Short version: /ragequit

Longer version: The vagaries of life — house hunting and purchasing, social responsibilities, work and freelancing — have left little time for indulgences like blogging. I have far too great a backlog of games, anime, manga, novels, projects and paraphernalia for things to continue as-is.

Egomania: I started anime blogging as I felt there was space for a different voice — lucid and free from the thralls of fandom and jargon. Realistically though, I have neither the charisma, the wit, the insight, the enthusiasm, the social skills or the outright stamina to be anything more than second rate. Until I either square with that or live up to my own high expectations it would be disingenuous to continue.

Comments will remain off for the duration, articles and posts will remain as-is, I am on the Twitter if the need arises. If you enjoyed reading anything, you have my deepest thanks and I hope to return at some point in the future. ¶

If ever there was a need to reiterate it: successful comedy hinges on the delivery. Seitokai Yakuindomo somehow doesn’t understand this and after cramming joke after staid joke into an episode, it still comes across as bland and uninspired. All the constituent parts are there: the all-girls school recently turned co-ed, the straight-man protagonist, the overcompensating short girl; but none of them gel together. The first three episodes never break that threshold that turns a smirk into a laugh into a guffaw. Instead, predictability and tedium set in and what could have been a sterling comedy, pregnant with possibilities, falls flat and doesn’t find the spark to differentiate it.

“pixelated shots of sex toys and genitalia during the opening demonstrate the tawdriness the jokes aim for”

Takatoshi joined Ousai Academy because it was close to his house. It is no ordinary school however, up until recently it was an all-girls school meaning the ratio of females to males is high and though Takatoshi didn’t join to build a harem, other male students certainly have. On his first day he is accosted by the student council president, Shino, and forced to join the council as vice president and representative for the male student body. As well as the filthy mind of the president, he is joined by the ultra-rich Aria and the genius trapped in a child’s body, Suzu in his daily duties involving an inordinate amount of paperwork as well as loafing around the council room during breaks.

No surprises that the source material is a four-panel comic aimed at teenage boys: the jokes are crude and come thick and fast and, thanks to some off-the-wall scenarios, it feels like a smuttier and charmless version of Azumanga Daioh. The fundamental problem is that all of the characters introduced so far are as tenuous as the humour and only the diminutive return student Suzu elicits any kind of connection; primarily as she is the only one displaying more than aloof indifference to ongoing events.

Certainly jokes about feminine hygiene items underscore the kind of idealised environment Takatoshi is supposedly in, but pixelated shots of sex toys and genitalia during the opening demonstrate the tawdriness the jokes aim for but miss by leagues. Most of the character archetypes have been done before to varying degrees — the naive and nouveau rich girl a particularly tired example — but none of them are truly capitalised upon with many of the jokes involving them abandoned before their time. It’s telling that while most comedies roll out their best material in the first episode, here there is only a budget burning animated fly-through of the school and oversaturated cherry blossom trees.

Perhaps Seitokai Yakuindomo’s problems lie in a cultural rift, mention of heterosexuality being “normal” indicates its voice is for a disposition and age range that is difficult to be noticed in. Or perhaps it is blitzing through its source material at a rate which the producers consider sustainable, but when a slower and more measured pace, letting the characters and running gags take root, would be more advantageous. Or maybe it’s exactly what is to be expected from a lacklustre source, and a studio and director whose only notable previous work was Princess Lover.

It’s difficult to believe that the series is so humourless with a premise that seemed impossible to foul up. It isn’t through concerted effort that the opening episodes fail to tickle but more through mismanagement of resources; with any luck future episodes will be less frantic, more measured and enjoy a better calibre of comedy. The pedigree of the production staff and the first three episodes themselves don’t give this a high probability though and even with an injection of more interesting characters, redemption for such a mediocre and uninspiring start will be monumentally difficult. ¶

Where have all the young men gone? Sure there are the military men, barely old enough to hold a meaningful rank, but the Strike Witches 2 universe is entirely bereft of any young boys. Perhaps ages six through sixteen are spent in secret training to reduce the number of assaults due to the girls’ complete lack of clothing below the waist. Or perhaps the Neuroi, the opaque alien aggressors, are an analogy of male puberty. Regardless, the opening three episodes of this second season start out much as the first and it isn’t until the cringeworthy third episode that the uncomfortableness of watching young girls with no lower clothing on suffering through compromising situations sets in. The change of studio from the beleaguered GONZO to AIC Spirits hasn’t changed the aesthetics, but it has reduced the crotch shots and increased the piercing light of censorship. Otherwise, for better or worse, the premise and execution are left entirely in tact.

“a zero-sum series, each shred of development evaporates as soon as the characters visit a bath”

After the events of the first season, the Neuroi were pushed out of Britannia and into Romagna, however as a communication channel was about to be opened with the now humanoid enemy, another force descended to Earth, consuming the all in their path. City after city is razed in this new offensive and entire squadrons of Strike Witches are decimated with the ferocity and volume of attacks. Yoshika meanwhile has graduated from school and is considering what to do next when word of an attack involving her comrade Lynne comes over the radio. The desire to protect her friends is too great, so it is that the 501st reforms to combat this renewed threat.

The series starts as a rehash of the first, resetting the modicum of development that had previously occurred: Yoshika is reinducted into the titular Strike Witches, Mio’s lack of barrier is mooted by her sojourn in the mountains which begs for a montage, and the previously receptive Neuroi are squashed by their larger and evidently angrier successors. In the process some stock is banked with the arrival of blueprints from Yoshika’s supposedly deceased father — sure to resurface as the series wears on — and the demonstration of other squadrons giving some much needed context to the augmented world. Despite all this however, it’s business as usual by the third episode which just underscores the most prevalent flaw: its lack of soul.

There is plenty of emotion, Yoshika’s interminable happiness is shared in kind by her comrades, but behind the azure skies and verdant landscape the series is emotionally vacant. At no point does it try to convey a story of any worth or originality, whether individually or overall, instead it is a warped reflection of countless other series. This is not inherently to its detriment: slick combat, chirpy visuals and an unassuming soundtrack make certain it’s not instantly repugnant. The endemic shallowness of it though eats away at any credibility — elusive at the best of times — it tries to build and the result is a zero-sum series, each shred of development evaporates as soon as the characters visit a bath. Even the lasciviousness, as perverse and deviant as anything in the first season, comes across as pathetic attention grabbing and fails in its primary function of titillation.

In three episodes then, Strike Witches 2 proves to be exactly the same as its forebear: creatively contemptible, aesthetically competent, anachronistically laughable and uncomfortably lecherous. Whether viewed as a deplorable sign of the times, all blushing faces and peppy attitudes, or simply as a trashy, mildly entertaining time sink, enjoyment will be based on the ability to overlook the series’ true nature. Without doubt it is the embodiment of so many fetishes it is difficult not to take this as very poor satire, but the realisation this is in fact a straight faced cash-in is present in every scenario and character interaction. Occasionally fun, but ultimately worthless. ¶

Not as short as many others but anime related. At the moment it’s very lo-fi and doesn’t have an API or any integration points so it isn’t currently compatible with your favourite Twitter client — this will come soon enough along with stats and other paraphernalia. Built from scratch in less than a couple of hours so any bugs drop me a line, likewise with feature requests, otherwise enjoy.

Edit: Forgot to say, it is currently gathering data, so once a frontend is built existing links will reveal their stats. ¶

It comes as quite a surprise that Shukufuku no Campanella is in based on a visual novel rather than an RPG; the hints are remarkably strong with quests, line-dancing combat and job-classes, even the opening scenario seems ripped straight from Chrono Trigger or Legend of Zelda: The Minish Cap. What lies beyond this superficial resemblance however is a cutesy, pastel coloured romp through a fluffy, high-fantasy world that keeps the conflicts light and the humour inoffensive but with a dash of eye-rolling raciness that remains the only hint of its adult game heritage. Without a stronger narrative to support it, the series relies on its cast which for the first three episodes are entertaining enough, but whether the series can last for twelve episodes on twee intentions is another matter.

“the whimsical lifestyles of uninteresting characters in a fascinating world”

Taking place in the city of Ert’ Aria, the Oasis clan is a loose collection of characters lead by Carina, daughter of the grand duke of the city, and consisting of her childhood friend Leicester, maid Nina and resident burly man Nick, as well as recent additions such as the puppeteer Agnes and templar knight Chelsea. On the night of a meteor storm, ethereal energy awakens a highly sophisticated automaton which, for better or worse, latches on to Leicester and joins the Oasis group. Together they take on different quests at the behest of often faceless clients and can include activities ranging from quelling a raging crystal dragon to picking a rare black rainbow flowers. A mysterious power however dwells within the recently awakened mechanical girl, Minette, and her very nature as well as her abilities may attract unwanted attention.

Obvious questions about the littlest automaton are entirely ignored and even the easiest of philosophical quandaries are dispensed with for happy fun times with the gaggle of eligible young ladies who have clustered around the foppish and unassuming male lead. The opening episodes are wholly self-contained which on one hand is refreshing, but without stronger individual stories beyond fetch and defeat quests it is unfulfilling and the desire for richer drama or even a smattering of mild peril becomes acute. The opening — forgettable call-centre muzak accompanying a standard montage of grinning faces — threatens to introduce just that with comically villainous shadows juxtaposing the otherwise seaside azure, but with a quarter of the series with nary a hint of foreshadowing, an antagonist may not be the most crucial thing the series needs.

Personality is the most criminally lacking of credentials: the opening episodes swap stereotypes for familiarity, so while the lead love interest is a competent mage and the daughter of a noble, this doesn’t affect her character which embodies an almost sickeningly flawless chastity. Not to begrudge the series its bubbly outlook but attempting to present the whimsical lifestyles of uninteresting characters in a fascinating world is done at the expense of key opportunities to exploit its setting. Chelsea, Agnes and even the chronically peppy Minette have histories that are ripe for exploration but instead the show busies itself with the flat humour of the Team Rocket-style twins or the burgeoning and blatant romance between Leicester and Carina. Augmenting Carina’s magical paddle with a voice holds promise but is again wasted by robotic monotone rather than a thick personality — Baldur’s Gate’s Lilarcor this is not.

Shukufuku no Campanella is not short on ideas only on the talent to utilise them. With any luck the first three episodes are blitzing what is commonly left as padding; standbys such as the beach excursion reduced to a scene bookending the second episode. There is still ample opportunity for the series to grow into its setting, however what’s been demonstrated so far makes this unlikely; it remains an enjoyable but lacklustre divergence based off source material which desperately pines for an RPG remake. Its unobjectionable content and incurably positive attitude make it easy to watch but equally easy to forget reducing it to a series only for those suffering a dearth of saccharinity or with a surplus of time on their hands. ¶

There’s definitely a space between “High” and “School” so why High School of the Dead dropped it for the canonical abbreviation H.O.T.D. is unknown but this is just one of many oddities the first three episodes of the zombies-invade-Japan series contains. It plunders recent genre movies with gay abandon but still feels unique; it lays on the gratuitous — blood, breasts and banter — but never feels protracted or beyond the pale; it has a punk rock opening and ending themes but steers clear of banshee-strangling or ALI PROJECT dirge. What the series so ably does is nail the necessities and leave everything else to sort themselves out: characters are stereotypical and bland, the storyline hackneyed, but damned if it doesn’t fire full bore with the action while keeping the pace quick and letting the tension build.

“carnage, combat and cleavage blend together into a heady cocktail that stimulates all the right areas of the lizard brain”

It is another uneventful day at Fumiji High School: Takashi is loafing about, Saya is berating him, Rei is in class, and no one has any idea of the apocalypse unfolding around them. A single zombie inadvertently bites and kills a teacher at the school gate and from there, panic and terror spread until the entire school is either the walking dead or in hiding. Takashi and Rei meet up with other survivors including the kendo club’s champion, a firearms enthusiast and the ditsy school nurse; together they manage to procure a bus and escape from the school, but with the city in ruins and discontent brewing in the group there is the important question of whether they will ever see their families again. If they want to survive they’ll need to put aside whatever quibbles they have with each other and find a way to exist in the now ruined world.

If it wasn’t clear from the opening eyecatches, the series delights in the racy art form of bouncing breasts: only buxom ladies and dependable gentlemen are able to survive the zombie onslaught, the former replete with all manner of compromising situations and camera angles and the most curvaceous even come with their own comedic bouncing sound effects. It would be distracting were it not completely in-line with the balls-to-the-wall bedlam and copious gore that splatters each episode. The meatiest of blows are tastefully cut away from only for the nearest surface to be sprayed in crimson, moving the impact from cheesy schlock horror to something far more visceral and affecting. The carnage, combat and cleavage blend together into a heady cocktail that stimulates all the right areas of the lizard brain, pure entertainment without the pretension.

Brilliant then that Madhouse have been thrown headlong into the production with what are evidently very comfortable coffers to fund them. The opening episodes juxtapose the viciousness inside the boxy, angular school with the soft and gentle fall of cherry blossoms outside it, gentle sunsets and the inky wash of twilight give the series a glossy sheen that is difficult not to fall in love with. Greater still is the animation which keeps pace with the action where lesser budgets would have panicked and fallen flat; the grace of Saeko to the chaotic swings of Takashi are gloriously captured and though the third episode shows a slight downturn in fidelity, the likelihood of the survivors switching to firearms rather than makeshift cudgels means hand-to-hand combat will no longer be a priority.

To talk of fan service and aesthetics rather than character development or story consistency is to get to the heart of High School of the Dead. It is all flash and pomp and doesn’t concern itself with the lore and implications its progenitors have lain down, instead it capitalises on what makes a zombie holocaust so much fun to watch and instead of attempting to switch up the formula it simply executes it supremely well. The remaining episodes will likely draw on familiar situations, the box of scorpions introduced with the snide and devious teacher is bound to end badly for at least one character, but the short run lessens the chance of the series stumbling and losing the pace it relies on to keep it entertaining. This is not high drama or gifted with deep insight and the series may yet end unsatisfyingly, but for now it is a remarkably enjoyable, pulpy, sometimes guilty, pleasure. ¶

Intentional or not, medieval fantasy series always fall under the shadow of Berserk. Densetsu no Yuusha no Densetsu doesn’t do itself any favours by featuring an effeminate, silver haired leader or an desirable, unusually powerful ally. There are certainly other parallels to be drawn but the first three episodes prove wholeheartedly that the series has its priorities straight by focusing first on characters, then on narrative and some way down the list on the mythos-specific idiosyncrasies. In short, it’s forging its own path and being thoroughly entertaining while doing it. Its title may be outlandish but the strength of the cast and its willingness not to cower before gore or tragedy means it is a promising start to an intriguing full-length series.

“The opening episodes don’t pull any punches […], capturing that dark fantasy vibe bubbling under a façade of sky blue and sunset amber”

In the kingdom of Roland, ravaged by war and rotten with corrupt nobles, a magical academy that takes in orphans and the children of criminals has two particularly special students. One is Ryner, a slovenly and unmotivated boy who has cursed eyes known as Alpha Stigma which give him immense magical power. The other is the charismatic Sion who was subjected to ferocious bullying while young due to his birth as a bastard child of a noble father and common mother. Now though, he has the support of a shadowy and lethal family of bodyguards as well as the conviction to ascend to the throne with the aim of purging the country of its ruinous ills. Both will be instrumental in the upcoming turmoil — war and civil unrest — and the old legends of powerful demons and heroes may yet play a part in that.

The characters aren’t the only familiar element the series shares with Berserk, the past/present structure is, in the first three episodes at least, identical and though the first episode is ostensibly set in the present, it is the past where most of the development occurs. This is problematic as it undercuts the expectancies initially formed of the characters and the quest-like first episode is followed with a combative school setting; neither are better or worse than the other but the bifurcation of story instantly makes one want to choose favourites. The past story is certainly the meatier and more empathetic — the writers understand the maxim that for someone to be truly kind, they must first suffer greatly; the present however eschews the brutality for fluffy comedy and is more akin to a familiar adventuring storyline.

How the series will be divided between these two or more time periods is largely irrelevant though when there is a range of excellent aspects to be wooed by. The magical mimicry that Ryner exhibits is uninteresting on its own, but it is his absurdly overpowered frenzy, accompanied by mysterious graphs and the metallic thuds of obliterated ne’er-do-wells which is tantalisingly brilliant. Similarly Sion’s pretty-boy image isn’t quite dispensed with, one never believes he has the teeth to achieve his goal, but thankfully others do; whether it is the Jin-Roh, Panzer Cops-esque Estabul Magic Knights who delight in slaughter, or the composed, spectral claws of Lucille aiding Sion behind the scenes. The opening episodes don’t pull any punches and the series is better off for it, capturing that dark fantasy vibe bubbling under a façade of sky blue and sunset amber.

The amount of source material Densetsu no Yuusha no Densetsu has to draw from is immense and it should have no problem occupying the full twenty six episodes it’s scheduled for. Whether the majority of that is the more comedic and light-hearted search for artefacts of the titular legendary heroes, or further exploration of Sion’s rise to the monarchy and Ryner’s search for a purpose in life will likely define one’s enjoyment. Both are better than the common medieval fare of late such as Seiken no Blacksmith and the series’ tone resides comfortably between Kyou Kara Maou, Scrapped Princess and Berserk. Enjoyable and entertaining, little more could be asked of three episode of a series with almost ninety percent still be revealed. ¶

Playing fast and loose with fairy tales, Ookami-san to Shichinin no Nakamatachi is a surprising comedy that straddles the line between familiar and fresh, whimsically mashing up elements pluck from its contemporaries. Certainly the protagonist’s hair colour and demeanour could have been lifted wholesale from Toradora, her pugilistic attitude and deviant sidekick are another matter. So it is with the rest of the cast, just when the measure of a character seems to be had, a tangential quirk is revealed turning them on their head. The strength of the show then is defying expectation and in three episodes it proves it has the legs and the occasional comedic timing to pull off its crazy take on well loved stories, but whether it will be able to maintain that for a further ten is up for debate.

“though the outcome is predictable, this is definitely a case where the telling is more important than the ending”

Otogi High School has its share of interesting clubs, the “bank” though is different and specialises in doing favours for people in times of need. The only catch is that person owes them a favour to be collected at a later time. So it is that Ryouko, the eponymous Ookami, and her diminutive companion Ringo become part of the bank and carry out some of the more physical jobs they have to deal with. Surrounded by other oddballs such as the cross-dressing president, a bespectacled and thoroughly bonkers scientist, and a boy with social anxiety disorder who wields a mean slingshot. Together they deal with the variety of cases that come to the attention of the bank: from a girl who doesn’t want her senior in the tennis club to leave to someone who wants desperately to win the school’s beauty pageant; regardless of the problem, Ryouko often needs to brandish her iconic cat-shaped boxing gloves to achieve a solution.

Forgettable. Like the stories it chops and blends the individual details of each episode are mostly lost as soon as the cutesy credits roll, the underlying feeling that a good time was had though remains. Instalments are rarely laugh-out-loud hilarious but they don’t take themselves too seriously, whether that is the off-the-wall conclusions or the rampant fourth wall breaking of the the narrator, voice by the wonderfully recognisable Satomi Arai who also gave life to the breathless antics of Kuroko from Toaru Kagaku no Railgun. If one isn’t privy to the creative freedoms the show takes with classic folk tales prior to watching, it would be easy to entirely miss that angle. The shoe-fitting and bicycle-drawn pumpkin carriage of the first episode are hard to miss but they melt into the wholesale nonsense the show peddles.

Whereas the first episode implies it will be Ryouko and Ringo’s helming the stories, the second and third episodes prove just as capable with other characters taking the fore. Certainly Ryoushi’s acute dislike of attention is played for laughs more than drama, but brief glimpses into the mindset behind Ryouko’s wildcat attitude and peeking into the past of the clingy Otohime demonstrate a more measured hand and give hope for the future of the series. Similarly the decision to defy cliché is sometimes head-slappingly great — the rankings in the Miss Otogi High School contest a brilliant example — and though the outcome is predictable, this is definitely a case where the telling is more important than the ending.

It may have the visual style of an A-1 Pictures production but Ookami-san to Shichinin no Nakamatachi is quirky, novel and great fun, what other recent show could make a turtle look vicious and angry? All too easy is it nit pick the sly pilfering from other shows, however there’s enough energy and self-knowing humour not to write it off as simply derivative. The series certainly has its pick of material to plunder with storytellers like Aesop and Grimm, standing it in good stead for the future, whether it will improve its humour enough to be memorable or simply slide into kooky antics will be its true test. ¶

Amagami SS parades hollow, vacuous simpletons around in a grotesque approximation of a romance plot; cretins drawn with all the grace of a gorilla with a crayon shoved up its nose, splattered wholesale into a story that is as if the plot of a romance novel were faxed to the writers but was horribly smeared and distorted in the process, leaving just a grim and disfigured estimate as to what was intended. These are not even characters but amalgamations of the most tired, staid and all-round tedious aspects of archetypes that have mutated into a hideous, cringeworthy diorama of what sociopaths believe realistic or dramatically engaging human interaction is. There is no merciful release from these mannequins pretending to be people, only the grim realisation that there are twenty four episodes of uninspired, stupidity inducing drivel to come.

“delights in emasculating her sycophantic barely-male toy that one day latched onto her like an unwelcome parasite”

The plot as it stands concerns Junichi who after being slighted by an as yet nameless girl doesn’t take the honourable and budget saving route of giving himself over to a psychiatric ward and instead constructs a pithy home made planetarium in his cupboard out of marker pen and tears of rejection. Through the abject failure of natural selection, the doddering halfwits he associates himself with haven’t murdered him out of boredom or compassion and continue to potter about their own superficial lives. His hormones eventually determine he should pursue a girl one year his senior but whose mind is the colour of bitumen and has all the personality of a long deceased lemming. While he kowtows to her every whimsical desire, humiliating himself in front of his sole male acquaintance in the process, she remains fickle and obtuse and, with any luck, is plotting a gory end to his pathetic existence.

Three minutes is how long it takes for the antipathy to form. The first scene is innocuous scene setting and the opening a lilting and frivolous montage of characters whose happiness is forged in the blinding light of stupidity. Then the grievously over-the-top kid sister emerges, replete with laser targeted quirks like frizzy hair and a sickening term of endearment for her belligerent, mentally retarded brother. As the first episode stretches inexorably on, questions bubble to the surface of one’s mind: did someone actually write these characters? Is this a romance or a wildlife documentary on the common pillock? Why hasn’t a benevolent deity taken it upon themselves to rid the world of this tripe? Through some cosmic confluence of misfortune, the succeeding two episodes are even worse by grinding the pace to a halt and giving precedence to what can only be charitably called dialogue.

Individually the stick-figures masquerading as characters could be stomached, but so many are gathered in one place it creates a singularity of unmitigated dross, spewing out the carcasses of once decent ideas and collapsing any hint of decency in on itself. Case in point, the primary romantic interest in this cavalcade of monotony is a fickle, capricious girl who lives in a palatial mansion and delights in emasculating her sycophantic barely-male toy that one day latched onto her like an unwelcome parasite. It’s mind-boggling that she could be desired, either by the protagonist or the audience who are, it is assumed, expected to root for their eventual congress or somehow empathise with their voyage of romantic discovery. Evidently the concern comes from her vacant and pliable mental state which is a boon were she to be convinced to somehow eviscerate the hapless protagonist.

Amagami SS is a crass, deplorable show that in three episodes proves how creatively bankrupt the writers are to produce a romance with a cast that is devoid of character, personality, empathy and interest. Each scene is a torpid examination of uninteresting people who are slaves to their lusts, their whims or their own self-interests. Beyond the fury such vapid and soulless creatures instil is an unending pity that youth has been distilled into clichés and naval-gazing. The series is reprehensible for what it represents: not the joy and exuberance of teenage years but a nostalgic, embittered adult wish fulfilment exercise. Excruciating, lamentable and pathetic, the series relies on a warped view of human relationships and is thoroughly undeserving of both the time lavished on its presentation and any modicum of praise laid upon it. ¶

High School of the Dead recently began airing and has brought the irrepressible zombie to a media which has peculiarly ignored their archetypes in favour of more culturally relevant afflictions such as demonic possession and the like. Based on the manga of the same name, in only two episodes the series has shown a remarkably sympathetic hand for including genre sensitive elements — is that the signature tune for 28 Days Later at the end of the first episode?

“it says volumes that the only females to survive are curvaceous and beautiful”

Widely credited with the creation of the zombie movie genre, George A. Romero’s Dawn of the Dead is one of his earliest and most widely known movies and champions a lot of the situations and scenarios that High School of the Dead apes. More interestingly though, Dawn of the Dead and its mall setting is a scathing commentary on the decadent consumerism and hedonism of the period which is still just as relevant today. Like the best fantasy and sci-fi its fiction was a critique of society and culture, a relevance which very few zombie movies have managed to achieve since.

It raises the question though of just what High School of the Dead is trying to say, if anything? The most obvious is that, like Romero’s mall, high school is rotten and the students are denounced as zombies. Not exactly original and simply transposes Romero’s message to a new locale — it does however fit with stories regarding Japan’s schools: students forced to learn by rote, memorising endless figures and trivia without any awareness or fostering of creativity, safe in the knowledge hundreds of schools across the country are being exposed to the same curriculum at the same time; the only way to survive is to succumb to the same ethos and join the shambling, mute masses.

The setting is more than just zombies in a school though, the first two episodes at least are about students trying to break free and the only way they can do that is by fighting their classmates. This triggers ideas around individuality within a strict and homogenising education system and has been explored by others through symptoms such as gangs and fashion groups. This idea unfortunately falls flat in High School of the Dead when it transpires the students which do survive long enough to band together fall neatly into defined cookie-cutter character types and their only demonstration of individuality is in the colour of their hair which can be attributed more to eager character designers rather than a rebellious attitude.

The fighting between students however is very reminiscent of Battle Royale which, like Dawn of the Dead, laced its carnage with an underlying message, in this case that high school is hell, students fighting against students where only the strong or the cunning survive. Here though, some students are fighting however the rest are devouring each other, wandering in search of their next victim in the same way a bully would looking for someone weak and out-of-place. In that sense the zombies are the normal ones, blindly taking chunks out of their fellow student until someone not ensnared by the system comes and bludgeons them over the head.

What is most fascinating though (for various reasons) is the amount of fan-service present in the series; certainly it fits in with the primal, lizard-brain combat — fighting games such as Dead or Alive and later iterations of Soul Calibur have extolled such an approach not to mention many horror movies featuring gratuitous nudity alongside deplorable violence. Continuing with the concept of fiction reflecting of reality, it says volumes that the only females to survive are curvaceous and beautiful rather than plain and uninteresting — who have no doubt already been devoured.

How the remainder of High School of the Dead pans out will be key to whether these theories and allusions hold water or whether the zombies are simply easy antagonists for a group of high school misfits. From the end of the second episode it seems likely the series will take on board the barren nihilism of an apocalypse, perhaps commenting on slices of Japanese society or as a whole rather than simply lambasting the education system. Of course, this could all be ascribing too much to an anime and manga that rides on the back of a well-trodden genre while throwing in a bevy of strumpets for eye candy while cashing in on the ebb and flow of zombie interest. ¶

First released: October 2005

Aria: The Animation is a holiday — from sexual innuendo, from noise, from fighting and from bustle. As it meanders along, content to show the placid toil of the gondoliers in training — geishas of the canals in everything but name — each episode becomes less about individual triumphs and pacing and more about getting lost in the tranquillity the series has gushing from it. The series may not be to everyone’s taste, it is as much a holiday from drama and plotting as everything else, but for those looking to escape into a pastel coloured reverie there really is no better series; especially so for fans of gentle voices, lilting music, oddly proportioned cats and occasional time travel.

“charmingly naive and has an infectious enthusiasm that elevates her above the common ultra-virtuous stereotype”

Mars, once barren and harsh is now Aqua, flush with water and tamed by technology it is a utopia away from Earth — now Manhome. In the canal-city of Neo-Venezia, gondolas are the best way to travel and the water-ways are run by three companies: the smallest Aria, the biggest Orange Planet, and the oldest Himeya. After traveling from Manhome, Akari becomes an apprentice in Aria Company under the tutelage of the beautiful Alicia — one of the three Water Faeries of the city. Akari may not be the best gondolier — Undine in the series jargon — however she is affable and enjoys life, able to find happiness in the smallest of things. Along with two friends, her time on Aqua is replete with adventures both emotional and personal.

Whereas most series blitz their budgets in the first episode with scenes of pomp and extravagance, here the most exciting development is when the chubby cat, president of Aria Company, is swept away by the current and the pink haired protagonist Akari unleashes her hidden skill: rowing backwards. It speaks volumes when it transpires this is the most dramatic event in the entirety of the thirteen episode run but sets up the kind of approach the series champions: measured, graceful and placid. The cast never raise their voices, the opening has no canned animation and instead glides across the character’s day-to-day lives, even the ending by Round Table and Nino eases the episode to a smooth close so at no point is the atmosphere of blissful serenity broken.

It is rarely a compliment to mention a series sends you to sleep but here it is definitely beneficial: many episodes exist in a dream-like state where no harm, emotional or physical, can befall the protagonists and oddities such as time-travel or letters from the past are accepted without question. The protagonist Akari is subject to many of these quirks and there is an expectance for her to suddenly exclaim “Oh I’m in the past!”, but pleasingly there is just a raised eyebrow and silent acknowledgement. This highlights a key issue with the storytelling in that it may skirt around obnoxious clichés however many of the stories themselves are very childish and range from training on the beach through to the series’ low point which features a whole episode devoted to a deformed, codependent feline.

The characters aid its juvenile whims by not entirely archetypal, but enough to be predictable. The three trainees whose names all confusingly begin with A: Akari, Aika and Alice are also prone to being shown with goofy, super-deformed expressions which isn’t entirely out of character but fractures the mood somewhat. Mitigating this are the three water faeries: Alicia, Akira and Athena who are supremely graceful and act as occasional mentors to their pupils who often cruise around together under the auspices of “group training”.

Although Akari shares the traits of the three top gondoliers and is pitched to succeed Alicia, she is charmingly naive and has an infectious enthusiasm that elevates her above the common ultra-virtuous stereotype. Her relationships with the other characters form the backbone of the series, especially the pint-sized bit-part of the first episode Ai, however her connection with Alicia is heart-warmingly genuine and is one of the high points of the series. Its closest contemporary then in terms of ethos and theme is K-ON! which shares a similar appreciation of the ephemerality of the experiences and relationships of youth; episodes where all the characters do is reminisce around an open fire during winter extol the take away message that friendships and happiness are fleeting and best enjoyed while present rather than chased away with the vagaries of real life.

But whereas K-ON! is loud and brash, screeching with tween pop-rock, Aria the Animation is quieter, living up to its namesake and presenting a fairytale world of gnomes and flying postmen, where even the insects are twee and gussied up with ribbons. Beautiful but ultimately forgettable, this is escapism at its most pure: a world to get lost in, characters one would be happy to associate with and for once a future to look forward to. Some episodes are almost unforgivably slow, but even then the soft-hued visuals and harmonious score carry one away more than the stories ever could. Certainly not to everyone’s liking but for those yearning to melt away into an audio-visual cloud and are able to ignore the faux-Italian trappings and inter-planetary gotchas, this is sublime. ¶

First released: July 2008

It’s easier to think of Strike Witches more as unfulfilling pornography than a more traditional, coherent series; all the hallmarks are present: copious nudity, low camera angles, paper-thin plot, a cast reduced to caricatures, fake lesbianism and innumerable fetishes. It makes it more enjoyable to watch with this in mind as no longer can it be held to the same standards as other series — were that to happen one would likely not make it past the first five minutes of hackneyed, tedious plotting and be reduced to apoplectic cursing within ten. Instead, this is a brainless, fluffy, occasionally uncomfortable but mildly entertaining series that, like porn, walks the line between guilty pleasure and stupefying incredulity.

“it echoes a studio desperate for a widespread hit — and what better way than firing as much ammunition as possible with the hope that some of it will hit?”

Yoshika is a witch in her native country of Japan (Fuso in the series parlance). Her powers make her a perfect candidate for the Strike Witches, a group of young girls who use magic-enhancing machinery to fight against the Neuroi — enigmatic alien aggressors who have razed most of mainland Europe. Initially adverse to the idea, Yoshika’s quest to find her father inevitably leads her into the force which consists of girls of various ages from all over the world from the British Lynette — a sharpshooter in training, to the German Erica — a fantastically talented but slovenly combatant, to the ghostly and clairvoyant Sanya. Yoshika’s battle against the Neuroi may have only just begun, but she may be the key to turning the tide against them for good.

Please note: the remainder of this post con­tains images of nud­ity, if you are offen­ded by these or are oth­er­wise unable to view these images within your muni­cip­al­ity due to laws or moral oblig­a­tions, please do not proceed.

It’s difficult to know where the fetish worship ends and the actual series begins — so many different elements are completely unexplored that the only appropriate conclusion is that the characters and setting were cobbled together by a committee of deviant and lascivious old men. Individually the raunchy idiosyncrasies wouldn’t be out of place for many series, a few would raise an eyebrow but beyond that: business as usual. The amount and voraciousness of them here though is quite staggering: young girls, with magic, from all over the world, in uniforms, flying with mechanical leg engines, sprouting animal ears and firing ridiculously oversized guns. It’s refreshing insofar that the series has gone full bore to attract as many slavish reprobates as possible, but ultimately lamentable that it would go to such lengths and plumb such depths.

The series and director know its audience though and despite frequent trips to the palatial bath there is a keen eye for action with many of the minor skirmishes — rarely lasting longer than a few minutes — surprisingly competent. The rest of the production, abundant crotch-zooms and waist high shots included, is anything but with the narrative being three quarters character introduction and the rest a plot that is foreshadowed in the same way as a goat falling off a cliff. What signals there are with regards the story are entirely ignored, the expected twist never materialises and despite Yoshika’s supposed talent for magic, she continues to underperform. It is childishly put together and obnoxiously dumb in places to the point that the audience is punished for having expectations beyond the characters being in a state of undress at least once per episode.

This is typical Gonzo however and as one of its last series before slipping into a financial purgatory, it echoes a studio desperate for a widespread hit — and what better way than firing as much ammunition as possible with the hope that some of it will hit? No elements of the animation or score are worth mentioning which encapsulates the company’s offerings in its twilight years — this is far from the once great powerhouse that brought out Gankutsuou and Full Metal Panic!

Further proof then that regardless of aspirations, a series’ credibility for cogent storytelling and its ability to craft even half decent characters is destroyed with such a laser-like focus on titillation. There is obvious passion behind some of the stories, but the promise shown in ones such as Yoshika’s punishment for flaunting orders is rendered moot when it neatly segues into yet another sudsy bathing interlude. This is saying nothing of the uncomfortableness of being a voyeur to young girls who canonically range from twelve through to twenty and a teenage fascination with breasts and self-perpetuating envy thereof; episode seven is particularly deplorable with its focus on undergarments — or lack thereof — and the grotesque existence of a fan-altered “uncensored” version.

Playing fast and loose with history is of course part of the fun with series like these, its contemporaries Gunparade March and Lime-iro Senkitan both take very different paths but ultimately end up more successful, the former due to its focus on the ramifications of children in a military, life-and-death situation and the latter for being unpretentious as to its heritage and light hearted nature. Strike Witches regresses women’s rights several millennia and tries to be both boundlessly cheerful and deadly serious, failing resolutely. It is neither sharp enough to foster empathy nor frivolous enough to achieve status as a junk food series. Even as pornography it falters with the same level of naughtiness as the mind of a pre-pubescent boy realising the “no girls” rule for his treehouse isn’t such a good idea.

It’s no surprise this has garnered enough of a following for a second season, with so many different sexual quirks exploited and broad character archetypes to choose from it was bound to lodge in at least a few pleasure centres. Regardless, it is a brutally mediocre offering and succeeds only in highlighting that such a perverse premise can find traction through quantity rather than quality. ¶

The trailer for the latest Silent Hill instalment to come from Konami filled me with a rare kind of glee. However, I haven’t played a Silent Hill game since Homecoming and haven’t completed one since the The Room and it made me wonder why I still get excited about the franchise. The series has seen Akira Yamaoka mutate from music director to music god to game producer, but has now left the nest to join Grasshopper games, so it is certain that his iconic and atmospheric music will not be gracing the eighth entry. The music from the trailer sounds sterling though and while an unabashed fan of his music for Silent Hill, I didn’t greet the news of him leaving Konami and the franchise with anything more than a “huh”.

“far harder is it to see a series slip into confused mediocrity than to precipitously burn out”

I fell in love with Silent Hill, both the town and the game series, during the second and third iterations. The third bizarrely came out in the UK before the rest of the world and was one of the first games I got for the PS2, likewise the second game came belatedly to the Xbox and was another firm favourite. After them however the series faltered and hasn’t really recovered what made it special — certainly all the individual components are present in games such Homecoming but the spark has never been seen since. And yet I still wanted to tear apart the latest trailer and put the pieces under a microscope, examining them for clues and hints as to what was to come.

I had of course fallen out of love with the games long ago, but remained in love with the idea of Silent Hill, the games were simply a vehicle for that and an increasingly poor one. Arguments can be made about the clunky controls or the story but the concept of a town that mirrors the darkest and most primal thoughts of its inhabitants, twisting and torturing them is utterly sublime because it’s psychological rather than physical terror, one that sticks in the mind and crawls under the skin. Suffice to say the franchise had hooked me early on and it now seemed I was at the behest of it regardless of my conscious feelings otherwise.

It’s rare that a series can do that because it is essentially obviating common sense, sneaking around reason and savaging the pleasure centres. Often times it can happen completely unexpectedly as I found out while Ghost in the Shell: Standalone Complex was airing. I watched untranslated releases — obviously with no hope of decoding the complex political dialogue — and contributed entire episode summaries; I ordered all of the special-edition DVDs and was ankle deep in tachikoma models and tat emblazoned with the Section 9 logo; I own the two summary “movies” despite being in possession of both series already. The series had gripped me and not let me go, I was a hostage to its whims.

Which is essentially what Stockholm syndrome is: when captives develop a strong emotional attachment to their captors. Not to denigrate the ordeal that hostages go through, but many of the triggers thought to lead to the psychological effect can be loosely applied to the situation I find myself in. What kind of process is undertaken that allows for this kind of affliction to occur? In some sense it can almost be seen as an addiction, for while Stockholm syndrome predicates being an unwilling hostage, addiction is a wanton urge to indulge in something — often at the expense of other things — which produces a pleasure response.

Addiction seemed too extreme a label for what I was experiencing though, the term usually has negative connotations for its detriment on some part of the individual — a reduced bank balance certainly wasn’t it. In a way it seemed like a conditioned response: popularised by Ivan Pavlov it is (simplistically) when a physical or emotional response is stimulated through some other means, in the original experiment the dogs salivated not only when their food was being made, but when the person who usually made it was present.

It seemed plausible when I had spent many an hour engrossed in Silent Hill and GITS:SAC, it was certainly possible that the excitement and thrill of experiencing these series could be primitively triggered. This would make sense given the length of time it anecdotally takes for conditioning to wear off — if there wasn’t any squandering or abuse of the franchise then there would not be a strong enough cause to break one’s programming. In reality however it is likely none of the above, all too specialised or grandiose to be applied to a moment of glee when seeing a new entry in a familiar franchise.

More likely it’s simply hope or anticipation, that a once great or populous series could come out of the doldrums and justify the time spent in adoration — far harder is it to see a series slip into confused mediocrity than to precipitously burn out. Inertia is a difficult force to overcome when there is such ready availability.

Or perhaps I’m just overthinking this and the next instalment of Silent Hill will in fact be a return to form. I mean, it can only get better, right?

Silent Hill 8 trailer obtained from the GameTrailers site.
Silent Hill image by Nekkeau

 ¶

Coming from the husband and wife team that includes Brian Ashcraft of Kotaku and WIRED fame, Japanese Schoolgirl Confidential charts the rise of schoolgirls in Japan from background to brand, exploring the details and influences that surround them. Printed in a stubby, easily held format, the book is littered with photographs and illustrations that support the content, but is also adorned with a variety of kitschy, gaudy paraphernalia like faux-diamond bordered hearts as image captions and heart stickers in the corners. The format is fitting for the subject matter, keying into the peppy and sparkly façade, but completely at odds with the variety and veracity of content that the book offers from start to finish. The level of research, care and attention that has been put in is gratifying for a book that could easily have been as vapid and frivolous as one assumes the eponymous schoolgirls are.

“the writing is fluid and encourages extended reading with stand out chapters on fashion and the history of the uniform”

The greratest triumph of the book is in debunking that mentality: that the schoolgirls, decked out in iconic sailor-suit school uniforms, are a product carried by a society that has a borderline hysterical lust for cute characters and intense consumerism. Subverting that impression to show the girls as drivers behind many of the sea-changes that happened in fashion and product development to moulding gender issues is cleverly done and achieved through example more than a stolid recounting of facts. The book is divided into eight chapters that begin by covering the history of the most obvious trait — the uniform — then moving on to idols, film, magazines, art and wrapping up with video games, manga and anime.

It is testament to the writing style and structure of the book that it can be devoured so swiftly with each subject naturally leading to the next. The different approaches taken, whether interviews, event coverage or just simply diving in and going from there, means that while finer grained details are left out, the core message of the book is never far away. This is about a modern phenomenon that only over the last thirty or so years has become prescient and it naturally deals with modern concerns such as the relationship between youth and nostalgia, sexual issues such as compensated dating as well as the voracious uptake of modern technology.

The book’s greatest strength is not in the individual details which are left as exercises for the reader to investigate, but in drawing together all of the disparate elements surrounding the phenomenon. Anyone who has been glancingly exposed to Japanese culture would be hard pressed not to find something familiar here, especially so in the anime and video game section which will no doubt be nothing more than retreads for many. But the connections drawn between all of the different pieces prove invaluable, the idol section especially is a goldmine regarding Morning Musume, AKB48 and their predecessor the Onyanko Club. Similarly the film section links together past and present schlock horror productions with big-budget powerhouses such as Battle Royale and Kill Bill.

Odd then that the book’s most glaring omission is that of a conclusive summary, stopping abruptly after the anime and manga chapter and shooting straight into the bibliography and index. It reflects the book’s pick-and-mix mentality, the belief that perhaps if a reader isn’t interested in the art of Makoto Aida or Akane Koide they can skip over it, consuming what they see fit rather than reading cover to cover. The constant reiteration of terms also reinforces this with repetition of colloquialisms and key terms which were thoroughly covered in prior chapters. This is a shame when the writing is fluid and encourages extended reading with stand out chapters on fashion and the history of the uniform, making reference to real life events and locations and subsequently feeling more personal and story-like than the others.

Perhaps through prior exposure to Brian’s work, the video game and anime chapters seem the most intensely researched and the most prone to a more conversational style. The little asides such as “…and added things like the ability to go shopping. Yay shopping.” are brilliant to read and add some levity to, what is on the face of it, a rather absurd topic. It’s easy to read into why there aren’t more of these when it risks trivialising an already transient subject and what’s present is already jaunty enough without further editorialising.

On the whole then it’s good to see a straight-faced, judiciously light hearted take on a subject that hadn’t been covered in such coherent and extensive detail before. By its nature the subject and subsequently the book ends up feeling superficial despite the obvious research poured into it: covering pop-culture, manufactured bands and designer fashion; however the format and tone are savvy and self-knowing in that regard and to its credit, never comes across as vacuous or boring. A keen starting point then to a topic which would do well to see further scrutiny. ¶

A definitive list of things wrong with Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood: the second half doesn’t focus on the Elric brothers enough, the opening episodes move too quickly for newcomers, some of the episode cliffhangers feel forced, the cities are unimaginatively named. With those out of the way, all that’s left to say is that this is probably one of the finest, most unspeakably brilliant series to have ever been produced. Flaws are present but they are insignificant in comparison to the wealth of overriding positives — every element is sublimely constructed whether that’s the story, characters or animation and for once a series has the budget and creative clout to thoroughly trounce all but the most high-profile productions. It may not be perfect, but it is the closest that any series or movie has yet reached and it transcends its media to achieve something extraordinarily special.

“their hubris ultimately dooms them but it is humans and their power that defeats them”

Edward and Alphonse Elric are alchemists, gifted from a young age they are the youngest to have ever joined the state military. Their past however is far from blessed, the death of their mother and their subsequent handling was not without its consequences, for one Ed lost both an arm and a leg, now replaced with prosthetic “auto-mail”. Al on the other hand lost his entire body, he is now soul-bound to a suit of armour — able to move and talk but not eat, sleep or feel the touch of another. Together they are on a quest to regain their bodies, but dark forces are stirring and their foes — both human and alchemy borne — are many. Their friends are equally numerous though, and with the help of people like Mustang, the flame alchemist, their old teacher Izumi and their childhood friend Winry, they could well triumph over such world-encompassing adversity.

The existence of the previous, well-regarded Fullmetal Alchemist series poses the burning question of why bother to remake it? The first was wildly popular and though held significant flaws, was enjoyable both as a series and with the concluding movie. That the latest series follows the manga is not an instant, resounding endorsement but the quality of the narrative and characters proves without a doubt this is a juggernaut compared to the previous series’ ant-like stature. Beyond the opening few episodes there are few links between the two and comparisons become meaningless: this series is better in absolutely every regard. Whereas some tertiary characters were spun out into protagonists and antagonists, here they are killed-off or rightly marginalised to make room for the ones which prove the most engaging.

This quality is most evident in the villains, starting with the iconic Scar and finishing with a creature that attains the power of God. Scar is the most traditional of antagonists in that he is directly opposed to the protagonists — Ed and Al — and his raison d’etre is for them to perish, as the series progresses this ebbs until he is no longer an aggressor but not quite an ally. The glory of his development is that there is never a defined turning point when he switches sides, kowtowing to the good guy’s whims; his purpose never changes but his methods evolve as both he and the audience learns more about his reasons. Though he is constantly on the edge of breaking, bulging with a primal anger, his search for revenge and then redemption sparks some brilliant drama beyond the superb alchemical battles, most poignantly with Winry who herself grows with the series.

She however is just one of a cornucopia of strong female characters that make the series so exhilarating and different to other anime. The risk that Winry would become the antithesis to the series’ genre-defiant nature and sink to a fan-service pin-up is mostly avoided barring a couple of sigh eliciting moments — she may be the most whimsical of the leading females but she is far from two dimensional. Being in the shadow of Ed and Al as well as the death of her parents are key to a lot of her development and though she is quite literally left at home in the latter quarter of the series, she provides as much emotion as she does levity. Generalising any of the other stellar female roles would be lesson in futility and to have even one of this calibre in a series is rare, but to have several is extraordinary.

First is Lan Fan, the gung-ho bodyguard to the eastern king Lin who even in her introduction is demonstrated to be immensely capable and headstrong; after her tussle with Bradley though she shows a pragmatism and frailty that is remarkably endearing. It is a shame that she has a tendency to disappear for long spells, however her scenes are always rife with sentiment. The mid-series introduction of Olivier Armstrong however is magnificent; in charge of the far northern Briggs base, she is brutally practical and inspires a fierce and unyielding loyalty in her subordinates. Though charmingly referred to as an “Ice Queen” by her introductory episode’s title, she is hot-blooded, hard-nosed and instrumental to the events of the finale.

Of all the characters though, both male and female, it is Riza Hawkeye who stands out amongst them. A physically and emotionally strong woman, her status as a sharpshooter and non-alchemist would be enough to secure her as one of the most interesting, however it’s her past with Roy Mustang that is the most heartbreaking. Her devotion to him forged through trust and mutual understanding, it’s telling that when she is transferred under Bradley that she is relegated to making tea and following him around. Her fall from a confident and assertive woman in a commanding position to such menial chores is more degrading than anything she is subjected to later on.

Mustang’s position as a protagonist comes into its own upon the death of his closest friend, something which, like all deaths in the series, has meaning and stays with him, continually referenced until the series climax; but again it’s his gutsy, utilitarian nature that makes him so brilliant. On more than one occasion his fire alchemy is the subject of some stunning scenes that mark emotional and animation high points, but the side of his character most explored is the divide between his goals and his actions. Claiming he will do anything to ascend to the rank of Führer, more than once his morality and motives are brought into question, living by the maxim of “the ends justify the means” it is up to Hawkeye to temper him as best she can, quelling the concealed fury when it boils over.

It is that emotion which many of the more accessible enemies, the Homunculi, lack and one of the series strongest messages is on the nature of humanity and their difference to that of monsters. This ethos is explored throughout from the very first encounter with the Sewing-life alchemist whose experiment is just as achingly heartbreaking as it was in the first series, through to the chimera who can mutate their bodies at will. Every homunculus demonstrate different shades of this: Envy — a chameleon amongst humans but a torrid and grotesque monster beneath; Greed — longing for comrades but cowering within his shell or Sloth — constantly working and begging for a quiet life. It is Wrath though that demonstrates how vividly an antagonist can be drawn.

More than any other Wrath is ferociously terrifying by being the most human — replete with passion, goals, family and child — but also the most heartless, ceaselessly carving a bloody path through anyone who opposes him. His demise is littered with more fake deaths than is warranted, but his tenacity cannot be denied. Fundamentally that is how all of the series’ antagonists are bested, their hubris ultimately dooms them but it is humans and their power that defeats them. All of them search for humanity in their own way, even ones once thought devoid such as Kimbley, and ultimately have to submit to its power and be overwhelmed, regardless of the supernatural strength they possess. The homunculi after all can only emulate humans, never surpass them.

“gob-smacking battles that are slick and kinetic, making it feel as if one’s eyes were orgasming”

Humanity is something that both of the Elrics deal with throughout the series and it feeds back into the series’ subtitle: brotherhood. Al especially has to come to terms with the concept that he could have been crafted, bound to the armour with false memories rather than affixed as a soul. Likewise, although he ostensibly has an immortal body that never needs to sleep or eat, he is entirely dependent upon Ed for repairs and on more than one occasion he is wrecked almost to the point of ruination. Many elements about the soul binding are left untold lest it become steeped in science rather than theology, some concern over water wouldn’t have gone amiss though. By far the greatest triumph of the pair though is that their companionship never feels forced and there is a genuine chemistry between them that is all the more apparent when they are divided later in the series.

Theirs is a path of punishment — of themselves and of the villains, redemption — coming to terms with what it means to regain their lost bodies, and ultimately family. When the nature of the philosopher’s stones is exposed, the promise they make seems almost throwaway but it permeates how they live, and even in the final moments when all hope seems to have evaporated, there is a trust and commitment that succinctly defines their characters. The series is many things: political, supernatural, romantic and war, but it is primarily their journey, a coruscating coming of age tale; there is a palpable sense of progression as the final episode ends not just in Ed’s increased height or Winry’s longer hair, but in the weight of their achievement.

The ease and comfort the series exhibits in so many different areas is often breathtaking, deftly sliding from gob-smacking battles that are slick and kinetic, making it feel as if one’s eyes were orgasming, through to quiet reposes where volumes are said with Winry quietly wiping blood from Al’s armour. That juxtaposition is evident throughout, especially so at the beginning when storming through familiar territory for series veterans, oscillating between goofy, super-deformed humour and serious dialogue. So too is it present in the characters, Olivier and Alex’s combative relationship opposes Ed and Al’s, similarly the nuclear family enjoyed by Bradley contrasts with Ed and Al’s status as orphans, all the more poignant when their wayward father Hoenheim is considered.

Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood encapsulates the full gamut of characters and emotions, it tells an original story blisteringly well. It is about great lions of men, graceful and strong women, families and friends, enemies and allies. It has everything that a good story should have and that includes a conclusive and satisfying ending, a meaty and revelatory middle and a balls-to-the-wall beginning. Whereas the first series could best be described as for younger boys, this one is anything but: dark, bloody and adult it is challenging and subversive, never slipping into cliché and always, without fail, entertaining. What faults can be identified risk becoming petty hair-splitting when such an enormous swell of sheer excellence is elsewhere. There is no other way of describing the series as anything other than an unmitigated masterpiece of creativity and execution and it stands as a classic of epic proportions. ¶

Yojouhan Shinwa Taikei is a reminder of just how thrilling a series can be when it dares to be different. Underneath the speed talking protagonist and the eyeball LSD art-style is a current of enthusiasm that is positively infectious; it toys with narrative, characters, aesthetics and music in such a playful and endearing way that before long it doesn’t matter if the series fits together all the pieces, the energy and cast are enough to carry it through. That it does tie together all the story threads in a way that is achingly brilliant is just another reason to fall completely and utterly in love. Unpretentious, endlessly enjoyable and supremely satisfying, this is a series whose execution and limitless creativity is only the tip of something sublime.

“there are precise clockwork mechanisms working beneath the surface […] and the fun comes from piecing together what they are operating”

It doesn’t seem to matter which university club the protagonist chooses, events never end up how he wants them to. Tennis, cycling, foreign languages, film — all conclude with him unhappy and burdened with the desire to turn back the clock to relive his two years and obtain his rose-coloured campus life. His misadventures are accompanied by a panoply of roguish characters: the devious and incomparably snide Ozu, the belligerent and mottephobic Akashi, the plunging chin of the easygoing Higuchi or the dentistry student Hanuki — prone to giving gum massages when inebriated. The protagonist is convinced his discontent stems from a wayward decision, the question is will he ever make the right choice in order to be happy?

At first it seems as if the series will follow the same scenario as Groundhog Day whereby the unnamed protagonist is forced to repeat his predicament until he somehow stumbles upon the correct cosmic alignment of circumstances to allow him to proceed. Thankfully the story here is far more subtle and feeds into the protagonist’s mindset and although his eventual escape is triggered by a single event, it is the process leading up to that which is the most fascinating. The story is further individualised by resetting the protagonist as well, making him completely unaware of his repetition — not even a throwaway mention of deja vu. At first this seems like it may become infuriating, however as each episode spins off on wildly tangential lines — showing separate characters, situations and outcomes — the joy and intrigue from guessing where the series will travel next builds to immense proportions.

Although every scenario is interlinked, the true scale of their connection isn’t wholly apparent without a subsequent viewing — so powerful is the ending’s revelations it almost feels like a wholly different series. This isn’t an undermining twist, just beautifully paced exposition — the pieces were all in play from the beginning, it just took eleven episodes before the rules were made clear. Certain episodes foreshadow this: obvious ones such as a bearded protagonist climbing through a window to meet his clean-shaven and utterly shocked doppelgänger, but more devious connections are littered everywhere and practically fall off characters such as Higuchi. The beauty is that these hooks need not be noticed for the series to be enjoyable — certainly it would be mildly baffling without them but the overall impression the series leaves is determinedly upbeat.

It’s only once these individual strands are identified and teased out that the true measure of the series can be had. Simple things like the ending, a haunting and synthetic tune dubbed over abstract tatami floor plans, become indicative of the message the series peddles; even more so when it is switched for the opening, mirrored and reversed in the final episode. The feeling that there are precise clockwork mechanisms working beneath the surface of the show is widespread and the fun comes from piecing together what they are operating. Attention and care like this can only come from an inspired mind, and it is no surprise that the multi-talented Masaaki Yuasa is behind this, the stamps of Mindgame, Kemonozume and Kaiba all too clear.

Other production members are, similarly, stalwarts of those series but it is the art-punch aesthetics that really steal the spotlight. Angles dart about from low and oblique to long and lingering and rarely an episode goes by without some contorted transition of scenery melting or character twisting animation. There may never be much detail to the characters but their malleability more than makes up for this, combined with acutely cluttered backgrounds or even switching to stuttering live action and the result is visuals which feel like barely restrained chaos, waiting for an opportunity to leap off the screen.

If the visuals wow, it is the audio which reigns them in with unintrusive music from Michiru Oshima throughout and Asian Kung Fu Generation for the opening, the cast is similarly subdued. The protagonist, voiced by Shintaro Asanuma, does a brilliant job with the unique rapid fire dead pan, adding a solemn and likeable side to what could have easily turned into yet another Kyon from Haruhi. Ozu is similarly superbly voiced his words dripping with subversion. It is of course Maaya Sakamoto as Akashi who stands out the most though; a masterpiece of characterisation: with very few scenes featuring her and fewer still with any meaningful dialogue she remains an enigma, yet one that is supremely enticing regardless of her voice actor.

It is here that the series demonstrates that even with so little it can achieve so much. The protagonist may dip into extended diatribes on life, but the speed and ease of delivery means they’re rarely dull; a maelstrom of consciousness with nuggets of truth and revelation buried within them. The series’ hook may be rewinding time but its strengths are elsewhere. Best illustrated in the central three episode arc which has the suitably oblivious protagonist make a choice between three different females, of course all of them entirely unsuitable. It’s here where the audience is introduced to the cowboy, the representation of the protagonist’s libido, and yet another layer, this time allegorical, is added to the series’ wiles. It is also at this point that Akashi’s involvement with the protagonist’s plight is made obvious and his utter obliviousness to this initially disconcerting.

There is so much to love with Yojouhan Shinwa Taikei that it’s all to easy to slip into superlatives, incoherently rambling about the 4.5 tatami universe and its commentary on a life replete with choices. More importantly than all the different layers, the cyclic storytelling, the connection with string theory and many worlds, is that every episode without fail just puts a smile on one’s face. Whether it is the self-knowing absurdity of looking after a love doll for a film maker obsessed with breasts, or a begrudging envy of the protagonist working non-stop to buy bicycle parts, the situations are so novel, the characters so elegant and the animation so beguiling it stops being just another series and ascends to a modern classic. Free of pomp and circumstance, it doesn’t explode with audacity but burns hot right through to the end. Simply magnificent.

 ¶

The most obvious question to ask about Working!! is where it sits with regards its contemporaries. The easiest answer is: somewhere between Azumanga Daioh and Minami-ke. This puts it in an odd position where its intended audience is concerned for it’s not surreal enough to garner a cult following and not accessible enough to be immediately appealing. Sure the idea of a violently androphobic girl is quirky, but the restaurant setting is littered with customs and rituals that are foreign enough to be disconnecting. The series then occupies a middle ground, rarely laugh-out-loud hilarious but frequently inspired, inventive but tends to grind its best ideas, fulfilling and satisfying but lacking the spark that would elevate this beyond a fleeting curio.

“there is a baffling fixation on the cross-dressing of boys as beautiful girls, and their relatively blasé acceptance of it”

When Sota is recruited on the street by the diminutive and infectiously cheery Poplar, he is inducted into the world of the Wagnaria restaurant. Staffed by a cast of misfits which includes a layabout, parfait devouring manager, Kyouko, an overprotective sword-toting waitress, Yachiyo, the ordinarily demure but in fact freakishly strong Mahiru, and Hiroomi whose talent for leveraging information about his co-workers provides him with an easy day’s work. Sota by comparison adores small and cute things but after being repeatedly punched by Mahiru, vows to cure her of her androphobia. Meanwhile all manner of shenanigans transpire in the restaurant starting with the adoption of Aoi, a wayward teenager who the head manager, Hyogo, meets on his travels to find his absent wife. And despite what the quiet Maya may claim, she is just another one of the varied and off-beat employees that make Wagnaria so eclectic.

The opening episodes restrict the narrative to events within the restaurant and though this works while Sota acclimatises to the idiosyncrasies of his colleagues, it ultimately proves too restrictive and the later episodes see various orientations of the core group go further afield. This removes some of the boundaries workplace relationships naturally have and the group stop being just staff and start bonding as friends and more, best seen with the burgeoning relationship between Mahiru and Sota. Unfortunately this also exposes how flimsy the characters are and though not quite one-trick, there is a core stable of jokes that by the end of the series begins to wear thin.

Mahiru’s combative approach to men is the most prominent running gag and the one that is thoroughly run into the ground; the timid violence meted out by her at the beginning is endearing and the writers obviously caught on to the chemistry between her and Sota by deciding to make that pairing the series’ focus. It runs out of steam far too quickly though and other characters like the surprisingly likeable Aoi and the spunky Poplar are marginalised. Even when the latter is afforded some development it is off the back of the main narrative and is flaccid by comparison to her earlier status when she was the driving force behind many of the series greatest and funniest moments.

To its credit there is an ongoing natural selection of jokes: weaker ones are trimmed and less frequently referenced while newer ones, usually arriving with a new character or situation, bring fresher situations. Sota’s family of females is the most promising of these but it is evident there were worries of concentrating too heavily on them lest it become to much like its predecessor Minami-ke. Like that series there is a baffling fixation on the cross-dressing of boys as beautiful girls, and their relatively blasé acceptance of it, in this case Sota who was mentally primed as a toddler by being dressed in female clothes, by his parents no less. Combine this with Mahiru’s borderline abusive upbringing and the show exhibits a vicious undercurrent against parents.

Episodes also rarely progress as expected, best demonstrated with the staple hot-springs episode which doesn’t involve hot-springs. This can be mostly attributed to the source material’s four-panel heritage which promotes segmented gags rather than extended storylines and perhaps why the Sota and Mahiru relationship is so tepid. Partly though the writing is strong enough to tiptoe around cliché, whether that is the old standard of following a pair on their date or the almost inevitable sleep over, events unfold somewhere between dramatic and slapstick, again enforcing the series resolutely middle of the road approach.

As expected, this hinders more than it helps and the lack of a hook to ensnare or a niche to fill means there is difficulty differentiating itself from the myriad other similarly positioned shows. It fits perfectly with A-1 Pictures previous series — Kannagi and Sora no Woto — both of which are enjoyable and serviceable shows but never connect in ways that braver ones do. Even the art style — pastel fresh and rife with texture — seems affable despite its consistent quality that the studio is becoming known for. In a way this exists in the shadows of greats, though it can’t be described as entirely derivative it owes a debt to the series that paved the way for it.

Despite Working!!‘s cheery demeanour, there is an element of sadness to it as well. Whether that’s the lamentation of parents irrevocably damaging their children, a girl unable to approach the opposite gender or twelve year old willingly joining the restaurant for “experience”; the series may not attempt to tackle meaningful issues but it exposes them, however inadvertently. The series is of course at its core a comedy and at that it succeeds on more than a few occasions on raising a chuckle, the final episodes lose their way somewhat with a lackadaisical narrative that is only enjoyable insofar that the remaining characters pick up the slack. Regardless, it saves perhaps its best joke for last with Maya but joins the list of comedies that are transiently enjoyable but too swiftly forgotten. ¶

Hironori Toba, producer of Angel Beats, said in an interview prior to its premiere that thirteen episodes wasn’t enough to tell the story Jun Maeda had envisioned. He was lying. Somewhere between the baseball episode and the protracted and overblown ending it becomes apparent the series doesn’t know what it’s doing beyond trying to force the audience to feel something for its tepid and underdeveloped cast. Trapped beneath a script which oscillates from terrible to appalling and a story with more holes and useless caveats than development is some mediocre commentary and a smattering of interesting ideas. It is saddening such high production values are wasted on a show that with some tightening and tweaking could have been immeasurably better.

“prancing between ideologies like a hummingbird with ADHD”

Otonashi is dead. Now trapped in a mysterious purgatory, he must fight alongside other teenagers against a mysterious girl named Angel who is determined for them to enjoy a school life as normal students. Unlike the other members of the haphazardly coordinated battlefront though, Otonashi doesn’t have any memories of how he ended up in purgatory. Everyone else it seems either to have perished in the most ignominious of ways, or wandered in rife with emotional baggage. The war against Angel is not without its complexities though and it is up to an eclectic group consisting of a hacker, a ninja, a judo champion, a spacey rocker and myriad others to tackle each challenge as it arises. Uncertainty is endemic and who was once foe may become friend, they may even meet God himself in this world.

Though the series is littered with a variety of, mostly western, religious ideas: purgatory, God, angel, a hacker demanding to be called Christ; these are only the most superficial of allegories. Little is made of them beyond name-dropping and instead there is an ostensibly deeper emphasis placed on the students’ place within school and the overbearing, violent need to conform. The students, whether it is the permanently tripping T.K. or the halberd wielding Noda, stand out against the carbon-copy NPCs that populate the world. It at first appears then that Angel — the littlest automaton — represents society’s push to assimilate and become “normal” and though these students may be delinquents, the celebration of their uniqueness and the teacher’s inability to control or engage them is somehow a good thing.

This is dispensed with mid-way through with a revelation regarding Angel that is so blindingly obvious it’s borderline insulting that any time is given over to the characters mulling it over. Regardless of the series taking a tangential route from that point onwards, that nugget of exposition stops the characters from being oddities in a world of mediocrity, and leaves them as just odd. They are eclectic for no other reason than to lend the group some dynamism, as if a roulette wheel of personality traits had been spun, only of these pockets three-quarters involve traumatic pasts, the remaining quarter include hospital beds and the unfairness of reality.

These may be typical Jun Maeda traits, and he may be responsible for the well-regarded CLANNAD and Air series; however here he has evidently been given too much leniency and too little oversight by gifting every incidental character with a past fit for a tabloid sob story. Bed-bound paralysed girls, murdered siblings, literal train wrecks are all fair game in order to eke out some sliver of sympathy for the characters. These back stories are related in such a ham-fisted way though that they completely destroy all pacing the series has built up prior to their exposure. This would be unforgivable were the stories not so damnably engaging. Short vignettes of humanity that show more promise than the ongoing events do and entire series could spring from these seeds.

Instead, there are a few minutes of pathos porn, then back to the staring into sunsets and planning the next cheeky prank to play on Angel to undermine her. To make pacing even more scattershot, moments of comedy are interspersed, sometimes with such fervour it’s hard not to laugh. The goofy absurdity that characters are subjected to, whether that’s bone-shattering wrestling moves or getting skewered as a valid delaying tactic, are laugh-out-loud funny, but this creates friction with the sympathy the audience is expected to feel for these pathetic lost souls. The series is composed of histories decrying the injustice of the world, ongoing skirmishes against Angel and other afterlife hooligans, and slapstick comedy. Any two of those work together, whether mutually complimentary or harshly juxtaposed, all three however leaves the series muddled and confused.

In a way it is focus not imagination that ultimately dooms the series. Creativity and talent is present everywhere from the sublime visuals and animation to the character designs and underlying connotations of the story, but squandered by always placing the onus on the uninteresting rather than the satisfying. For instance: Yuri, the self-styled leader of the battlefront is happy to extol the trauma of her past with the slightest provocation, yet we never find out how she died so young; T.K. the English-spouting musician seems utterly carefree, how is it he is so blithe yet still trapped in purgatory? Even the world itself is given a torturous back story but in a thoroughly misguided case of Matrix envy, relegates this exposition to nine minutes of torturous dialogue with a hitherto unmentioned antagonist, by the end of which one’s brain is dribbling out in order to escape the reprehensible attempt at storytelling.

Hinori Toba’s implication then that given more episodes the intended scenario would have been played out in a more satisfactory manner seems wishful thinking. What the series lacks is not time but judiciousness: an eye to strip out the superfluous, the bloated and destructive conclusion that contorts the protagonists a prime choice; the creative strength to concentrate on a coherent theme and message rather than prancing between ideologies like a hummingbird with ADHD. More time may have given space for other characters to breathe, obviating the series’ most egregious fault in letting characters literally wink out of existence, but with such a large cast would it have been possible without completely shredding the main narrative with frequent sojourns into the tear-soaked past of the next angst-ridden soul?

It says volumes for Angel Beats that in the last moments of the protagonist, when all the emotion and drama that went before should be at its zenith, nothing but disdain is felt. The idea driving the series has been done so many times before in so many different media — Iain Banks’ The Bridge just one of them; yes the idea that computers can control the world is a good one, especially in Japan whose uptake of computers has been at arm’s length, but it’s just one of a multitude of ideas in a grab-bag of influences and concepts. The most heartbreaking part of the series is not the pure unsullied sentiment that courses beneath the skin of every character, but the realisation that it could have been so much more beautiful. As the series stands, it is a panoply of sterling ideas incompetently told with stunning visuals and sterling musical accompaniment. Great in parts, but ultimately poor in aggregate. ¶

Mikado comes to Ikebukuro after his friend Masaomi gets angsty, wants to see Sunshine City. Girl has rubbish home life, gets angsty, gets kidnapped. Girl saved by Black Rider with cute helmet, is told by Izaya she was played, gets angsty, jumps off building. Saved by Black rider then never seen again.

Mikado goes to school, sees Anri, is betwitched by her large chest. Masaomi tries to pick up girls, tells Mikado about gangs. That could be important later on. They run into Dotachin and Erika and other people who aren’t as awesome. Anri getting bullied by badly dressed ganguro girls and a mentally retarded gang member. Mikado tries to save her, fails, Izaya stomps on a phone. People run. Bartender shouts at Izaya, gang members attack bartender, now Shizuo, man gets clothes punched off him. Large black Russian stops the fight — isn’t that always the way?

“Izaya plays shogi-chess-checkers with himself, loses, sets board on fire, plays cards, loses, burns cards. Not a good day for indoor games.”

Shinra makes bad home movies for Black Rider, now Celty. She yearns for (her) head. Head crime in Ireland rises 100%. Shinra’s dad cuts up Celty, Shinra sees Celty’s breasts. Mikado still fascinated by Anri’s chest, so is a pervy teacher. Masaomi saves the day. Runs into some gang members, Mikado tries to save him, fails, sword wielding lunatic with crazy eyes interrupts them. She might be important. Masaomi knows a girl in the hospital, Jun Maeda gets angsty.

Dotachin, Erika and some other unimportant characters go to save someone equally unimportant. Chloroform fun. Shizuo has a brother and uncontrollable rage. Lifts refrigerator, gets hospitalised. Tries to save bakery owner, fails, gets annoyed by Shinra, meets Celty. Shizuo angered by Izaya, gets chest cut, run over by van, not hospitalised. Finds solace in hitting people with signs. Becomes debt collector, roughs people up for money. Anger management.

Celty dreams of (her) head, gets angsty, sits around in pyjamas, makes bad food. Creates black sphere of tsundere. Anri loses her shoes, Celty talks to Shizuo, Celty and Shinra have sushi. Celty’s head looks like one attached to some girl. Ménage à trois imminent. Seiji mentally tortured by sister, father had Celty’s head in a jar, Seiji falls in love with head. Everyone just wants (that) head. Seiji turns out to be psychotic. Shocker. Kills girl, sister sorts out, head supposedly attached to girl. Head now wants to wear hats all the time. Head runs away (with body), Seiji stabs Shizuo with a pen, not exactly the Bourne Identity.

Celty chases after head, Mikado takes head (with body) back to apartment. Invites Masaomi over. Sexy hijinks do not ensue. Mikado asks about Dollars, all about the benjamins, tries to ask out Anri. Fails. Mikado gets bullied by retarded gang member version two, now with added hair. Izaya stomps on gang member. People run. Celty confronts Mikado, wants head. Mikado willing to give. Apartment now filled with cleaner thugs, that sort of infestation will need addressing. Mikado mobilises the Dollars, I love it when a plan comes together.

Seiji’s sister berates Mikado, dramatic text message sorts her out. Isaac and Miria make best cameo evar. Celty talks to head, Dotachin provides. Mikado king of the Dollars. Celty gets angry, defies gravity, starts carving up fools. Everyone shocked she is headless. All she wants is (her) head. Head intervenes, apparently not Celty’s head at all: crazy stalker. Seiji classes her as rank amateur, minces her face. Seiji’s sister fixes face with help of Shinra, adds dandy scar mark. All Seiji wanted was (Celty’s) head, all he got was this disfigured stalker. Celty mad at Shinra, but Celty is warm and fuzzy for him. Hugging ensues. Izaya has Celty’s head, hopes it no longer has bite reflex.

New opening, sad Anri in rain. Seiji and stalker now inseparable, psycho and stalker, together at last. Celty gets hassled by traffic cop. He might be important. Shinra’s dad arrives, wears gas mask and surgical gloves, even in the shower, runs from Celty. He might be important too. Anri still getting hit on by teacher. Also bullied, retreats to happy place, monochrome. Journalist starts asking about strong people, was punched by Shizuo. Redundant. Wait he was important? Gets stabbed outside house, symptoms include acute stupidity, red eyes, penchant for knives. Shizuo squashes journalist with van door, Celty takes knife, Erika still awesome.

Demon blade Saika apparently not made in Japan 2009. Knock at Anri’s door, girl with crazy eyes, of course please come in. Crazy eyes also glow, this can’t be good, where did you hide that knife? Knock at the door. It’s the pervy teacher, crazy eyes wants to get stabby. Shizuo wants to bludgeon Izaya, interrupted by crowd all wearing grey. Ganguro girls wielding knives, guess they weren’t carved up. Shizuo punches a lot of people, gets natty gloves. Crazy eyes tries to stab Anri. That’s not a knife, this is a knife. Saika.

Shizuo keeps punching people, Anri reminisces, not super fun happy times. Anri wields Saika, crazy eyes just Saika-lite, saves the day. Teacher runs away, no freaky schoolgirl sex for him. Anri in hospital bed, is that necessary for a cut on the face? Izaya planned it all, no really. Meeting for people who like yellow clothing, well if it isn’t Masaomi. Izaya plays shogi-chess-checkers with himself, loses, sets board on fire, plays cards, loses, burns cards. Not a good day for indoor games. Masaomi has troubled past. Of course. Rolled with the Yellow Scarves, girlfriend with huge head got smooshed by Blue Squares, Red Shoes and Purple Circles strangely quiet. Dotachin saves Masaomi’s girlfriend, Erika still awesome. Masaomi angsty.

Anri leaves hospital, facial wound healed enough for her to be able to walk. Masaomi distant, angsty. People talk on the internet, Izaya pretends he’s a girl. LOL. Yellow Scarves beat up Dollars, Anri infiltrates HQ, wearing one piece hoody. Fails. Is saved by Celty, mount and blade. Izaya: all according to plan. Dotachin, Erika and some other people talk to Masaomi, don’t run from your past tiny blonde one. Yellow Scarves getting out of hand, Masaomi too busy being angsty to notice.

Anri makes things worse by remote controlling Yellow Scarves members, yeah she can do that now. Mikado is angsty, worried about Anri’s chest, types at his computer. Typical nerd. Anri in trouble, Yellow Scarves give chase, thrilling escape! Dollars mailing list saves the day. Spam filters ineffective. Anri now bunny girl, wrong type. Masaomi punches wall, Anri runs away. Angst levels critical. Shizuo annoyed at phone, punches Yellow Scarves members, Anri saved, is taken home by Celty. Shinra’s chances of threesome increase. Mikado happy, looks up at rain, mobile phone still works. Shizuo shot, bummer.

Everyone walking about in rain, buy umbrellas people. Masaomi no longer in control of Yellow Scarves, surprise! Shizuo fine, patched up by Shinra. Celty visits Mikado, Rent-a-Dullahan business is booming. Izaya plays shogi-chess-checkers on triangular board, not yet on fire. Masaomi goes to Yellow Scarves, gets hit with crowbar, dodge fool! Punching ensues. Anri arrives, ladies-with-swords quota now filled, Celty and Mikado arrive. Mikado still useless, hugs Masaomi. My that’s a lot of blood from a head wound.

Shizuo wields sign, chops up car. Traffic cop pulls car over. He was important after all! Izaya has gun that shot Shizuo, Anri mad. Izaya quick. Less talking more chopping! No cutting just punching, at least Simon got some screentime. Head still in jar, Shinra’s dad absent and Izaya still with all his limbs, would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for those pesky kids. Masaomi runs away with crippled-but-not girlfriend. Celty seduces Shinra, Mikado and Anri smile at each other. The city is safe once more!

Fin

Mostly inspired by 5 seasons of Lost in 8 minutes. Had I the time and ability, I’d do a video version of this.

 ¶

One criticism that could never be levelled at Baccano! was that it was unoriginal. So too can this be applied to Durarara!! which defies its lacklustre predecessor by going full bore for a modern thriller with supernatural overtones, eking out some social commentary along the way. Featuring an expansive cast and set in the city-within-a-city, Ikebukuro, the series has an eye for the dramatic and though ostensibly the story is bifurcated, it covers a variety of stories that involve murder, urban gang conflict and domestic abuse through to a love triangle between school friends and a Russian sushi chef’s desire for more business. It is a stunningly constructed series and though it has its stumbling points, by and large it demonstrates that with the difficulties of an involving story and an engaging cast down, everything else comes naturally.

“despite his obvious knack for information gathering, his actions are limited to spitting into the maelstrom rather than orchestrating it”

When Mikado arrives in Tokyo, his friend Masaomi shows him around Ikebukuro, and though he doesn’t realise it, he is now deep within a world populated by an outlandishly strong bartender, a fox-like information broker, a Dullahan on a journey from Ireland to recover her missing head as well as a cornucopia of gang members, students, foreigners and all points in between. The effervescence the city enjoys though is soon ruptured by a brewing street war, leading the charge is the brutish Yellow Scarves who sprung up after the dissolution of the previous ruling gang, the Blue Squares; however a shadowy internet group called the Dollars have also made some headway. Meanwhile a violent sword wielding lunatic has antagonised the Black Rider and it seems someone wishes for all of this conflict to spill over. The city certainly has its share of miscreants but whether its cosmopolitan nature will survive the brewing trouble may just rest in Mikado’s hands.

The greatest feat achieved by the series is making Celty, a headless, scythe-wielding Irish spirit of myth, such a supremely endearing character. Without the luxury of eyes or a mouth, Celty speaks through actions and her ever handy mobile phone and it isn’t until several episodes in that she is gifted with a voice mostly for the audience’s benefit. Initially she is cast as distant and pragmatic, but as we see her home life — sitting dejectedly in pyjamas, transfixed by a television show about aliens and simply interacting with others — she is subtly demystified and it becomes clear despite her headlessness, she has a personality stronger than most series can muster with dozens of unhandicapped cast members. The opening story regarding the search for her head aids in this development showing her as vulnerable and capable of fear and introspection despite her immortality and supernatural abilities. After the conclusion of her story she is wisely sidelined in order to provide other characters with some breathing room. This leaves her perilously close to becoming a deus ex machina however she becomes instrumental in the ongoing conflict which obviates this somewhat.

It is through Celty that much of the series is viewed, no important story is without her and it is telling how many shots are viewed as reflections in her visor. Without an identity beyond that of the Black Rider she mirrors both the city around her and the overarching story, starting out as cautious and combative, she is developed as her history is revealed and her feelings begin to grow until the affection for those around her leads her to action rather than passivity. Those feelings of affection and love underpin all of the primary story threads with a focus on the madness and improbable actions love. Most blatantly seen in the story of Seiji who goes to absurd lengths for his love of Celty’s head even taking on Shizuo; or the love between Celty and Shinra, a bizarre pairing between a human and an immortal but also surreal with the knowledge Shinra’s father was the one who gave shelter to Celty in exchange for sating his surgical curiosity. Even the trio of highschool protagonists aren’t immune with Masaomi’s estranged girlfriend irreparably damaged by the Blue Squares gang war and Anri suffering from an unspeakably traumatic childhood event; it’s almost refreshing to see the old standby of one-sided adoration from Mikado, even if it is never acted upon it at least isn’t perverted and sullied.

Through those three another core message is revealed: communication; whether that’s the frequent chat room conversations or Simon’s fractured Japanese and deathly serious Russian, the series champions the adulation felt when it flows freely and laments when there is a deficit. Mobile phones are naturally prolific and provide a backbone to story with receiving and sending e-mail on the move crucial to many plot points. The majority of the final arc is dedicated to how much communication matters, the gang war violently escalating as the leaders, once friends, recede further away, not trusting one another enough to be able to confide. What is so brilliantly done though is that none of the actions feel forced — the audience may be privy to the behind the scenes machinations, but as teenagers still tussling with their egos and carving out a place in the world they seem, in context, believable. As Mikado says at the end: “It was, at the same time, very very strange, but also the sort of thing that could happen to anyone.”

The foreshadow-build-release methodology is made more apparent in the second half of the series but maintains a common plot by pitching one character as the evil genius behind it all, carefully moving pawns towards some obscure and devious goal. That’s the pitch, however although Izaya is often seen lording over the humans he claims to love, however despite his obvious knack for information gathering, his actions are limited to spitting into the maelstrom rather than orchestrating it. Izaya’s manipulation of Masaomi is the most tangible demonstration of his ability, everyone else however comes to Izaya voluntarily to ask for information meaning it is difficult to see him truly controlling anything. Both his past and Shizuo’s abject hatred of him is left entirely unexplained and his ultimate goal is only obliquely referenced so it is difficult to see him as an antagonist and more a nuisance child with an acute case of megalomania and a god complex.

It is left to Horoda then, a to-the-bone sociopath, to pick up antagonist duties in the second half the series; odd considering the first half managed just fine without one at all. Horoda is representative of a lot of the niggles which plague both halves of the series and boils down to it often overreaching itself. It is obvious from the ending and the lack of conclusion to a select few character’s stories that the series exists in a larger narrative that twenty four episodes alone is unable to capture without leaks. The subtleties and pace of development was necessary to maintain the series characteristic atmosphere, but the requirement to provide some conclusion lest a second series never take shape outweighs this. So the introduction of Shinra’s father Shingen and the traffic officer Kinnosuke make sense as a wider manoeuvring exercise, setting up for the next grand story, but feel superfluous when they are only present for two episodes at most. Similarly Horoda’s ascension to the immediate evil isn’t foreshadowed as well as it could have been and is a short term move in a long term game.

Few series deserve a second as much as this does and though it is enticing to think of the possibilities the story has in waiting, it is the characters which are the true draw. Many of them like Anri and Shizuo are rife with pathos and connect on a very personable level such that the end of the series feels less like a conclusion and more a genuine loss. This does not mean the story isn’t a rich field for interpretation — the three gangs representing different aspects of society: anonymity, obedience and rebellion; the effect of technology on youths; the lack of mystery and awe in today’s urbanised culture — however it pales when compared to the brilliantly handled roster of misfits, oddballs and ne’er-do-wells. The issue stems not from budget or creativity, the vividly sketchy character designs, iconic music and superb production throughout say otherwise, but simply a matter of logistics. Even squeezing twenty four episodes from an untested series was risky.

It’s difficult not to see Durarara!! as what Baccano! should have been. All of the constituent components are the same down to the director, studio and creative crew, but it is the composition that makes this stand out. Being underivative means it has no peers to challenge and no genre shoes to fill and that originality promotes its status as iconic even further. Thoroughly engaging, brilliantly structured and some of the best characters and most climactic scenes for quite some time. The hope for a second season may be high but this outpaces its limited flaws and is resolutely a must watch series. ¶

First released: February 2004

The story goes that after Satoshi Kon’s movie triumvirate — Perfect Blue, Millennium Actress, and Tokyo Godfathers — there were a surplus of ideas and the desire to break from being locked into a two and half year development cycle for movies. So with the aid of Madhouse studios, Paranoia Agent was born. Demonstrating a familiar mix of reality bending, mind melting storytelling and a flair for the symbolic and layered, the series is a stunning achievement shifting from detective thriller to black comedy to erudite social commentary with jaw dropping ease. Challenging and subversive, this is everything a Satoshi Kon fan could want: a playground where he runs free; as bleakly funny just as it is darkly incisive there are some minor hiccups along the way but it is a powerhouse of a series that rightly deserves but never demands attention.

“at its best when entirely irreverent and poking fun at everything from suicide to animation production, house wives to prostitution”

When the designer of the horrendously popular Maromi character is attacked in a parking lot, the two police detectives assigned to her case are rightly sceptical. Several points don’t add up, the least of which being the identity of the supposed attacker: a youth wielding a crooked baseball and gold in-line skates; but when a second then third attack come in quick succession, the phenomenon of Lil’ Slugger begins to spread. All of the victims seem to have been at their wit’s end in one way or another: a teaching assistant with dissociative identity disorder, a high achieving school pupil, a less-than-honest police officer — but when a culprit is found, the case begins to veer off on bizarre paths. Nothing is as it seems with Lil’ Slugger and as his notoriety increases so does the ferocity of his attacks. The question is: can anything stop him?

That time just after waking, when dreams begin to be overwritten by reality but still linger in the mind, a zone of child-like wonder where thoughts have the power to change a person’s reality and even their whole outlook — that is where the series operates. Characters are repeatedly caught in this state, their awakening captured but the preceding events left obscured, the episode itself becoming ephemeral and dream-like rather than a firm reality that it seems all of the cast desire. The story delights in its eclectic collection of characters, showing them as successful and stable and then perverting them through circumstance, pushing them to the limit of sanity. Even children aren’t exempt from the thralls of modern living that is continuously lambasted, turning them from chaste and innocent to suicidal, deranged and strung-out.

The reliance on media and man-made idols has been explored before, but here it is given tangible form through Maromi: an amorphous pink dog based upon Tsukiko Sagi’s childhood dog. Tearing into the kind of acute consumer culture seen in mega-franchises such as Hello Kitty, Maromi is everywhere and it becomes not only an integral part of the story’s environment but ultimately its undoing — a jab perhaps at the perceived regression and anthropomorphisation Japan is purportedly in the grip of. This and many other indictments of the grotesqueries of Japanese society permeate the series, as such it’s at its best when entirely irreverent and poking fun at everything from suicide to animation production, house wives to prostitution, popular media and all manner of other social idiosyncrasies.

This neatly divides the series into three parts: the opening episodes look at the formative attacks of Lil’ Slugger and the intertwined lives of his victims, the meandering later episodes demonstrate the influence of Lil’ Slugger as an idea, and the finale which ties up the story only to have it unravel in the final moments and loop right back to the start again. Although expertly paced, the series loses the momentum of the story so carefully built up in the opening third and it can seem needlessly obtuse to cover supposedly unrelated characters and events with only the phantom attacker as the hook. It is these episodes that are the most free though and through the collection of gossiping wives’ tales and sojourns through the country, modern culture is plundered and wildly parodic art styles experimented with.

A shame that it these episodes which see the biggest dive in quality with some scenes nigh on unrecognisable from the emotive and graceful beauty present both before and after. Characters such as the demure Tsukiko are gifted a cherubic prettiness, while the detective Keiichi has a world weariness and wisdom to his features, even the slimy and reprehensible reporter Akio is wonderfully expressive. Thankfully it is mostly minor characters that are bent and distorted by budget restricted artists, Keiichi’s wife the most noticeable going through several different but equally haggard forms. Backgrounds on the other hand are detailed throughout and have the variation but sadly not the tactility of the director’s cinematic features.

It is easy to see the progression through each of Satoshi Kon’s films, whereas those produced prior to Paranoia Agent demonstrated differing themes and approaches, the director left an indelible stamp that was gradually refined. This series then is far more Perfect Blue than Millennium Actress, but it is in his successive film Paprika that a great many themes formatively explored here are shared: dreams affecting reality and the fantasies and delusions of the “ordinary” man being high on the list. Perhaps the greatest masterstroke the series achieves though is making the symbolism part of the narrative, but never demanding that it be understood to attain comprehension. Certainly there is merit to decoding the peculiar “Prophetic Visions” babbled by the sharply dressed old man at the end of each episode, or understanding the relationship each character has with a species of animal or insect but these don’t hamper enjoyment or stand out as beacons of contention.

The series is also not the most accessible Satoshi Kon work, either when it was released or in retrospect. The jump in cognition that the reality of Lil’ Slugger requires will be enough to sour a casual viewer if they haven’t already been chased away by the dawdling middle third; however the opening story that plays to well known detective and buddy cop stereotypes is strong enough to lure a viewer in, drip feeding information until the finale. With a director and animation studio in synchronicity, a cast comprising stalwarts of many an anime including Mamiko Noto, Shozo Iizuka and Toshihiko Seki, and the music director Susumu Hirasawa, most notable for his work on Berserk, Paranoia Agent would be hard pressed to be anything other than utterly stunning. It is a landmark in all regards and provides a rich seam of social commentary and reinforces Satoshi Kon’s position as a director and creator extraordinaire. It is a series worthy of his name and equally of everyone’s time and though it may not completely transcend its media, it is closer than many series could ever hope for. ¶

Takashi Watanabe obviously woke up one morning, head still groggy from a night of drink, drugs and debauchery, one hand clutching a napkin with a list scrawled on it — ninjas, cyborgs, magic, gods, dragons, breasts — and in the other a production contract, sloppily signed by himself. There is no way else a series as bonkers as Ichiban Ushiro no Daimou could have been born except from some ill-informed bet or dare. Cramming this amount of content into twelve episodes means dispensing with a consistent art-style, rounded characters and coherent storytelling; that the series hangs together at all depends entirely on the infectious enthusiasm and deviant pleasure of wondering where the story could possibly go next.

“a show that Michael Bay would create if he were a long time anime fan, slightly deranged and on the breadline”

Despite Akuto Sai’s desire to become a High Priest — a peerless champion for good — his Constant Magick Academy aptitude test predicts he will become a fearsome Demon King. Panic amongst the student population ensues and although Akuto remains defiant, forces begin to align themselves both for and against his ascension. Ancient clans such as the samurai Hattori and black magic Etou become involved, just as the ruling government sends an android to keep watch; Akuto isn’t alone however, his childhood friend Keena and spirited minion Hiroshi stand by him, doubly so when the fearsome dragon and loyal servant of the Demon King Peterhausen is unearthed. Akuto’s plan to remake the system of gods and scriptures may yet come to pass, though maybe not with him as the soldier of justice he envisioned.

Please note: the remainder of this post con­tains images of nud­ity, if you are offen­ded by these or are oth­er­wise unable to view these images within your muni­cip­al­ity due to laws or moral oblig­a­tions, please do not proceed.

There is no one point in the series where it sheds all pretences of being a raunchy romp through a magical school — close to being a slightly more racy Maburaho — only a rapid descent into utter bedlam that sees episodes feature a dragon, a superhero, ninjas and a sharply suited man with speakers in his coat and still maintain a semblance of continuity. The opening entries are comparatively sane when placed against the climax — characters come back from the dead as cyborgs, riflemen gun down samurai as betentacled monsters swarm around the school, a steampunk-esque flying gunship smouldering in the background as characters spout soliloquies about gods and governments. The show barely has enought time to squeak in some casual nudity.

And what nudity there is, when consistency goes out the window any and all excuses to disrobe the female cast is fair game: a trip to the beach contrived as school lessons, a dip in the hot springs while searching for ancient underground cities, or the old standard of explosions burning away the most conspicuous gaps in clothing. It’s hard to be repulsed by it when it boils down to “Why not?”. Why not throw some topless females in when neither the story nor animation can keep up with the deceptively earnest vigour and breadth of imagination. There is no subterfuge going on here, from the opening flash of Junko’s undergarments the series was hell-bent on crafting the most outrageous and hilariously entertaining series it could with the budget and staff available.

Not content with half measures, it goes full bore and demands the viewer keep up or shut up and enjoy the ride: a show that Michael Bay would create if he were a long time anime fan, slightly deranged and on the breadline. In a sense the series should be commended for understanding both its audience and precisely what sets this series apart from its multitude of contemporaries. This doesn’t absolve it of some heinous crimes against narrative coherency, character development or plot exposition but those criticisms fall flat when it is so enjoyable and captivating not to be treated as an infant or bludgeoned with mediocrity. Given twice the run time and four times the budget this could well have been a wholly different series with the same key points: a diatribe against god and society? Sure, but what about time travellers and robot shrine maidens?

Its closest peer then is Code Geass, but far from the ostentatious politicking and aloof indifference of the havoc that ensued in R2, this is scrappy, dirty and so much more fun. The problem it faces then is its lack of staying power, without anything but momentum to sustain it there is nothing after the credits roll for the final time to chew on. Being based upon a light novel series provides the option for further reading if the world glancingly hinted at during the anime satisfies, but it is difficult to see the series as anything more than a flash in the pan. A potential sequel will have the dual problem of satisfying fans of the original, an attention light crowd clamouring for more explosions, magic and madness, while providing more exploration of the world that Akuto has irrevocably changed.

That is for the future though and what is presented here is more than satisfying enough to recommend. The otherwise B-list cast of voice actors is broken up by conspicuous heavy weights such as Shizuka Itou as Fujiko or Jouji Nakta as Peterhausen but regardless of their stature they have as much fun with their roles as the production staff likely did with other aspects. A lament for the animators who were likely put through the wringer with each episode stretching their constitutions to breaking point — Artland may not be the most reliable of animation companies but the climactic battles in the final two episodes somewhat absolve them of the choppy and distorted slideshows that characterised earlier episodes, the most egregious being the seventh with its GAINAX-like sketchiness but bereft of the accompanying fluidity.

So much is present that it would be tricky not to find at least one element of Ichiban Ushiro no Daimaou that piques one’s interest. The laughs may be inadvertent and the raunchiness utterly implausible but the series defies anyone not to find one of the copious gems hidden amongst the detritus. It may be Korone’s deadpan teasing of Akuto, Junko’s ambivalence towards the Demon Lord, Fujiko’s raunchy thoughts in front of the disembodied head of her brother, or even the robot piloting student council member who communicates only with “gagun”. After only a few episodes one can’t help but be entirely inured, brain no longer shouting at the inconsistencies and huge grin worn at all but the slowest moments; bizarre, chaotic and absurdly enjoyable. ¶

The most innocuous of episodes and off-the-cuff remarks can lead to the most fascinating of rabbit holes. In this case, Sawako of K-On!! and why despite all of her obvious positive attributes, is unable to find a boyfriend and get married. It would seem she has everything going for her: looks, demeanour, intelligence and drive but it’s only when scratching beneath the surface that it becomes apparent how much is aligned against her happiness.

The obvious remarks on this: she’s fictional and the chances of finding a compatible partner are always slim. The former means that her status of being single is part of the character written for her, however as with other elements in anime, it is reflective of deeper social issues.

“Ironically the past she desperately hides would likely offer her more opportunities to find a partner”

Finding a compatible partner usually boils down to waiting for a perfect partner — what that definition of perfect is varies, but the mentality is universal. Do you settle and potentially miss out on somebody better suited or do you maintain your standards and threaten to reject a more than acceptable match for some potentially minor fault. It seems that a large part of the Japanese ethos favours “wait-and-see”, forgoing decisive action and hoping for a better situation to arise; while not universally true the best demonstration of this can be seen in their financial crisis in the 1990’s, had the banks taken action instead of waiting in the hope that the economy would revive, the so-called Lost Decade may not have happened. But even if Sawa-chan isn’t being unnecessarily picky, there is a vast array of barriers obstacles of her control.

The worrisome treatment of women in modern Japan, which although legislatively in-line with other progressive countries, is still prevalent and the ingrained views are brutally difficult to overcome and presents the biggest challenge to successful women. This is odd when Japanese history saw women revered having been believed to be part deity — Amerterasu was after all female; even in work women could be seen alongside men working the fields. It was the introduction of Confucianism to Japan though that caused a sea change in gender views, promoting patriarchy and advocating women as second class to the gentlemen.

The minutiae and scope of this in Confucianism is debatable but the critical point is that womens’ rights never happened in Japan. This means that many men grow up with their vision of an ideal women as subservient and family-orientated — think Aoi from Ai Yori Aoshi, not ones who have their own careers or are independent or forthright — in other words Catherine, or Sawako. The 1950’s an 60’s era situation where women were all but required to marry a man to survive has ebbed away but the thinking, at least from the male point of view, remains. Part of this could stem from the arranged marriages which up until the 1980’s still accounted for almost a third of marriages, or the company sponsored matchmaking events for their junior male members — both depriving generations of the necessity of courting.

As well as contending with a current flowing against her gender, Sawako also faces the difficulty of finding the time to court or be courted by a man. Her job as a teacher likely affords her little time for socialising despite what K-On!! may purport — as well as teaching there are after school clubs to supervise, lesson plans to draw up, faculty meetings to attend — the list goes on. This is without taking into account the male workforce which is commonly seen as the salaryman: their long hours of work, meetings and late night drinking well documented. The outcome then is a working environment which actively discourages cross-discipline intermingling and finding the time to vet and date a prospective partner is challenging to say the least.

Not only does Sawako have both sexism and her career working against her, the statistics don’t bode well either. 34% of unmarried men between the age of twenty five and thirty four say that they don’t feel the “need” to get married while 44% of unmarried men and over 50% of unmarried women say that they haven’t found the right partner. Meanwhile the largest category of unmarried males haven’t completed education beyond the junior high school level. Contrast this with Sawako’s job which implies she is university educated and the statistic that in the Tokyo metro area alone, 12% of female university graduates over the age of fifty have never been married.

Cutting through this scattershot of statistics and numbers and taking into account the previous oncerns, to call the singles market in Japan anything other than hostile for a successful, intelligent, strong-minded woman with a riotous past would be an understatement. Finding someone who is able to match her intellectually and not enforce archaic ideals upon her will be challenging if she can even find the time to begin such a search. Ironically the past she desperately hides would likely offer her more opportunities to find a partner and worse still, marriage comes with all manner of byzantine laws and social mores that are sure to strip her of her eclectic personality.

A lament then, for Catherine, for Sawa-chan.

Statistics pulled from “Shutting out the sun — How Japan created its own lost generation” by Michael Zielenziger. First image from Pixiv Member: 仮入部員, second from Pixiv member: ななお

 ¶

I am abjectly terrible at fighting games. This didn’t stop me from seeking out arcades in Japan to hamfistedly fondle the seductive BlazBlue machines, or importing the US version when it was released, or venturing online to be emasculated in short order. I may appreciate their focus and purity but a lack of innate talent and free time means I’ll never be as good as I desire. Talent is not in question, but is my ineptitude really an issue of time?

“waiting for a time when I’ve run out of series to review and ideas to explore”

Certainly a nine to five job blocks out close to ten hours of the day, but leaving a modest six hours for sleep that still leaves eight hours for hobbies and the minutiae of life. Pondering the issue more, I could only conclude it is still fundamentally a time issue, but it would be more apt to brand it as a lack of dedication. When that invisible plateau is reached where the time to become better encroaches on the ability to enjoy other games and anime, that dastardly analytical part of my brain takes over.

Even when I’m waist deep in Noel’s story and practically giddy from her soundset when facing Litchi, a mental flag pops up. There’s new anime to be watched! New games to be played! Things to do. Sometimes very good games can override this, dragging me under for weeks at a time, however all it takes one slow section to send me gasping back to the shoreline. This sounded like a good enough reason: essentially a free time defence mechanism; and it certainly fit with my habits, but it doesn’t explain why the balance between video games and anime I used to maintain had been broken, marginalising former in favour of the latter.

Reading up on the mentality which accompany intense fandom — otaku — postulates that many of their actions, from fanfiction to dojinshi to cosplay all stem from a desire to “own” part of an existing work. It makes the fan part of a collective culture surrounding the original, essentially an active expression for a passive medium, a modicum of control for an uncontrollable entity. This creativity and interactivity are important for a pastime because they satisfy desires that passive absorption doesn’t.

Surely then video games, demanding of skill and inherently engaging, satisfy that requirement? But this leaves the question of passivity. Sure there are cutscenes, video sites like Gametrailers and a growing body of literature surrounding them but that feels like it’s doing things backwards. To me anime doesn’t have that problem, it may be passive communally or in solitude but the meaty interactivity comes afterwards with blogs and image boards and conventions and tweets and all other manner of holding one’s interest long past the closing credits.

Some video games, for better or worse, find a balance between the active and passive — look at the popularity of Final Fantasy; others transcend it by letting the idea, the uninteractive part, become stronger than the canonical interaction with it. Certainly there is a catharsis to be had from video games that anime can’t touch, comparing the fundamentals of them results in a fruit cocktail, but the interplay between the two juxtaposed elements is the same, anime just happens to have the more enticing composition.

So Noel’s story sits incomplete at 98%, waiting for a time when I’ve run out of series to review and ideas to explore before experiencing her true ending. Although, Continuum Shift is coming out soon… ¶

First released: July 2004

Just like the taijitu that features so heavily in the plot, Otogi Zoshi is split into two parts with elements of its twin interspersed throughout. The tonal and aesthetic difference between the two parts is arresting, the first favouring a poised and atmospheric wander through a viciously feudal Japan, the latter a collection of modern mysteries scattered around Tokyo and sharing many similarities with the latest two Shin Megami Tensei: Persona video games. This division of themes and story promotes perseverance: if the initial tale of blades and intrigue doesn’t engage, perhaps the dark and foreboding march across many of Tokyo’s landmarks will. Conversely it threatens to alienate an audience that fell in love with the first story or losing them before the second begins. By and large it succeeds in crafting a compelling story with characters that, crucially, work across the gulf of a thousand years, however even with the guiding hand of Production I.G the series isn’t without its flaws.

“switching between schoolgirl prep and urban pop with pleasing regularity”

The Heian era city of Edo is infected by discontent: famine and lawlessness plague the streets while the outlying lands are run by thieves and malcontents. Even the Emperor isn’t immune: struck down by a debilitating illness and without long to live, his closest aides, advised by the mystic Abe no Seimei, send word to retrieve the magical magatama stones in order to save the capital. With the eldest son of the Minamoto household, Raiko, bedridden it is up to his sister Hikaru to undertake this task. Disguised as her brother and joined by her faithful bodyguard Tsuna, and eventually the womanising Usui, the enigmatic Urabe and freakishly strong Kintaro, the group hunts out the magatama against foes both weird and devious. On their return however, all is not as it seems and the Emperor’s aides have ulterior plans for the magatama, although it will be Seimei whose actions will have the most far reaching consequences, the ramifications echoing a thousand years into the future.

Whereas the second story is the stronger, it is the first which is the better realised. The Heian story doesn’t have the measured atmosphere of other series in a similar setting such as Mushishi or the recent Saraiya Goyou but it has a robust structure thanks to the quests which compose the bulk of the story. The Tokyo story on the other hand hits the ground running with a divisive opening scene of Hikaru and Tsuna running from a garishly dressed speed gang, but then remains largely stagnant until the climax. Its reliance on the investigation of strange events occurring at famous landmarks around the city is its undoing, feeling more like a tourist trail than Hikaru’s heartfelt mission to find her missing brother. Part of second story’s weakness can also be attributed to the omission of details that would otherwise flesh it out: how Hikaru’s old group came to live together, what Tsuna’s actual job is, how Hikaru is doing at school — elements like these are incidental but would help better put the drastic shift from feudal to urban in context. As it is, one is never exposed to enough personality in the modern day Hikaru and her entourage to truly empathise with their plight.

At first, the many elements which are left unexplained promise to reinforce the overarching story’s mystery, but it becomes obvious as the series evolves that they are simply underdeveloped — vestigial plot hooks that never blossomed. Aspects such as Hikaru’s refusal to kill anyone despite her obvious archery prowess is brought to the fore in the opening episode, then ignored until the finale; similarly Hikaru’s dual existence as Raiko is never exposed to her friends making their coalescing in the second story slightly dubious. Other points such as why the modern day Kintaro is being bullied, or why the ancient and powerful magatama are in the hands of ne’er-do-wells coupled with their foreboding talk of how they came into ownership of them is forgotten about just as the rather loosely implied connection between them is. The end result isn’t enough to bring down an otherwise solidly constructed tale, but builds up an image of a chaotic screenplay that wasn’t reigned in enough for the first half, but too much for the second.

The true measure of the series however is in how short each episode feels, even in the moments that manoeuvre characters in preparation for the next reveal, the slow and lilting endings seem to come all too quickly. It is the mark of expert pacing that this can be achieved, in a twenty six episode run there is not a single episode that pads out the run time, only the OVA of Urabe feels slightly superfluous but gifts her some critical screentime that she was missing in the second story. Similarly each story’s climax which straddle multiple episodes are given breathing room to satisfy the plot and characters that had been carefully built up. The cast, although not as timeless as the story desires, are superbly crafted and the transposition from ancient to modern roles is surprisingly believable. Hikaru, while an excellent protagonist, suffers in the second story by erring more on the side of hysteria and whining than her more proactive past life; Kintaro meanwhile shifts from a precocious but enjoyable child to a useless and annoyingly grating brat. Regardless, the interplay between each member of the core group keeps it feeling coherent without over-egging aspects such as Tsuna’s adoration of Hikaru or Usui and Urabe’s burgeoning attraction.

Despite being in the afterglow of the unquestionably brilliant Ghost in the Shell: Standalone Complex, here Production I.G only manages a passable production. Over-stretching the budget with delicate and precise character designs, in practice they often look distorted angular. Fast motion scenes are as smooth as they should be however they come so infrequently and are over so quickly that it can difficult to tell exactly what transpired and only the aftermath indicates as much. To its credit the locations and dress of the characters changes so much that it is perhaps no surprise that so many shortcuts are taken: Hikaru rarely appears in the same garb twice in the modern story, switching between schoolgirl prep and urban pop with pleasing regularity. Musical duties are handed over to Hideki Tanuchi for the Heian arc and Kenji Kawai for the Tokyo Arc. The former demonstrates why he helmed the majority of Aoi Bungaku’s score with some fitting and hugely atmospheric work; the latter on the other hand is equally evocative, but not as attuned to the situation as it should be: supremely confident but slightly out of place.

In aggregate then, Otogi Zoshi amounts to a sterling original series which connects two otherwise disparate stories with satisfying characters, a steady pace and little filler. Tightening in some places would have elevated the series from enjoyable to impressive and transferring the spirit of the first story into the second would go a long way to alleviating some gripes. On the one hand the series is slightly disappointing for not exploiting its past/present juxtaposition, the possibility to compare the cut-throat world of Heian era Japan to modern urban existence is tantalising, even making more use of the taijitu iconography wouldn’t have gone amiss, although in the wake of Kara no Kyoukai:
Spiral Paradox even that would have perhaps fallen flat. In spite of this, the series is a worthwhile investment and covers enough material to be appealing to most audiences however muted the end result is. ¶