Hige vs. Otaku

Bakemonogatari

It’s probably the standard reaction to a Akiyuki Shinbou anime, but after watching episode one of Bakemonogatari I felt like I was missing something. Not so much in the ‘WAHHH ABSTRACT I DON’T UNDERSTAND’ way, but rather a walked-in-half-way-through sort of sensation. For some reason I thought it was a sequel of sorts to another anime, having not really kept up with the finer details, but a brief scan around the minternets suggests it’s a completely new series (albeit based on a set of light novels). It’s baffling, particularly that opening montage which seems like a recap, but gorgeously so. Shinbou & SHAFT brings the sexy regardless of how coked off its tits the delivery is and I’m a number one fan of his style of direction.

The characters seem intriguing enough but Senjōgahara’s paranoia started to irritate as did Araragi’s seeming inability to explain his intentions (who wants to write an article on strained communication in anime? I would, but it would descend into a frustrated tirade almost immediately). Still, I’m much more interested in this than I was with Shikabane Hime, which is the very loose comparison I made while watching. The wee otaku-meta scene on the bike was a nice touch, too. A definite WATCH.

Tokyo Magnitude 8.0

The big show for me this season, as it is for most people by the looks of things. BONES can pretty much have their wicked way with me in any fashion they see fit… even if I’m quite tsundere towards their anime in the beginning. This is usually because their broader-picture approach to storytelling initially leaves a lot to be desired. Tokyo Magnitude 8.0, however, seems like quite a departure from both their usual themes and how they tell their stories. There’s not a bloated sci-fi concept in sight (short of a few robots at a exhibition that actually exist in reality) nor is there the hint of an epic fantasy adventure just around the corner. Just a disaffected tween and her struggle to deal with a strained family dynamic and her own pubescent ennui. And, like, a really big fucking earthquake.

It’s a pretty fantastic change of approach for the studio. The episode opens with the protagonist Mirai standing in the ruins of Tokyo city declaring her hatred for her family and the world at large. Time then skips back a day or two before the quake and we learn exactly why she’s such a narcy little bitch. The show perfects taking a measured approach to setting up her life and explaining perhaps why she’s so irritated by the world around her. Rather than taking a side, BONES gives us reasons to sympathise with, as well as judge, her attitude. I get the feeling the main thrust of the show will be her working through the mix of blatant ungratefulness as well as the seemingly justified frustration. There’s a very interesting social-realism slant to the show that anime rarely gives much credence to (with the opposite often being the case, giving its target audience escapism from all these real daily frustrations) which immediately makes it stand out as something special.

I have to give particular credit to how Tokyo Magnitude 8.0 makes you forget the distinct sense of foreboding it sets up from the start. I was so charmed by Yuuki’s gleeful innocence that I ignored the inevitable conclusion his character was facing. Normally I’d spoil it for myself and predict the various outcomes of characters – especially the ones that are so likeable (they never get out unscathed) – but BONES worked their magic and I was blind-sided by the episode’s ending (knowing what was coming, but not really considering the wider consequences). There’s so much going on with this show it’s really kind of exciting to think of what’s coming next. Not a disappointment and a categorical WATCH.

I’d forgotten what good shonen anime was like. Having eased gracefully into the battered house-wife role with Naruto the many joys of tight plotting, charming characterisation and taut action had become something of a distant memory, reserved for murky, wistful nostalgia and pangs of regret/bitterness. FMA: Brotherhood was like becoming a 13-year-old all over again, right down to the spazzing out during action scenes, getting so carried away I couldn’t help but punch the air and reenact every blow.

At the heart of the show is its two protagonists, the brothers Elric Edward and Alphonse. I state the bleeding obvious because ‘heart’ is the most apt way to describe their narrative importance. Both these boys are trapped in stasis and the driving force of the show, for me, is the pathos born from this fact. They’re young, but their emotional cores are even younger, held hostage by a traumatic event in their early lives. Both strive to start anew, resolve their pasts and forge ahead to a resolution that will give them peace and allow for growth. As it stands they’re still the two little kids crying over the death of their mother and the abandonment of their father, trapped by a childish mistake that cost one brother half his limbs and the other his entire body. In the present they suggest an image of capable maturity, possessing prodigious gifts for alchemy that’s world renowned, but frequently this front slips and their vulnerability peaks through resulting in major emotional pwnage of the audience.

Al, granted, is much more relatable than the gruff Ed because he’s so candid and honest. Truly innocent, he breaks our hearts with his naivety and downright adorableness at almost every turn. This is a major accomplishment because Al is a giant suit of supernatural armor. No physical body to speak of, just a sweet boyish voice echoing out an imposing shell of metal. Yet when he gets his wee notebook out, making a list of all the food he’ll taste when he gets his real body back, or when he touches the belly of a pregnant woman and marvels over the creation of life, he’s as alive and tactile as any of the other characters. At the moment, like many others I’d imagine, Al is my favourite. His good-natured melancholy causes all sorts of emotional thrums deep within my blackened husk of a heart and I’m complicit in the show’s manipulations because it’s done so damn well.

And a he’s a highlight amongst a truly excellent cast, main and supporting. Every character is likable, or at least understandable, regardless of how periphery. They’re all so uniformly great, developed enough to be worthwhile, that a setup one character receives that would otherwise immediately flag them as soon-to-be-dead completely passed me by until their untimely end. And it genuinely stung, feeling like a major loss. The only consolation is the knowledge that FMA: B gives so much attention to its characterisation that there’s plenty more to learn about the other cast members introduced to compensate. I’ll still miss spoiler-free-non-specific-dead-character. They were one of my favourites up to this point. The focus on Winry certainly mitigated the emo, but I’ll still miss them longtime.

Not to suggest that the plot is neglected in the face of all these charming characters. There’s not an inch of flab on FMA: B; its pacing is brisk and a plot point never outstays its welcome (nor does a character for that matter). I’m sure I said exactly the same thing about Naruto in the early days so I’m maintaining hopeful skepticism for the future, but at the moment it’s been a fantastically penned adventure. It’s very difficult to criticise anything about Fullmetal Alchemist: Brother at the moment, really. I’m sure if I’d seen the first anime iteration I’d be bawling like some of the fandom, but this has proven to be a brilliant introduction to the series and one I look forward to it every week.

I honestly can’t decide on this series and judging by the reaction of parts of the ’sphere and their Twittering, I’m not alone. Certain schools of thought currently best describe my nonchalance. To summarise: it’s objectively good, but . . . eh. Something feels like it’s there, pulling me along to follow each episode, but I can’t work out if that’s genuine interest or fear that without it I’d be watching nothing of this current season.

Eden of the East is a solid effort, or has been for the past seven episodes. Its ideas are interesting, the set up is mature and the characters… actually, this is my biggest problem. I honestly don’t care about Akira, quirky, carefree amnesiac, or Saki, quivering docile anime girl, or any of the bland supporting cast. I particularly don’t care about Saki, in fact. Her bizarre sense of duty towards her sister’s husband confuses me, it seeming to be a sort of misplaced paternal respect or weirder still, inappropriate feelings. Her unrelenting wetness (no, perverts, not like that) drives me mad and I wish with every episode she didn’t exist. She stumbles around in that knocked-kneed squealing way anime is so fond of depicting its female characters in and adds nothing to the proceedings. Of course, apart from some hackneyed prince fantasy, which I suppose is meant to add romantic depth but instead only adds depth to my contempt for her fatuous existence. She’s like Yamada only tedious and shit.

All this from Kenji Kamiyama. Kenji ‘one of the adults’ Kamiyama, a man born nineteen years and a day before me and a reliably thoughtful, interesting director. It feels like he’s watched Honey & Clover, decided it was pretty cool and attempted to apply his love for sociology and hard sci-fi onto its contemporary-Japanese-kids-falling-in-love template. It fails horribly in that respect: Saki and Akira’s fledgling relationship doesn’t feel like anything more than the obvious, ’save you from this bland, dissatisfying life’ situation its meant to be. There’s no substance there, no hint of chemistry that would spark a relationship between these two characters. Maybe Poor-Mans Morita likes the idea of being the prince to Faux-Hagu and his interest stems from that kind of saviour complex, but that isn’t interesting nor is it convincing. Eden of the East seems pretty keen on verisimilitude – particularly in regards to its characters who occupy real places and reference things/events that give firm nods to reality – and this obviously affects the expectations of the audience. Our suspension of disbelief adjusts and our tolerance for whimsy declines. It takes a certain shrewdness to juggle so many contrasting genre elements together and make them work. Kamiyama, who struggles with characterisation at the best of times and isn’t known for his flights of fancy, can’t seem to pull it off. The sci-fi is solid, and the social commentary is interesting but everything else, which is a much bigger piece of the pie, is mediocre at best. The end result just feels rather stale and difficult to warm to.

But then it’s important to remember we’re only half way through and Eden of the East still has many intriguing, honestly decent aspects to it. The plot has a lot of potential, though it’s difficult to imagine them fitting in the suggested formula of one Selecao per episode. I suppose it’s obvious now that Kamiyama doesn’t intend to play it that way, which makes the remaining four episodes a rather interesting prospect. I can probably bear the tepid love story if the broader pay-off is worth it. Either way, Eden of the East has a class that makes it very easy to stick around and find out.

The news report of this act’s opening scene was a clever touch. It coupled the reported increase of youths’ addiction to androids, and their seeming inability to socialise with real people as a result, with Rikuo’s fumbling uncertainty with housemaid android Sammy. The way it demonstrated how the reality was completely opposed to the media perception was a smart bit of social criticism – made even better by its function within the show. Rikuo is not wrapped up in the fantasy of having a living, feeling android at his command; he’s realistically scared and confused by it. Rather than immediately accepting the potential humanity of Sammy, Nagi et al and setting off on some whimsically unreal adventure, he cautiously probes and investigates in a bid to genuinely understand. This reluctance is one of the main attractions of this show for me and it makes his gradual acceptance of the androids’ sentience all the more successful. The slight smile Sammy gives after Rikuo, we assume purposefully, compliments the coffee she worked so hard to improve genuinely broke my heart. Not in a sad way, but just in how it subtly communicated Rikuo’s acceptance of Sammy’s humanity. He came to realise that Sammy lied to him for wholly selfless reasons and his reward for her act of love was some simple words of appreciation. When was the last time anyone thanked something that was just a machine?

Another story element I liked about this episode was the brief but telling hint of Masaki’s past. His lofty disdain for androids had complimented Rikuo’s besieged confusion up to this point but it would’ve worn thin if he never developed beyond it. Luckily, it seems, Masaki is not just a bonehead supporting character to the protagonist. If anything this episode suggests he’s going to be as fleshed out as the other central cast members. The use of sound in the scene itself – a half-second flashback to a young Masaki sitting hunched in a darkened corridor outside a door – was fantastic. We went from the light hum of Nagi’s café to a deafening silence and I was amazed how something so slight as a drop in sound amplified the dramatic impact of the scene. Masaki’s brief chat with the man/android reading next to him again implied that Eve no Jikan is concerning itself as much with his journey as it is with Rikuo’s. It seems wrong to make predictions about a show as refined and in control as Eve, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the two boys forked off in two ideological directions towards the end of the run.

It’s hard to imagine Eve no Jikan not appealing to the whole spectrum of anime fandom. There’s cute moe girls, relatable shonen protagonists, robots. All tied up with intelligent direction, depth and technical prowess. It’s a show that writes its own hyperbole but then actually delivers on the evangelising, and it really feels like ‘new’ anime, too; in the same way Mononoke felt new. The use of CG in both series opened up a whole new method of storytelling and the results feel genuinely fresh. Plus, fifteen minutes of run-time per episode. What excuse is there not to be watching? Dae it. Dae it right now.

Well, that’s a relief. Being a GAINAX devotee can be a sadomasochistic occupation at times. Short of a show having Yoshiyuki Sadamoto character designs and the golden touch of Anno and/or Tsurumaki, it’s very difficult for fans to be dead-cert on the ever-capricious studio’s output. Particularly if they’ve only just recently had a phenomenal success (remember all the dross that followed FLCL?). Luckily, under the watchful eye of Hiroyuki Yagama (make another bloody film, you!), Shikabane Hime: Aka turns out to be a solidly entertaining experience. For its first episode, at least.

The visuals are reassuringly comprehensive. GAINAX have gone with their house style character design – that is to say, mild Sadamoto plagiarism – and made it a touch more angular to compliment the eerie atmosphere they’re aiming for. The animation itself doesn’t necessarily dazzle but maintains consistency and has a lot of surprising creativity during the action sequences. What really impressed me about Shikabane’s aesthetics, though, were the gorgeous twilight cityscapes and the use of light in general. I’m massively gay for lighting in animation and Shikabane has a good handle on it – street lights glow in ways that evoke hazy summer evenings, cities are awash with false neon to fend off the night. Good use of lighting can elevate somewhat average animation and make it look special, and this show is an excellent example of such. It’s typical to have such cautious faith at the beginning of a new series, but if this mid-level quality is maintained throughout the run then Shikabane Hime will be a reliable visual experience.

Story-wise, we’re getting a pretty conventional supernatural horror story here, albeit in a very comprehensive, entertaining fashion. Shikabane doesn’t necessarily do anything unexpected with its story or plot, but more importantly it doesn’t strictly abide by the tropes typical of the genre and offer up bland predictability. Fan-service is present, of course, but not jarringly so. The characters are archetypes but likeable and have potential to develop some emotional depth. No particular scene stood out as a ‘wow’ moment yet my attention was absorbed in a way that didn’t feel like I was wasting my time watching. All in all, as with the animation, I’m cautiously optimistic that Shikabane will develop into a solidly entertaining yarn. Part of me is certainly relying on the GAINAX factor to push it above its current mediocre-to-good existence but I can see myself enjoying it even if doesn’t pierce the heavens with its mighty drill-phallus.

Of course, all this reads like the apologies of a fanboy and I actively admit to such concession making. But that’s not to say that Shikabane Hime: Aka isn’t worth keeping an eye on or that GAINAX have shat out another average filler show. Just keep your expectations grounded and you’ll have a good time with it, of this I am sure.

Martin, being the fine purveyor of all things curious and my uncanny taste-zen-twin, got me interested in the work of Yasuhiro Yoshiura. I’ve seen his previous two works and have a particular affection for Pale Cacoon with its beautiful claustrophobia and gentle melancholy, so I was eager, like Martin, to feast my eyes on his latest animated effort.

It’d be silly to dance around the fact that Eve no Jikan is another success. The animation continues to edge towards realising Yoshiura’s strange vision and particularly here he nails the art of comic timing brilliantly. Everything is so tightly synchronised from the shaky camera angles to the snappy verbal exchanges that you’ll notice one hilarious moment only to miss another ten lines of dialogue from laughing out loud so unexpectedly.

One moment that really stood out for me was the introduction of Akiko, the café Eve no Jikan’s resident ADHD suffering, caffeine-fuelled moe girl. She pops up at protagonist Rikuo’s table and promptly reels off a mass of non sequitur hyperactivity leaving Rikuo and his friend completely dumbfounded. It was specifically the little rolling tap of her fingers at the outburst’s end as she looks eagerly at one boy to the other that had me in stitches. The use of music and sound effects here, too, really accentuated the quick-witted humour of the scene and Eve no Jikan in general makes fantastic use of its audio as well as everything else. I’m not bullshitting when I say this show is a sensory delight. Flowery and a bit purple, yes, but bullshitting, no. The use of light had me salivating over the lush beauty of it all. It’s all just a bit stunning, really.

As Martin says, Eve no Jikan is a much lighter-hearted affair from Yoshiura’s previous work, but there was a few underlying moments of paranoia and sadness that peeked through and caught my attention (being addicted to misery as I am). Rikuo’s terror over the possibility of androids being more sentient than they appeared seemed very palpable and reflected a surprisingly realistic attitude a person might have in that situation. Equally, though, the revelation that Eve no Jikan’s robots can actually feel emotion made their pathos shoot through the roof. Once we meet Nagi in her haven for androids and humans alike, witnessing the subsequent neglect she suffers at her job in Rikuo’s school genuinely stings. Initially the androids appear to be typically mindless drones, best exemplified through Rikuo’s dutiful housemaid, but by the episode’s end we realise these machines are actually emotionally aware and suffering in silence. Nagi’s attempt to forge a unity between the two forms of life with her café only drives home the inhumanity of Eve no Jikan’s ‘living’ people and how cruel their ignorant mistreatment really is.

I thoroughly enjoyed this brief but elegantly formed experience, but was definitely left wanting more. And not just in the it-was-so-good sort of way; many elements that I really wanted to be expanded upon felt left in the dust of its relentless pace. The speed made considering emotional implications of various events difficult, and there were so many that caught my imagination that I was scared to blink in case I missed something new. Of course this makes the show ideal for rewatching, but it’s hard not to imagine how much more satisfying the experience would be if we had a little more time to breathe and take it all in. By the sounds of things this is the first in a series of ‘acts’ so perhaps these intriguing plot threads will be expanded upon in due course. Regardless, Eve no Jikan is a fine achievement both visually and thematically and you’d be a fool not to sacrifice fifteen minutes of your time to enjoy its many delights.

Hige
I wish Macross F didn’t have the love-triangle element to it

IKnight
But then they’d have to call it just Frontier

Hige
Ha

IKnight
Is it just being poorly handled, or would the show definitely be better without it?

Hige
It’s nothing as directly offensive as either of those… it’s just completely pedestrian
And Sheryl is rapidly turning into a nice character
When she should be a diva bitch

IKnight
Hmm. I tend not to think too hard about how good these shows are, but I suppose F is a bit by-the-numbers all round. Though wouldn’t it be interesting if Ranka turned out to be a bitch and we had a SHERYL END?

Hige
I agree – I’m not expecting Macross to be anything other than itself. The love triangle merely feels unnecessary when other story elements could use the screen time better
Especially when it’s so generic
If Ranka hit it big and developed a coke addiction, it would be instant win
Forsaking her friends and loved ones all the way to the top
Selling her brother’s VF unit to finance the addiction

IKnight
Somehow I can’t quite reconcile ‘Macross’ and ‘coke addiction’ but actually, you’re very right. Ranka Winehouse.
The Frontier fleet must have some equivalent of rehab somewhere.

Hige
I’d imagine a coke addiction in the world of Macross would be a terrifying experience
It pretty much already is a coke-driven hallucination

IKnight
Heh. That’s certainly how the moment in SDF when Hikaru realises he’s been being chased by actual giants felt to me.

First, props are due to the wealth of coverage Kaiba is getting in the ‘sphere lately. Not only is the attention surprising (though wholly deserved) but impressive, too. This is why left-field anime shouldn’t be feared; it’s not out to rape your mind and make you feel stupid (like Mike Tyson with a First from Cambridge). It makes beautiful and intelligent things happen.

So, seeing as I’m hopelessly slow with my coverage of the show, I’m going to use Mike and itsubun’s recent postings on this episode as points of reference. Both consider different elements while tapping into the general consensus well, and direct acknowledgment avoids any shifty acts of plagiarism. I guess those coat tails are just little too inviting when you’re slow on the uptake.

(more…)

Kaiba’s third episode is testament to the strength of the show’s core themes and ideas. Chroniko’s story of naive devotion to her aunt-cum-adoptive-mother and the subsequent betrayal of this devotion is startlingly affective considering its brevity. It drives home the disposability of physical bodies in the universe of Kaiba and subsequently how this disposability has royally fucked its value system – all within a very short but intensely moving story arc.

(more…)

I think it’s fair to say that the green space ostrich of Kaiba’s first episode is the coolest animal sidekick in anime since Dennou Coil’s Densuke. Or, dare I say, since Nausicaa’s Teto and/or Kai. Its first appearance, swooping into save the titular character, heralds the most energetic moment of the first two episodes which, in all honesty, isn’t saying much.

Yet it goes some way in debunking the expectations of those piqued by Maasaki Yuasa’s previous effort, Kemonozume. Kaiba is not an action show. It has its moments, but the contrasting art styles speak volumes in how each show differs in purpose. Kemonozume’s jaggy aesthetics never felt like they stopped moving, that its frenetic action sequences were only ever moments away. Conversely, Kaiba’s visuals don’t lend themselves well to dramatic movement. Rather, they fumble along like the characters themselves and rarely does an action show worthy spectacle occur.

What is spectacular about Kaiba is how completely magical it looks and feels. Its synthesised design, the bastard lovechild of superflat and Osamu Tezuka, creates strangely saccharine but completely absorbing world. It’s no hyperbole to say that Kaiba lingered in my mind for days afterwards. I watched the first episode in the midst of my finals as a guilty pleasure and could not forget what I’d seen, nor the innate desire to see it again. Kaiba perhaps lacks the ostentatious flash of many new anime yet it processes something much more vital – the power to adsorb and captivate. My one soundbyte in this sense is that Kaiba is the most colourful dystopia you will ever see.

Of course the story is a key constituent in manufacturing this immersion and Kaiba offers a massive amount of depth to compliment its magical, though constantly disturbing, visuals. itsubun mentions the strong classism vibe that run throughout these episodes (with interesting analysis of the dividing electrical cloud and the colour motifs) and these Marxist overtones particularly stood out in episode two. In Kaiba society is split into two distinct classes: the rich upper and the plebeian lower, and true to Marxist form the lower class is exploited wholly by the upper class for their own benefit. The analogy of the upper classes literally stealing the lower classes’ bodies might be a little heavy-handed in exploring the Socialist criticisms of capitalist society, yet it sets the scene brilliantly and makes the show feel unique.

Kaiba almost drowns in its own implication during this pair of episodes. How does the mind and body relate to one another – and is the former directly influenced by the latter? How does the disposability of the body affect morality and ethics? In the broader sense, how redundant is the notion of ‘status quo’ when the physical appearances of the show’s characters are so interchangeable? Every one of these dilemmas is completely thrilling and I can’t wait to ponder more. Kaiba, if you hadn’t noticed, is rather special.