Hige vs. Otaku

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.

Naoki Urasawa’s 20th Century Boys (because we apparently have to prefix everything he’s done with his name these days) is a worthy successor to Monster. It takes a huge ensemble cast and weaves them into a web of plot lines that would, reasonably, overwhelm lesser authors yet remains comprehensible and intriguing. Urasawa is Mr Manga Big Balls because of his ability to keep a firm handle of his immense ambition. Even two volumes in it’s obvious that Urasawa is making a point of his talents with 20th Century Boys, pushing them even further by incorporating a variety of timelines to keep us enthralled. It’s a little dizzying at first, but once the initial barrage of Mystery calms you know you’re in safe hands. Urasawa is a tender lover; he only wants to screw our minds in enticing little bits.

These first two volumes, unsurprisingly, are concerned mostly with character introduction. That’s not to say the manga’s secrets and mysteries aren’t given due attention but rather they’re alluded to through learning about a group of young boys in 1969 and their plans to save the world. Shoot forward a few decades and we’re placed in the current main timeline of 1997 and Kenji, seinen protagonist extordinairre, is fending off his disappointed ma (he sold their family liquor business to a franchise) and taking care of his AWOL sister’s baby, Kanna (permanently attached to his back via a papoose).

I’m going to tangent here a moment and exclaim that Kanna is the best character in these two volumes. All she can do is coo expressively, being two-years-old and all, but she steals the show every single time she appears. Oh, and she seems to be gifted. In the clairvoyant/supernatural sense. The smell of foreshadowing is strong with this one, but theorising aside Kanna is just a wee badass. Kenji’s undying dedication to her is perhaps his most endearing trait, too, he being something of a coasting, complacent thirty-something otherwise. In fact, the strongest moment of these two volumes is when we find out why Kenji is so committed to raising Kanna. It turns he and his erstwhile sister into pathos-rich, sympathetic characters — the kind you really need at the centre of narrative shitstorm, I’d say.

But yes, the main plot. It focuses on a shady cult who uses the same symbol devised by Kenji and his friends in ‘69, only rather than being a symbol of boyish fantasy it now represents something much more sinister. Rival cult leaders die mysteriously, the police force is infiltrated and a very creepy looking machine waits in the shadows, standing by for its destructive entrance. Kenji is pulled into the mess with the supposed suicide of an old school friend called Donkey, the snot-ragged super-speedy nerd who saved him from near death as a wean. Donkey’s death just doesn’t make sense and combined with some other strange occurrences, all linked by that ubiquitous childhood symbol, he’s dragged into something big; something apocalyptic.

I’ll admit it took me a while to warm to 20th Century Boys. It’s definitely more amiable than Monster, favouring tit-gags over dry hierarchical politics or rigid senses of duty, but the sweeping, expansive chronology we’re bombarded with felt like it diluted something. The second volume does no end in remedying this, however, and we get more attention paid to grassroots characterisation. Urasawa even fits in a tangential storyline that doesn’t relate to the main cast much at all, but still serves a wider purpose in demonstrating the creeping influence of this mysterious cult and its sinister leader, ‘Friend’. The diversion manages to break your heart in the space of a single chapter and is a genuine shock to the system. Urasawa didn’t pull this kind of narrative flair until much later in Monster and it suggests the bar has been raised with its successor. Either way, after reading just these two volumes the commitment of buying twenty-four of the bastards (including the final two under the title 21th Century Boys) seems much less imposing. My wallet would like to object, but no one cares what that guy says anymore.

Revolutionary Girl Utena represents everything I thought I despised about anime. Almost to the point of exaggeration, which is ironic because it’s the exaggeration in anime that I hate the most. The melodrama, the tweeness, the utter campness of it all. Utena takes notes from everything I can’t stand (particularly about shojo) and succeeds in such a way that, by virtue of being so conspicuously not me, I love it all the more. So let me tell you something you probably already know: Revolutionary Girl Utena is fundamental to any anime fan, regardless of their tastes. It sits firm in the canon with Evangelion, Cowboy Bebop, Escaflowne et al as something even a passing fan of the medium has to see. I mean, personally, it was worth it just to get all those FLCL references that had otherwise alluded me.

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