Anime Pilgrimage RTT

GTO – episodes 1 to 6

Comedy is funny. This is the lesson that GTO: Great Teacher Onizuka teaches us. There are some other things that can be learned about society and schools, but comedy is the key.

Onizuka Eikichi, 22 years old, is an ex-biker who wishes to be a high-school teacher. After passing the student-teaching period, he goes on to win a place at a private school teaching the biggest problem class in its history. Over the course of these six episodes, Onizuka reacts to blackmail, foils two suicide attempts, uncovers a photoshopping circle and is called before the PTA. That’s not even counting all of the Crestas he goes through.

GTO is a comedy about one man who wants to come good, and also to marry a sixteen year old at age forty. These two objectives seem to clash initially, and soon enough Onizuka realises that his second plan is not entirely practical. Thereafter he aims to make school fun, but not in any lousy patronising way: despite his class being full of delinquents, Onizuka takes it in his stride, and vows never to tell his students that they are no good. Basically Onizuka had a rough time of it in high school and does not want it to be the same for anyone else.
So while Onizuka has his comedic moments with night-time exorcisms and bathing in hallway sinks, he also deals with very serious issues such as bullying and sexual blackmail and Playstation games. Onizuka is an excellent character because he makes hilarious faces with great frequency, as well as knowing exactly what to do … eventually.

Onizuka even has a nemesis, Vice Principal Uchiyamada – whom he met in a lecherous incident on the bus. Uchiyamada is a fantastic character for laughing at, and his constant failures are the source of much levity. However, the writers have made none of this cruel. Somehow, despite his homicidal wishes towards Onizuka’s career, the Vice Principal is sympathetic. His home life is shown from time to time, and all of his actions can be seen to spring from there. This adds an extra depth to what would have been pretty damned funny itself gains another layer because it can be understood.

This series is full of vital social issues, and Onizuka is a reformed character who won’t doubt the power of redemption. The problem here is that some of these characters do things so bad that they don’t seem redeemable – perhaps this is proof that Onizuka is a better man than I. The school life is shown as a scene that does indeed have a darker side, including the rarely discussed notion of female bullies (as in girls that actually beat up guys). GTO is definitely interesting for anyone who has recently been through the school system. Or maybe it’s always been like this and will have universal appeal. That’s entirely possible. Whether funny or ponderous, this series is always worth watching.

The cast is great, with Takagi Wataru kicking total arse as Onizuka. The ultimate proof of this is his “Terror Shumai” story delivery, which shows beyond doubt that he is perfect for the role. Nagashima Yuichi is marvellous as the eternally-suffering Uchiyamada, bringing a boundless vitality and an unequalled energy for meaningless rambling. The rest of the cast is filled out by some fairly big names and some obscure ones as well, but they are all enjoying their work and bring Holy Forest Academy to life.
Onizuka refers to himself always in the third person: “Onizuka Eikichi, 22 years old”. This is not quite translated in TOKYOPOP’s subtitles, and the dub changes Uchiyamada’s motives to something more selfish. It’s a pity, but everything else is good.
The production is cheap, but not in a bad way. From 1999, GTO was made at the turning point from celwork to digital. The OP is digital with some CG thrown in along the way, but the body of the episodes is made up almost entirely of cels. The traditional money saving techniques of sweat drops and stupid faces are all over the place, and bring a lot of character to proceedings. The general energy of the production makes any poor animation unnoticeable and ultimately negligible.

GTO is great – it’s episodic yet each episode leads into the next. It’s one big story of excellent school life. Onizuka definitely makes school fun. By not actually seeing what he teaches, you can’t judge him by his technique in that regard. But to make his students laugh with him and respect him Onizuka Eikichi, 22 years old, is doing a great job.

Kurogane Communication – episodes 17 to 24

Kurogane Communication pulls it all off for the grand finale and even promotes a few tears.

These eight episodes feature with the other “only human left on Earth” at the fore. While Haruka is a good character, Kanato has had a much harder life. This makes it excellent for the two of them to interact. Kanato is not simply a character whose rude exterior hides a heart of gold, but rather a character who has had his heart of gold tarnished and needs to understand many things that have not been available to him due to his different, cold upbringing.
So the last third of the series is about their relationship and coming to some sort of agreement about choosing to accept others. There are some great cliffhangers, some good feelings of pain, and a couple more of the really creepy scenes driven by literal thinking.
To say much more would be spoiling, and that wouldn’t be fun – this is a very well developed series that eventually got to use all of its characters and more.

The artistry involved in the making of this show was quite amazing. There are moments of fluidity where one might not have expected them, and there is some creative visualisation. Kanato’s nightmare is particularly impressive, particularly with its contrasts to reality, and so too is one of the most emotional monologues in the series (delivered by Sakuma Rei) conveyed perfectly.
There are a few low-budget gags along the lines of sweatdrops, that are kind of out of place among the general straight nature of the rest of the material, but they do not detract from any enjoyment.

Kurogane Communication is a big surprise of an anime, and that is a huge part of its appeal – coming into it, it still feels like something you’ve not seen before, even if you think you know what to expect.

Kurogane Communication – episodes 9 to 16

The best kind of anime is the sort that starts off nice but then, around the halfway point, starts kicking some serious arse. You may not have expected it, but Kurogane Communication does precisely that.

After the whole “holiday at the beach” thing has been exhausted, the robots learn that their area is in danger of being hit by a tsunami, while Haruka learns of her past. Regardless of any misgivings, they have to escape before disaster strikes, so they hijack an old warship and find new land.

The layers upon layers of drama here are fairly impressive. The ten minute episode thing makes for many surprise endings and, now that there’s very little slice of life material, a cracking pace. Brevity is key in making Kurogane Communication compelling.
Haruka’s character drama hits its peak when she learns the horrifying truth of her past. When it’s foreshadowed, it’s horrible enough – however, Haruka actually witnessed it and learns that perhaps there was a reason she didn’t have a memory. These scenes were really quite distressing, and even provoked the “you’re a robot, you wouldn’t understand” argument. Considering how much Haruka loves her surrogate family, you would have to imagine that she’s been pushed pretty horribly. The performances of Horie Yui and Ishikawa Hiromi in this episode were fantastic – although it is beginning to come clear that synch was sacrificed as a result.

Angela, the duelling robot reformed from hating humans, is clearly warming to Haruka – even to the point of bathing with her. Being the only female influence that Haruka has around, it’s natural that she would want to be friendly. By opening her own heart to Angela, Haruka is making Angela more open and caring herself. Angela would even kill a man who threatens Haruka in any way, which is really saying quite a lot. Any of Angela’s scenes are guaranteed to be interesting. Gruff characters can stay gruff forever, but Angela is not like that. She’s even willing to be violent against Trigger for saying stupid things. The ultimate sign of her “humanity” as a robot is that she blushes. Fantastic.

The incredible theory of a warship that is sick of war, having seen its fellow warship brethren die for humanity, is seen here – and while robots with individual wills is nothing new, a sentient inorganic warship is certainly impressive. While such a life form may not want to hurt a human (being an “intelligence robot”), it certainly does not want to serve them. Humanity is to blame for a lot of things, but Haruka is an ultimately blameless character. What evil could a thirteen year old girl have possibly committed?

There’s even a new cast of characters around, but Haruka does not really understand them yet. The dramatic meeting of Haruka and Kanato was well done, moreso because of the inclusion of rain – but Kanato is deliberately closed off and confusing in the messages that he sends. He lives with robots, yet he takes apart all others. It looks like Lillith and Alice are kind of comedy robot twins, and Sone and Honi are designed specifically for mystery. Ohtsuka Akio lends his voice to the chief of defence, so things are looking up.

The writers even have a grasp on robot humour: if it makes no sense, it’s funnier. Take, for example, the scene where Trigger is stoking a fire by blowing through a tube. This robot has no mouth, yet breathing into the tube is making him dizzy. It’s just like a king non-sequitur. There’s not a lot of humour, since the service misunderstandings ended, but what there is is generally good.

Kurogane Communication is also remarkably visually rich. When Haruka gets a vision of war, it sends the blood cold. The action scenes, while sparing, are frequently amazing. To see Angela dodging lasers is genuinely exciting, and the new land is steeped in mysticism that is helped along by Kawai Kenji’s growing score. Watching these episodes, it’s clear that Kurogane Communication is not what it once was.

Kurogane Communication is an unassuming series that manages to be compelling and dramatic while trying to keep itself a secret. This anime offers a truly immersive world, and some great characters – and even a hot springs scene complete with actual nudity! Needless to say, Kurogane Communication has everything.

Innocence

Nine years since the release of his hit film Ghost in the Shell, Oshii Mamoru follows with Innocence, which is close to the perfect sequel: it’s the second half of a beautiful whole.

Three years after the events of Ghost in the Shell, Togusa has been assigned as Batou’s partner. Despite Togusa’s misgivings about working in Kusanagi’s shadow, they’re a strong pairing, and are placed exclusively on the case of a string of sexaroid cyborgs who have been malfunctioning, performing gruesome murders and then “committing suicide”.
The case takes them far up north, where they discover a ghost hacker who has abandoned his body …

Innocence is a mirror of Ghost in the Shell: it shows a different side of the world that is in many ways the opposite of the last. The infusion of technology into humanity and the blurring of the lines between artificial intelligence and genuine individuality was key to the first. Here it’s the other way around: the infusion of humanity into lifeless figures.
While a large part of the film is Batou and Togusa driving around, exchanging increasingly unlikely philosophical quotes, there are some incredibly crowd-pleasing moments that never degenerate into simple pandering. Innocence is not a film of “highlights”, nor is it one big highlight, but it has a couple of especially amazing scenes amongst all of the just standard great ones.

Despite the near total lack of Kusanagi, Innocence is more of a love film than the first – and because of that it strengthens the themes of its predecessor. Batou is an intensely lonely character. You can see this through his basset hound. The way that he dotes on the dog shows both his humanity and his lack of human contact. Togusa is the other character who is given depth. He fears that he can not live up to the high standards set by Major Kusanagi as Batou’s new partner – but this is simply because he underestimates the man. While Togusa is mainly human and Batou is mainly cybernetic physically, they are both very human. The way they play off each other is one of the joys of the film. The ending provides a strong sense of camaraderie and a very different feel to the first. It’s not a “buddy cop” movie, by any stretch of the imagination, but these partners are a great team – strengthened by the fact that they’re onto a tangible case here.

Technology has been kind in the creation of Innocence: a large part of it is CG work, which plays off the organic nature of Ghost in the Shell versus the more artificial, manufactured world of this film. As with Ghost in the Shell, there is a sequence of pans over the city where Solus Locus is located set to Kawai Kenji’s haunting score. The difference is that this sequence is quite clearly “faked”. Ghost in the Shell showed real city life, whereas this segment is a festival of make up, masks and illusion.
This scene illustrates the point of the film perfectly: it’s about forcing life into that which can only truly be described as humanoid. The characters remain true to their roots; perhaps too true, as Togusa’s mullet does him no favours. A perfect coup of design is that the suicide robots are modelled after geisha – a profession that even for humans is about knowing illusion and deception. The blending of CG and hand drawn digital animation is generally well done and the movie is a delight to watch even for those who don’t particularly enjoy computer generated work. It is uncertain whether Oshii would have used this much CG on the original film had the technology and budget existed, but it turned out to be very convenient in conveying the message.

Kawai Kenji’s score is similarly moody and atmospheric, and the opening music is a sequel in itself – the opening credits are one of the chief examples of polarity: the ancient Japanese song plays over the construction of an android – from the inside. It is important to note that androids and cyborgs are two entirely different things – they are built for opposite reasons and meet in the middle. This is why everything in this film is a twisted version of the first, including the music. Kawai allows some action music to shine through, but he keeps his general moody atmosphere intact.

Such interplay of films, such a contrast of themes, like two anime singing to each other across the void of years: Innocence is a brilliant film. At times it may be as pretentious as that last sentence, but deliberately so – Oshii’s characters are quite willing to make fun of themselves and their own eclectic knowledge. Despite one really trippy sequence, Innocence is a brilliant movie. Oshii used all of his skills in his production of this film, and it shows.

Images taken from GITS2, the official North American Innocence website.

Innocence Premiere Sydney

Madman Director Tim Anderson with site author Alexander Doenau

Tonight at the Valhalla cinema in Glebe, there was a one night only showing of Innocence (Ghost in the Shell 2) at 7pm. This screening was presented by the Japan Foundation and Madman Entertainment, and introduced by director Oshii Mamoru and Production I.G. President Ishikawa Mitsuhisa.

Tim Anderson, director of Madman Entertainment, began by saying that Production I.G. had made many stunning anime that had brought the form to the fore in Australia and the world. While they are promoted chiefly as the animation studio that worked on Kill Bill, they have made many instantly recognisable landmark anime. Tim said that he was looking forward to seeing Innocence as he had yet to see it himself.

The director of the Japan Foundation came up yet and said that anime was a great way to spread awareness of “the contemporary way of Japanese thought” and hoped that the audience would find it enjoyable and a fine example of culture.

Oshii Mamoru himself came onto the stage, and with the aid of an interpreter told what he said the film was about. Oshii prefaced his speech by saying that he had planned to come to Australia around the Olympics in 2000, but his cat died and he could not come due to his sadness. For this he was truly sorry. However, the death of his pet was the catalyst for Innocence. When the cat died, he felt that a hole had opened in him, and that he had lost something. He still feels this way. It reminded Oshii of what his father had said when his mother died: that a hole had opened, and that he had lost half of himself. Oshii said that in Innocence, he wanted to portray a woman who has given much of herself to the net, to the point where she does not know what her “self” truly is. Oshii wished to show such loss in this film.
It had been suggested that animation was not the right form to tackle such issues as Oshii wished to take on. However, he felt that animation was an excellent form for his ideas as he could express them in as versatile a manner as he wished. Oshii feels that films are not to be “understood” or “interpreted”, but that they should produce a “vague feeling” in oneself. He hoped that the audience would be able to appreciate the “vague feeling” and watch the film as many times as they needed in order to fully absorb the messages.
Oshii said that the film had taken him three years to make (compared to Ghost in the Shell‘s one), and while he was not sure if he would make another animation, he had used all of his skills and efforts into making Innocence. He sincerely hoped that the audience would enjoy it. Oshii was a soft spoken man, but the audience listened with great intent to his words.

Finally, Ishikawa came on and said that because he wished to live in Australia soon, he would give his speech in English and keep it brief. Ishikawa lamented that there was not enough time in the country and that it was largely a business trip, but he would go to shops and buy many gifts for his wife. With that, he hoped that we would enjoy the movie and left the stage.

As for the film itself … it was excellent and well received by the audience. That will follow.

After the showing, Tim Anderson said that full licencing of Innocence was 90% done, and that Dreamworks was happy to licence out to them. If all goes to plan, a theatrical run can be expected around January or February, and a DVD release around the April mark. While this is conjecture on his part, it seems likely.

Look for more similar “Australian Anime News” articles when the opportunity arises.

Ghost in the Shell

1995’s Ghost in the Shell was a big film in anime history, and also symbolic of the time when Manga Entertainment held some swing. They co-produced this film and orchestrated close enough to a world premiere. And this was Manga Entertainment UK.

In the year 2029, human body parts are replaced with cybernetic components when necessary. Section 9 is part of the government that monitors technological crimes, particularly “ghost hacks” – hackers who break into the bodies of people and control their actions. One of the most charismatic members of Section 9 is the fully cybernetic Major Kusanagi Motoko, who is on the trail of the “Puppet Master” – a hacker who has been manipulating ghosts to his own ends. Government conspiracy abounds and, of course, so to do questions of what makes an individual.

Ghost in the Shell, at 82 minutes, is remarkably brief. Considering that for the past twenty years most of the “good” anime films have been at least 100 minutes (most tipping the scales at 120+), it’s refreshing to see such a compact, effectively told story. The characters are easily recognisable even if the viewer is not familiar with the manga (although this was likely not the case in Japan, where Masamune Shirow’s work is very popular), and the themes are easy to pick up because they’re oft repeated in anime. Any fan of Blade Runner is likely to find Ghost in the Shell an enjoyable film.

Oshii Mamoru hit all of the right spots when he directed this film; he never goes for the supremely obvious. The showdown between Kusanagi and a tank is not accompanied by strong action tunes, but rather a slow suspense filled score. Oshii lets the film pan the streets of Hong Kong for minutes at a time while the haunting theme of the film plays; a move that would be seen as indulgent in many other directors, but Oshii shrugs it off. He did this movie his way, and because of this attitude it works. There’s some graphic violence, but not a lot, and there’s a bit of nudity, but there’s not enough of this stuff to satiate those who came specifically to see those elements: people have to be interested in the brief moments that the characters spend waxing philosophical for this film to work.
It’s only a little bit heavy, and not really overbearing. Those who can bear ten plus hours of this stuff will have no problems with the roughly ten minutes it occupies here. The only real aspect of this film that seems outdated is that, despite promoting a society in which all of humanity is connected, the technology is not as wired as it could be expected; that is, of course, one of the best things about science-fiction films: they provide a vision of the future consistent with the time of their production.

Ghost in the Shell is a beautiful film, and this is never more obvious than in its invisible knife fights in shallow canals. That may sound weird, but any melée that occurs over a water lined surface is just that much more exciting. Hong Kong is beautifully realised, and is not weirdly desolate: it’s a largely bustling metropolis filled with the poor and the rich, and quite a bit of the action takes place during the day, which is nice and refreshing. Only in the last few minutes does Oshii resort to the cheap and static, which is a little disappointing but ultimately forgivable.
The use of early digital imagery is impressive, and the CG works are obvious yet functional: maps and such that would likely appear that way anyway.
For such an early application of the technology, Ghost in the Shell is surprisingly close to mastery.

The score is a large part of what makes the film, and is quite possibly the defining point of Kawai Kenji’s career: the theme is written in an ancient Japanese dialect and eerily fits with the opening sequence depicting the construction of a cyborg body. Kawai never sweeps, but rather feels the atmosphere, and plods around the landscape of Hong Kong in the nicest possible way. The tension inherent in the movie works much better than any crash bang opera could possibly do.

Voice work is good, and the seiyuu continued to portray the characters into the two recent sequel properties. Tanaka Atsuko is an excellent Kusanagi, who does not betray her origins as a woman and in one remarkable scene demonstrates her control. Ohtsuka Akio, who frequently rocks out, is excellent as Batou, the Section 9 agent who is allegedly in love with Kusanagi. This is one of the least played parts of the film, but he does a good job of the concern necessary. Beyond that, the rest of the cast are good, but these two make their characters and the film.

Ghost in the Shell is a quiet, contemplative science fiction film. It handles itself deftly and is not afraid to take a few minutes out. In many ways, it represents the end of an era. In others, it represents the beginning. This is a film that is frequently quoted as a keen way to get into anime, and that’s a fair analysis (although I hated it six years ago). Its appeal is a mystery: it’s a combination of many things, but not one stands out quite enough for a clear definition. Ghost in the Shell is an excellent whole, a deceptively simple mastery.

Cosplay Complex

Huh. If you take a group of cosplayers, add to them a magical transforming six inch-tall bunny girl and a pink owl, what do you get? You get the loli-fixated Cosplay Complex, a 2002 three-part OVA that resurrects the nineties OVA trademark of not actually ending.

Chako is a high school student and member of a cosplay club. Her dream is to compete in the Cosplay World Series because of all of the fun that the world of cosplay promises.
For reasons that fail to make any sense whatsoever, Chako is helped in her quest by a pink owl and a bunny girl from “the fairy world”. Ikebukuro the owl can sew, and Delmo the bunny girl can transform herself into a costume in exchange for sweets.
In the first episode, marvel at an Italian exchange student challenging the club for the right to join it! In the second episode, gaze in awe as the club goes to the beach to wear swimsuits and learn the true art of cosplay! In the third episode, watch in puzzlement as the club is challenged by the nation’s number one cosplay team in preparation for the World Series that are clearly never going to be!

Cosplay Complex is almost sub-standard fan service anime fare. It is not total dreck because it is capable of making fun of conventions in anime. The pep-talk given to Chako in the first episode about aiming for the ace is filled with great imagery and is made even better by the fact that practically anything the bald headed Gorou says is hilarious. The loli-con fascination is seen as hilarious by some, but for the most part it’s simply annoying and a little disturbing. Fortunately the writers managed to come up with a largely hilarious solution, and that’s where Cosplay Complex does its best: sometimes it throws something completely unexpected out.
For all of its pandering to fetishes (maids in swimsuits, nurses, wedding dresses), Cosplay Complex offers the occasional gem of true comedy that makes it somewhat worthwhile. The whole “mourning dress” thing is completely whacked, but is a prime example of this.
However, Ikebukuro and Delmo leave a bad taste in the mouth because what they do is awfully like cheating. However, the number one club in the country also does it, so … does this mean that all of the best cosplayers in Japan have their own six inch bunny girl? I don’t think so. They just want to go for the totally out there, when true cosplay anime should be about the real side of fandom, not this made up world with weird things in it: the random comedy always draws from something real, but these two are simply more pandering.

The fan service is of the weird “blank areas followed by frontal assault” variety, rather than a constant stream of dilligently spread images. It’s all remarkably self-conscious; Jenny is an exchange student so that the other characters can marvel at her huge boobs, and having a magical tit-enhancing bunny girl on board is just plain weird. There aren’t any panty shots that can be thought of as incidental – they’re all the result of falling or changing or what have you – and there’s one incredibly bizarre moment involving a tanuki. A lot of the time in Cosplay Complex when you’re not laughing is occupied by “why the hell am I watching this?” time. This carries on even to the rare nudity, where the girls have nipples that are mysteriously flesh coloured.

Initially the music is horrible synth, but after the first five minutes I stopped paying attention. The OP and ED songs do not really require six vocalists, but that’s what they’ve given us. On a design level, the characters are okay if a little standard. Chako’s sharp haircut would be okay were it not for the white light streaks, which always seem to form a perfect circle – looking more unnatural than it already would be. Likewise, there’s nothing very special about the voice acting, with Maria sounding particularly out of it.

Cosplay Complex is mildly entertaining and largely pointless anime. I wouldn’t recommend picking it up, but if it somehow comes your way, go for it. It may make you laugh, and is unlikely to cause any explosions.

Kurogane Communication – episodes 1 to 8

Kurogane Communication is a half length TV series about the alleged last human on Earth and the robots with which she lives. The band of five mechanoids looks after this young girl, Haruka, as if she was their daughter. In a way, they are a family despite their lack of blood ties or consistent appearances. In these first eight episodes various aspects of day to day life in a post-apocalyptic Japan are showcased, leaning towards more character development and some story progress in the latter half.

Each episode’s content is roughly eleven and a half minutes, which makes for compact stories that convey their content with a minimum of waste. There’s a two parter when needs be, which makes for an effective and tense break that wouldn’t have worked in standard length anime.

The characters are interesting enough so far, with Haruka being an almost wastefully energetic character. She channels her energy into curiosity and an intense desire to assist, which naturally gets her into trouble. Haruka does not push it, however; too much of this sort of behaviour would make infuriating anime. The other character of interest is, naturally, Haruka’s polar opposite Angela. Initially she hates humanity due to her dark and mysterious past, but that looks like it’s on the path to change. The most emotional scenes among these eight episodes are those in which Angela is left alone to tend Haruka’s fever. It becomes obvious here that the aim seems to be to make the audience feel good about things: these moments are deftly executed.
The other characters will probably be fleshed out over the next two thirds: gun-happy Trigger, stupid looking over-protective Spike, wise Cleric and the hilariously gay Reeves. As they stand, they’re nice but don’t do much other than support.

Of the seiyuu, only Horie Yui as Haruka and Fukami Rika as Angela seem to be the only real “name” seiyuu, and they do a good job: Horie gets roles that she’s either suited to or she’s not – Horie’s characters have to be nice. Fukami is unexpected as the gruff Angela, so it’s even better that she can pull it off.
The music is in tune with the whole Kurogane Communication ethos: Kawai Kenji’s OP boasts considerable charm, and the score itself has a very laidback feel to it. The scenery is beautiful, and a very nice yet deserted world is presented. This leads to the art direction, which in episode six is simply amazing. The quick cuts employed make the already dramatic episode really quite gripping in a way that’s not often seen. Kurogane Communication may have been designed as a fifteen minute segment in a “comic strip” on satellite TV, but it seems to have had some thought placed into it to create drama.
There’s a little bit of fan service so far, but Haruka is really too young for it. Fortunately she’s not exploited in any way, and any instance of service is brief and natural, and “hilarious misunderstandings” happen too infrequently to be annoying.

Soon Kurogane Communication may seem like the end of the world, but for now it promotes the excellent optimisim that has to take place after horrible catastrophe. It’s how humans and, theoretically, robots manage to move on. If you were to use a Japanese phrase that ultimately seems to mean nothing when literally translated to describe this anime, it would simply be kimochi: Kurogane Communication promotes good feeling.

The Big O – Episodes 7 to 13

Amongst the many anime that I have watched this year, The Big O turned out to be one of the most compelling, if not the most compulsive. It brags what is possibly the best/most infuriating ending ever, and it would be unforgivable were it not for the sequel funded by Cartoon Network.

The second half of The Big O is pretty much the same as the first, but in some undefinable way better. This is quite possibly because Roger and Dorothy become much deeper as characters, and their ambiguous relationship grows still more ambiguous. Roger even gets to take part in practical negotiations, rather than random jobs that bear little meaning to his vocation.

The theme of memory continues to be very important and quite interesting beyond the usual pale of base anime philosophy. There are many touching scenes in regards to this featuring Roger and Dorothy, chief among them the “someone can make their own memories. These are yours, and yours alone.” Roger knows exactly what to say to Dorothy, and to him she really is a person. Some may see it as insensitive, but there comes a time when he forgets that she isn’t human.
Dorothy is an amazingly well drawn character. Her meditations on loneliness are interesting, but the way that she is animated is perhaps more so. You can tell that she’s happy or enjoying herself, even when there is no smile on her face. In some small way, it’s incredible. She’s one of the more sympathetic androids I have seen in my time.

The most excellent episode of the series deals not with Roger or Dorothy, but rather Dan Dastun, head of the military police. The way that Satou used cinematic techniques to frame the story and embraced the clichéd made for an emotional hit of an episode. This was not an original piece, but it was a very nice take on the whole idea of pretty traitors and doing the right thing. If you do the right thing, is that not what really matters? This episode was simply beautiful, and capable of promoting a slight physical response. This episode alone would be enough to recommend the series, were it not for all of the other things that make it rock out.

The question of Christianity is also brought into focus; without memory, man has created religion using the old rituals and places. This seems a naturally human thing to do, a good source of comfort. Paradigm City has recreated Christmas as “Heaven’s Day”, which is seen by Roger as a manufactured exercise in cynicism. The head of Paradigm, Alex Rosewater, is well aware of the meaning of the day, so it seems that he pays some respects.
The other thing is that the staff might be suggesting, in their own way, that Holy War may well have been the cause of amnesia – and of course, the idea of “man harnessing the power of God” is also trotted out. You just have to love anime when it gets like this.

There’s also the rich and decadent. In a society that can’t remember how it obtained its wealth, would this not create a greater rift between the rich and the poor? There is an upper class area, called the East Dome, which everyone hates based simply on the fact that it’s full of the rich and criminally rich. There’s corruption at the highest level in Paradigm, and this leads to some purely horrific scenes with burning people jumping out of buildings. It’s not something one would expect and it’s purely shocking.

The action scenes between hideous, hideous robots are actually some of the most entertaining and thrilling there are. They’re designed to fight, and so fight they do. Roger brings a passion to his battles, now that he has something to fight for, that make them a joy to watch. There’s something so very practical and yet unwieldly about them that makes it difficult to resist.
Incredible war footage is included, and Roger being hunted in the final episode is sure to get adrenaline running.
On the character design front, one of Beck’s henchmen has the makeup and hair of The Joker, which is a little confusing. Also confusing is the way it rains inside a domed building. It probably makes sense if you look hard enough.

The Big O ends on a huge cliffhanger, and I pity the poor sods who had to wait three years for its continuation (something that almost didn’t happen). This is one instance where American fandom proved good: another thirteen episodes of this outstanding, stylish series featuring really personable characters (even if one is a robot).

Steamboy

Steam punk is one of anime’s more interesting genres. The 1800s was a time of great creativity and diversity in inventions. Because there were so many people interested in inventing things, Japanese writers take this as a cue to create characters who can make whatever invention that they desire, simply saying that it was made possible by the awesome power of steam. Steam, it would appear, is the most powerful of all fuels. For the most part this involves very little suspension of disbelief, although the genre was pushed to the limits of good taste in Nadia. Steamboy is the latest, and perhaps greatest, example of the romance of this genre.

In 1866, young inventor Ray Steam is living in Manchester with his mother while his father and grandfather toil in America for the O’Hara foundation. One day, a package arrives for Ray, containing none other than the mysterious “steam ball”, that contains and pressurises the strongest fuel known to man. Ray’s grandfather, Lloyd, implores that he keeps the ball away from the O’Hara’s cronies, lest they use it to wage war.
It’s not long, however, before Ray is abducted by the O’Hara foundation and made party to their plans to build the greatest tower of Babel the world has ever known, and to design and sell weapons to fund it. What follows is a two hour examination of the meaning of science, the wages of progress and, of course, science as God. Steamboy is, in effect, a pastiche of several of the most popular anime stories – stories in general, for that matter – and it succeeds because director Otomo Katsuhiro loves his work.

Steamboy is an ambitious project and, as with practically everything, not for everyone. There are few who would deny that it is well crafted, but there are many who would argue that it plods or “disappoints”. The first thing that must be noted in order to even begin to enjoy this film is that it is not Akira despite being written and directed by Otomo. Steamboy is so far removed from so much that has come before it that it has to be looked at based on its own merits.

The setting is initially boring – but then, so is Manchester. Otomo can not be blamed for accurately recreating the bland, brown weather of Britain in the 1800s and the very traditional architecture. This place is too steeped in tradition to accept the Steam family’s creativity, and so Ray does not really fit there. When Ray cracks out his kettle powered wheel thing, all bets are off. The movie begins to touch on the ridiculous – a blimp with a crane clamping onto a train carriage, throwing a net onto an unsuspecting Ray (in the finest Team Rocket tradition) – and soars into the joyous area of uninhibited innovation.
London seems the perfect place to set the action, especially at this historical juncture: consider that the Crystal Palace is a chief location for the film’s action. The Crystal Palace was symbolic of the British empire’s decadence; Steam Tower, by comparison, is humanity’s. These two places lead to some wonderfully designed action sequences and a chance to see large chunks of London destroyed.

Characterisation is admittedly not the deepest, but the three generations of Steam men are interesting in their portrayal. The older men are set in their ways, but Ray still has an open mind. His views are shaped by what the two men he looks up to believe, and because they contradict he has to find his own way. The innocence of childhood not realising the evil of weapons, the near-sighted practicality of those creating them for money: all angles are covered.
The idea of trust is also prominent – it’s entirely predictable that prominent inventor Stephenson will tell Ray that science is for making people happy, but then suffacing it with the fact that sometimes it has to be used for destructive purposes. Power is a corruptor, but not in the hands of those who know what it can do, or have impossibly high moral standards, like that of a child who doesn’t want people to explode. Ray isn’t pointlessly optimistic, and he actually gets his chance to consider his options in the time given to him. The spoiled heiress of the O’Hara corporation, Scarlett(!), is allowed to become something more than an animal abuser and, while she doesn’t change her core, she is adaptable – which is a good thing to ask for a character.
Interestingly, the promo material skews rather older than the characters. As in Metropolis (also scripted by Otomo), the hero and heroine are only about ten or twelve years of age. Many things about the campaign behind Steamboy ar misleading, which will make it either a surprise or a disappointment dependent on state of mind.

I am still not a fan of CG work, and the stuff in this film is obvious: but it appears that this will be lessened in impact when played on a television and will ultimately play smoother. That’s my misgiving, though; it should work well for most others. The character designs are Otomo’s normal style, although he has learned a bit about making his characters look aesthetically pleasing over sixteen years. The animation is always good, as you would expect from the traditional marketing line (I am refraining to go into that aspect as it detracts from enjoyment of the film). The production values are of the highest standard and make for an incredible visual delight – particularly with the use of moving fore and backgrounds.
The scoring was done by Americans and initially seems to be a bit too pat – making the first ten or so minutes of the film seem underwhelming and, admittedly, quite suitable to the boring Mancunian atmosphere. Afterwards it’s simply steam powered fare that doesn’t bother anyone but is not as memorable as some other big films.
Columbia Tristar has done an interesting job of the subtitles, going for some “Britticisms” along the lines of “cripes!” and the questionable use of “crikey!” for “sugoi“. It’s kind of authentic, but also kind of distracting.

Steamboy is a great film that addresses the questions that are, to so many anime fans, bread and butter. There are some interesting questions raised, and it doesn’t really get mired in its own ideas of “importance”. Watchers should note going into Steamboy that it features an hour long climax rather than the traditional ten or fifteen minutes. If you’re cool with that, and you like the theme, you should be cool with Steamboy. This is a heavily traditional anime, told with flair and style. It’s easy to dismiss, but surely it’s far easier to enjoy.