series readers pass by on a yearly basis. Of course, part of the reason for this is there are a lot of series published in less popular magazines. But, another reason people overlook series is because they are printed in the back of magazines or have an irregular publishing schedule. This leads many series to an early end in the best case scenario or suffer from an indefinite suspension of the publication in the worst. I say an indefinite suspension is worse because there’s no guarantee the publication company will syndicate the series again. As such, these types of series are stuck in limbo, whereas series that come to a conclusion, even if it’s premature, have the satisfaction of ending. That’s not to say a short manga series prematurely ending is the best course of action, as the series may have developed and exceeded its expectations with more time. In any case, seeing a short manga series placed in indefinite suspension or ending prematurely is a sad fact fans of the medium have to face. That doesn’t mean we have to lament the situation too much, though.

The reason for this is if a short series is lucky enough, the chapters will be compiled into a book and released to the general public. This was the case with Platonic Invade. I recognize there were eight chapters syndicated before the series was suspended, but the six chapters that were released in the book were entertaining in their own right. In fact, it made me wonder why the series was suspended in the first place. For instance, while the premise of the series was simple, it had the potential to expand and become much more than it was. True, the underlying narrative was similar to Shigemitsu Harada’s Ore Tama ~Ore ga Chikyu wo Sukūtte!?~ but rather than being based on fantasy and the supernatural, Platonic Invade used science fiction. To be more specific, Platonic Invade took the idea that if the male protagonist, Reiji Abe, reached sexual climax the world would end and then it placed that idea in a science fiction and romantic comedy setting. As such, there was room for an immense amount of sexual humor, but also the inclusion of numerous alien races and organizations trying to stop or expedite the act of copulation.

Reiji Abe hearing he is the most average person on Earth.

In fact, kernels of the above mentioned plot points were seen in the fifth chapter of the series. Here, an agent of the fictional League of Nations Department of Space Diplomacy and Intelligence, Hirona Silvestri, appeared and tried to collect and secure a sample of Reiji’s ejaculate before the alien, Kazumi, could. At first this may not seem like much of a conflict, but considering this could have been a potential plot point for later chapters, the mere inclusion of Hirona was interesting. Her appearance also expanded the world of the series from the high school Reiji and Kazumi attended to the point it included not just the world, but a galaxy’s worth of organizations and people with their own agendas. What’s more, the idea could have taken a series with a simple romantic comedy with a science fiction theme and expanded it into an action-packed romantic comedy, as was the case with the fifth chapter.

It was the romantic comedy element of the series, though, that made a small number of the situations unsurprising. Truthfully, one of the largest plot points in the series was based on predictable romantic comedy. This was centered on Reiji’s infatuation with the heroine, Yuko Katahira. What made the dynamic between Reiji and Yuko conventional was how it was based on a simple misunderstanding. This dynamic has been used in multiple romance anime and manga series and seeing it in Platonic Invade was frustrating. There were many ways for Bunpei Sumiyama to approach the two characters’ romance, but the misunderstanding dynamic made aspects of the series trite and contrived. For example, the second and fourth chapters used the joke of Yuko overtly avoiding Reiji once or twice. Granted, this joke was spread out in the volume. However, an interesting place to take the narrative would have been for Yuko to recognize and understand the predicament Reiji was in, but to feel helpless in assisting him. So here again, this was a plot point that could have been expanded upon if the series had a longer syndication.

That’s not to say all the comedy in the series was dull as there were many moments the humor worked well for the given scene. True, readers could anticipate a few of the jokes, but that added to the comedy of the situations. The third and fifth chapters had wonderful examples of the predictable humor that played well for the situations. The third chapter worked on the idea of why Kazumi needed a sample of Reiji’s ejaculate. Simply put, it was because Reiji was the most average person on Earth. This is a common characteristic for male characters in romantic comedy anime and manga series, but authors tend to keep the trait within the confines of a school. Thus, by making Reiji the absolute most average person on Earth was beyond funny. Added on top of this, the deadpan expression on Kazumi’s face while she explained this added to the scene.

The joke in the fifth chapter was different in its setup, but as with the joke in the third chapter it could be anticipated. The joke revolved around a mind control device and how it was used. At first the joke centered on sexual humor, but quickly shifted its focus to how Kazumi was affected by the device. While the joke wasn’t directly alluded to earlier in the chapter, the reveal followed a prescribed pattern. As such, although the joke and the situation were still comical in nature, they still felt one note.

Kazumi walking in on the boys buying and selling photographs of the class Madonna’s.

Yet, not all the humor in Platonic Invade was designed around simple patterns. In fact, there were a handful of instances when the series played on stereotypes of Japanese high school life. The opening of the third chapter was one such instance. Where the end of the chapter used Reiji’s average qualities as the butt end of a joke, the opening toyed with the idea of high school aged boys buying pictures of the class Madonna in secret. Although the situation seemed rote at first, in actuality the resolution was inspired. What I mean by this is these situations generally end with the heroine and other female classmates remarking that the boys are perverts. Yet, here the act of buying the pictures was likened to a traditional art or performance. There’s absolutely no reason buying pictures of the class Madonna in secret would be considered a traditional art or performance, but the mere fact it was mentioned was truly brilliant. Additionally, all the parties involved, which is to say Reiji, his male classmates, and Kazumi, were stunned at the thought and were satisfied with the idea that buying pictures of the class Madonna in secret was a traditional art or performance. Truthfully, I’m curious if this explanation would work in real life, though I highly doubt it.

The comedy was a large part of the series, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t without its somber moments. Although they were few and far between, the touching moments greatly added to the series. However, these moments were not only weighed down by heavy-handed character drama, but also by introspection on the human condition. More precisely, the series focused on the idea of romance and love in the quiet scenes. Yet, the final chapter of the series brought the concept of romance and love to the forefront with a melancholic story. What made the chapter interesting was it placed Reiji and Kazumi at odds with each other because his cousin, Kanae, was hospitalized for her weak heart. The story still used aspects of Kazumi’s mission of collecting Reiji’s ejaculate, but when placed with the narrative of the chapter it created a dichotomy in the progression of the series. What I mean by this is, rather than playing the chapter as one large joke, Bunpei Sumiyama explored the idea of life and death and what humans are willing to save by sacrificing their life. Thus, where the series had been humorous to this point, Sumiyama adapted his narrative in such a way so as to create a heartfelt story. Making sure there were subdued moments interspersed throughout the story gave Platonic Invade the sense that if Sumiyama had expanded on the story, readers would have been treated to similar stories later in the series.

It’s frustrating Platonic Invade ~Koi no Shinryakusha~ was only one volume long. There was potential for the series to become more than it was, especially in terms of the action and comedy. Nonetheless, what readers were given wasn’t poorly made, as there was just enough humor, albeit a great deal was predictable humor, to keep people interested. There were also some wonderful instances that expanded on the world of the series without leaving the general vicinity of the school the principal characters attended. This gave the series a lived-in quality, as well as demonstrating readers could have expected more had the series continued. The few subdued and somber moments helped round out the narrative by breaking up the comedy seen throughout the story, but more importantly fleshed out the idea the author wanted to convey to his readers. Granted, these moments were few and far between, but they added flavor to the work as a whole. I hope Akita Shoten, the company that published the series, will bring Platonic Invade ~Koi no Shinryakusha~ out of suspended publication just so we can see where Bunpei Sumiyama takes the series. Unfortunately, the series has been in limbo since 2011, making the prospect abysmal. However, if you can find a copy of the series, you’ll certainly be satisfied with what Sumiyama was able to create.

Work Info
Title: Platonic Invade ~Koi no Shinryakusha~ (プラトニックインベイド~恋の侵略者~)
By: Bunpei Sumiyama
Under: Akita Shoten, Champion Red
Official Site: N/A
More Info: https://ja.wikipedia.org/wiki/プラトニックインベイド~恋の侵略者~

The poster for Initial D Legend 3 Mugen.

I’ve driven a number of vehicles in my life. Some of them were high-end, but the ones that were the most thrilling to drive were the dilapidated ones.

Those who know me well know that cars and car ephemera are not something I really enjoy. It’s not as though I need to fundamentally understand the power output of my vehicle or what kind of tires will give me the best traction—I mean, most of the driving I did was either on city streets or on the interstate. However, I have to admit if you are a racing fanatic, this type of information is crucial. It can make or break you as an amateur racer and possibly cost you a contract as a professional. Thus, while I have little to no interest in cars I can see why people become caught up in them. This doesn’t preclude me from enjoying anime series about car racing, though, as some of those series have an excellent mix of technical talk and story elements. The Initial D Legend series was very much like this, but where the first two installments had a nice balance of both, the final installment, Initial D Legend 3 Mugen (新劇場版頭文字D Legend 3-夢現–) focused more on the plot and character development rather than the technical talk. It’s evident why this was so: the story was building up to the climatic race between the protagonist and a would-be rival. As such, it required the audience to not only get a better sense of how the characters, particularly the protagonist, changed over the course of the series, but also to develop an understanding of the mindset of the supporting cast. Added on top of this, a fair portion of the film was rather humorous. This played well into the tension the producers were building up to and added some depth to the characters. There were, however, some romantic scenes that detracted from the story in this installment, but not to the point it was frustrating. The real linchpin of the film was the final race, though. It was not only attention grabbing and nail biting, but also provided a wonderful adrenalin rush comparable to that seen in films with breathtaking car chase scenes.

One aspect an author or scriptwriter can have difficulty with is creating interesting characters to populate his or her world. It’s a skill like any other and can take time to hone. True, some authors and scriptwriters are better at this than others, but even they can create characters who are flat. This may be because it was an intentional act or the author or scriptwriter may not have been as interested in them in comparison to the other characters. Yet, when the uninteresting characters are the protagonists it can cause issues within the narrative. Akito Hyuga from the Code Geass: Akito the Exiled OVA (original video anime) series or Mikazuki Augus from Mobil Suit Gundam: Iron Blood Orphans come to mind as protagonists who had little in terms of personality and the respective series suffered from that—how can we become engaged with the story if the central characters have little to offer? However, other titles have managed to keep the narrative engaging through other methods such as interesting supporting characters or a story that’s engrossing.

It may seem this has little bearing on the Initial D Legend series, but truth be told I was worried about how the protagonist, Takumi Fujiwara, had little in the way of a personality in the first installment. As such, I felt the story would have to rely on a strong supporting cast and gripping narrative to keep viewers entertained. While this was the case to a degree in the first film of the series, over the course of the series there was a stark change in his personality. This was evident in the second film, but was far more prominent in Initial D Legend 3 Mugen. In fact, it was almost startling how much more Takumi felt like a person as opposed to a robot in this installment as compared to when the series started. One of the best examples of this came in the opening of the film when Takumi was racing in a Toyota AE85 Corolla Levin that belonged to his friend, Itsuki Takeuchi. What we saw here was Takumi musing about the speed and overall balance of the car, but it was not until the race was over and the two characters were talking that we received a better understanding of Takumi, insofar as what was plaguing him. By doing this in the opening of Initial D Legend 3 Mugen it set up an inner conflict to be resolved within the film, but also displayed how Takumi’s mindset had changed over the course of the series.

Takumi and Natsuki on a date.

The film shined narratively because until that point it seemed as though Takumi was racing out of an obligation to his friends, not because he wanted to, but then he slowly developed an interest in the sport. Yet, this film was the first time it felt as though Takumi had complete agency over what he wanted to do and it can be summed up in one phrase: what comes after the next race? It was an interesting plot point and something viewers couldn’t answer. This led to one option, watching Takumi’s journey. That’s what made Initial D Legend 3 Mugen so tantalizingly entertaining. Some of the best stories are like this, watching a character discover something about him or herself, and this film was no different from those, so much so, almost every scene that revolved around a conversation was engaging in its own right. One that instantly comes to mind was between Takumi’s father, Bunta Fujiwara, and his friend, Yuichi Tachibana. What made this particular scene interesting was how Yuichi probed Bunta about Takumi’s driving skills, even insinuating Bunta had planned this from the moment Takumi first started delivering tofu. Of course, this calls into question exactly how much of Takumi’s interest in car racing was born from himself and how much came from external influences. However, it can be said the idea Bunta molded his son was fascinating to the point it made me wonder how many fathers mold their sons in their image—and now I have to question my own writing style because I was influenced by my father.

However, it wasn’t the fact the conversations were captivating that made those scenes fun to watch. The comedy in a handful of the scenes helped to further develop the characters as well as reinstill the tension inherent in the story to the audience. While some of it was certainly situational humor, there were conversation pieces that had a comedic bent to them. Throwing humor into the Initial D Legend series didn’t seem like a wise decision at first, yet it worked within the context of the story being presented to the audience. As such, though a small portion of the film, the humor helped break up the slower moments as well as provide the much-needed characterization of Takumi I mentioned above. The latter, the characterization, was probably more important than anything else in regards to the humor if only because, again, we developed a better sense of Takumi’s personality. It was summed up best in the second act when Takumi and Itsuki were talking about the climatic race. The conversation was based on a small misunderstanding in the subject and ultimately yielded two different conversations: Takumi musing about the race and Itsuki prodding Takumi about his love life. The way it was handled displayed the apathetic personality of Takumi while at the same time subtly developing him.

The humor also provided one other benefit to the film and that was how it built up the tension of the main narrative, the race between Takumi and Ryosuke Takahashi. Consider, had the film been weighed down by the importance of this race throughout the first and second act, the film would have suffered. As an audience we understood the race was the crux of the Legend series as a whole—it’s the race that’s been alluded to since the first installment. As such, being reminded of it at every turn wasn’t all that important. Thus, using the scheduled race to propel some of the humor actually removed some of the anxiety throughout the film. For instance, following Bunta and Yuichi’s conversation, Bunta wanted to check the performance of his Toyota Sprinter Trueno AE86. I really don’t want to go into detail about it because of just how amusing it was, so I will leave it up to your imagination until you have the chance to witness it.

If Initial D Legend 3 Mugen struggled, and it’s difficult to say it actually did, it was in the romantic beats interspersed throughout it. I want to point out here, it’s not as though romance was unwelcome in the film. However, the way it was handled and where those scenes were placed upset the pacing a bit. This was more of an issue with the first date between Takumi and Natsuki Mogi than their later dates or even the conversation between Takumi and Itsuki mentioned above. What made the romance feel out of place came more from how one didn’t expect it in the film. The series felt more like Takumi’s personal journey of honing his skills, realizing his potential, and taking his first steps towards independence. While I can understand the argument romance is a factor in the latter, it seemed less important for this particular story. Granted, those same romantic scenes provided Takumi a better understanding of why he raced and how little he knew about it. As such, it wasn’t as though the scenes were irrelevant, just misguided. I’m not sure if this was because the manga source material dealt with this in the same way or not. Either way, though, a little more planning by the production team for the romance scenes would have been welcome.

The race between Takumi and Ryosuke.

The pièce de résistance of the film, unsurprisingly, was the race between Takumi and Ryosuke. It’s difficult to discuss the race, not because of the outcome, but for how exciting and nerve wracking it was as well as the adrenaline rush one received while watching it. Thus, we have to address each factor individually. While it may seem the best place to start is with how exciting it was, the adrenaline rush was the foundation for the other two aspects of the race. It’s understandable why we would feel a rush of adrenaline as the contest involved two racers at their peak engaging in a high-speed race, but we have to consider it from a different perspective as well. Throughout Initial D Legend 3 Mugen we saw different perspectives about why this race was important. As such the audience was primed for an exhilarating race. On top of this, we knew Takumi was the best racer in Akina, the setting of Initial D, and Ryosuke was the best in Gunma Prefecture. Hence, with the priming, expectations, and buildup viewers were ready to be blown out of their seats.

To use an example from another film series, Mad Max, the trailer for Mad Max: Fury Road made us excited to see the grand spectacle of the car chase scenes. While we certainly receive it in the first act of the film, after the first large chase the film lagged so it could present us with character and narrative development. But, the third film in the series, Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, did what Initial D Legend 3 Mugen did in terms of making the final chase exhilarating. It gave the audience the story beats in the first and second act, as well as a few satiating action scenes. Then, after the audience had been primed, the film went all out with an over-the-top car chase. Though the Initial D franchise and Mad Max series are in two vastly different genres, the mere fact all the story beats were presented first and then the race in Initial D Legend 3 Mugen presented last shows just how important the earlier buildup was for the purpose of creating an exciting climax.

The climax in Initial D Legend 3 Mugen was both exciting and nail biting because viewers were primed for it so by that point the adrenaline was coursing through their veins. But, in what way was it exciting and nail biting? This came from a few factors, but mostly in how Takumi wasn’t guaranteed a victory. It’s almost odd to say that because he’s the protagonist of the Initial D franchise, and as such we expect him to win every race. Yet, the audience was shown a number of times throughout the film series that Ryosuke was not only a competent racer, but also one who diligently studied his opponents as well as the courses he raced. Thus, during the race Ryosuke kept the gap between himself and Takumi so close we saw the pressure levied on Takumi. As such, it reinforced the idea that perhaps Takumi would lose. This was a different experience by comparison to the other races in the series because Takumi was still developing as a racer. However, here Takumi was far more confident in his abilities because he won all his previous races. Therefore, the thought of Takumi losing was intimidating. It was a great feeling especially when you’ve become invested in the story and characters. As such, when all was said and done the film, finale, and series as whole was exhausting in a pleasurable way—which is a difficult feat for a film to accomplish.

Initial D Legend 3 Mugen is all around a fantastic film. It had the right balance of story to racing and some humor interspersed to not only build up the tension but relieve it as needed. The romantic sections were the weakest aspect of the film, though. Yet, they were few and far between and ultimately added to Takumi’s character. Of course, as a series predicated on racing it was the final race that made the film. The excitement of watching Takumi and Ryosuke race was unparalleled and perhaps one of the best I’ve seen in any film—though possibly not as exhilarating as the first car chase in Mad Max: Fury Road. One small aside, I actually enjoy the Mugen attached to the film’s title. The characters Mu (夢) and Gen (現) invoke two different meanings in this combination: dreams, Mu, becoming reality, Gen, or a dream-like reality. Thus, it played into the narrative of Takumi’s question about what was beyond the race with Ryosuke. Hence, watching the film with that in mind added a whole different layer to the story in the film. Fans of the Initial D franchise will certainly enjoy this film, as will those who have seen the previous films in the series. However, even those who haven’t seen the previous films will enjoy it and I highly suggest watching it.

Work Info
Title: Initial D Legend 3 Mugen (新劇場版頭文字D Legend 3-夢現–)
Under: Sanzigen, Liden Films
Official Site: http://initiald-movie.com/
More Info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Initial_D

The poster for The Ancient Magus’ Bride: Hoshi Matsu Hito.

If I could use magic, I’m not sure what I’d do with it. Maybe I’d make a real Magic 8 Ball.

As of late, the animation production company Wit Studio has managed to produce wonderful and memorable series. In fact, the quality of their productions is impeccable. However, it was only a matter of time before the studio produced an anime series or film that was of subpar or even poor quality. Thankfully, the series that had the honor of being one of Wit Studio’s poorest wasn’t a season-long series or a feature-length film. If it were either of those it could have been difficult for the studio to recoup its losses. So then, what was the anime series that could potentially be labeled as Wit Studio’s weakest work thus far? It was none other than the first installment of The Ancient Magus’ Bride OVA (original video anime) series, The Ancient Magus’ Bride: Hoshi Matsu Hito (魔法使いの嫁 星待つひとMahō Tsukai no Yome etc.). The reason the installment was lackluster for a Wit Studio’s production stemmed from two factors: a general lack of characterization and the lack of narrative structure. The latter statement about narrative structure was possibly the most upsetting aspect of the OVA because rather than following an established dramatic structure, the story had two first acts. Yet, what the OVA lacked in terms of a narrative and characterization was more than made up for by the animation.

I regularly talk about how the characters or narrative make a compelling anime or manga series. While I stand by that statement, in truth it’s the structure of the work that has the largest impact on whether or not it’s captivating. There are a plethora of narrative structures for authors and directors to utilize, but the most common in anime and manga are the three act, dramatic, or kishotenketsu structures. Granted, the dramatic structure is more of a theory on the progression of a narrative, but it also provides a person with a method to construct his or her story. Thus, without proper structure a story can fail before it ends. In fact, Japanese people are particular about story structure, as a few Japanese people have told me it’s not worth telling a story if there’s no discernable resolution. However, the average Japanese person’s sensibilities regarding narrative structure revolve around comedy rather than telling a story for the sake of telling a story. That being said, Japanese authors and directors have a very well developed sense of narrative structures—if they didn’t we wouldn’t have amazing series like Sazae-san.

Even Wit Studio has created fantastic series with a beautiful structure to its narrative. But, like all production companies it was only a matter of time before the studio created a subpar story. It’s actually a good thing it was The Ancient Magus’ Bride: Hoshi Matsu Hito because it was not only short, but it also was a great example of what makes a poor narrative structure. To put it simply, the installment had two first acts—and one of them wasn’t a preface. This is exceptionally odd considering a story really can’t have two first acts. Yet, somehow the OVA managed this. Although I wouldn’t say this flies in the face of conventional wisdom concerning story structure, it certainly made the installment difficult to watch. Consider, when the film began the audience was shepherded through the story of the protagonist, Chise Hatori, receiving the books and tools to begin her wizard’s apprenticeship with her mentor, Elias Ainsworth. This created expectations about the progression of the story. However, there was a distinct shift in the narrative halfway into the OVA.

This narrative shift began a whole new story revolving around Chise’s past. While I have no animosity in telling such a story, where it was placed and how it was resolved made it another opening act rather than the final two acts of the installment. True, the way the story was presented was in line with the presentation of a three-part OVA series. Nonetheless, dividing the opening installment into two distinct stories made it virtually impossible to watch. So then, what made the second opening act difficult to watch? Honestly, it was in the presentation of the story. I understand the production team was trying to present what prompted Chise to study magic, but having two stories that conveyed the same plot point seemed superfluous, except perhaps to make the audience feel sympathy towards her. In this regard, the second opening act succeeded in an ineffectual manner. I realize this sounds odd, but the ineffectual success affected the second aspect of what made the installment weak.

The opening scene of The Ancient Magus’ Bride: Hoshi Matsu Hito.

As much as I’ve stated how odd the structure of The Ancient Magus’ Bride: Hoshi Matsu Hito made it difficult to watch, the lack of characterization of the characters made the OVA frustrating to watch as well. There are actually two ways to approach this issue: through the lens of fans and of those new to the franchise. Regarding the former, the lack of characterization wasn’t an issue for fans because they already had an understanding of the characters. However, because the installment was shown in select theaters before being included with the limited edition sixth volume of the manga series, those unfamiliar with the material were certainly in the theaters to become familiar with the series. As such, without a proper introduction to the characters and the basic story it was difficult to become enamored with the narrative. Most writers will say this, but when presenting a story, topic of discussion, or industry terms it’s important to make sure the intended audience understands the underlying concepts. For instance, a good friend of mine was in a business presentation where an industry specific term was used. Yet, he stated there was a good chance most of the people at the meeting had no idea what the term meant. The same was true with this OVA. Fans understood the underlying concepts of the series, but nonfans needed something to help engage them with the story.

Yet, the lack of character information was more of an issue during the first opening act. The audience was given just enough to see Chise was beginning her studies. However, there wasn’t much in terms of introducing Elias or the other characters and their relationship to Chise and Elias. Added on top of this, there wasn’t much information about when and where the story took place. These may not seem all that important at first, but in reality those details provide viewers with context. For example, if the series took place in the early 1900s, the customs and mindset would be much different than a modern setting. Even the location can inform the audience about the traditions and culture. I mean, as much as Americans may try to deny it, there is a distinct cultural difference between the Midwest, East Coast, West Coast, Rust Belt, and so on. Thus, it was important viewers quickly understood when and where the story took place. More importantly, though, that information would have primed the audience about certain personality traits of the characters.

While the story elements of The Ancient Magus’ Bride: Hoshi Matsu Hito were grating to say the least, the stylistic choices were incredible. This shouldn’t be shocking considering we’re talking about Wit Studio. Of course, I wouldn’t say the animation team outdid themselves, but they were able to convey the atmosphere of the different scenes extremely well. The opening scene was a great example of this as it demonstrated the wonder of magic in the world of The Ancient Magus’ Bride. In fact, the design of the opening scene was on the same level and even better than some of the animation from Someday’s Dreamers: Summer Sky. In terms of the animation, many of the creatures in the second opening act were wonderfully animated as well. Where the animation of the magic centered on whimsy, the creature animation invoked the grotesque nature of city life. As such, the critters had qualities of sewage sludge and highly viscous liquids. However, when discussing the aesthetic choices of the animation team at Wit Studio we have to address the backgrounds.

As with their previous works, the backgrounds were stunning because they added to the mood of the scene. For instance, Elias’s study was designed in such a way so as to invoke an old and dusty study. In turn, the apartment Chise lived in before studying with Elias had the same cramped feel of Japanese apartments. Much of this had to do with the lighting of the particular background, but that only proved the quality of the animators at Wit Studio. Granted, I wouldn’t call the backgrounds in the OVA the studio’s best work. Yes, they were beautiful to look at and added to the atmosphere of the installment, but I still maintain their best background designs were from The Rolling Girls. Even so, Wit Studio managed to create stunning backgrounds for The Ancient Magus’ Bride: Hoshi Matsu Hito.

It may sound like a bold statement to say Wit Studio created a poor anime series with the first installment of The Ancient Magus’ Bride: Hoshi Matsu Hito, but it is unfortunately true. This mainly had to do with the narrative structure of the OVA. Although I may have found the structure of the installment disconcerting, I also recognize it’s important for authors and directors to find new methods of presenting their stories. American film director Quentin Tarantino is known for this and I applaud him for his efforts. The Ancient Magus’ Bride: Hoshi Matsu Hito could have been influential on the anime industry, but alas the structure felt odd more than innovative. Had the production team focused on creating one solid opening act rather than two, this installment could have smoothly transitioned into the second installment. Yet instead, the audience was presented with a story surrounding the beginnings of Chise Hatori’s tutelage and another involving her past. Yes, it was possible to tell both stories without compromising the structure of the OVA, but it would have required a longer runtime. The lack of a conventional structure also impacted the introduction of the characters. Of course, I understand fans didn’t need an introduction, but those new to the material needed something to help them identify what made the characters interesting or at the very least why they should care for them. Even the location or time period would have been enough, but alas, little was given to the audience in this regard as well. Where the installment excelled, though, was the animation. This isn’t shocking considering Wit Studio is an up-and-coming powerhouse in terms of animation. However, it was the backgrounds that truly added to the OVA. As odd as The Ancient Magus’ Bride: Hoshi Matsu Hito is, I still think people should watch it. It’s a great teaching tool and is potentially the introduction to a fascinating story surrounding Chise.

Work Info
Title: The Ancient Magus’ Bride: Hoshi Matsu Hito (魔法使いの嫁 星待つひとMahō Tsukai no Yome etc.)
Under: WIT Studio
Official Site: http://magus-bride.jp/
More Info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Ancient_Magus’_Bride