It’s no more an eroge than Tsukihime and F/S N are if I’m honest. I would’ve thought the story-to-smut ratio would have to be lower for it to qualify since, like those Type Moon forays into the genre, Katawa Shoujo involves a lot of reading to get to the H-scenes so it’s plot-driven before anything else; outside of fiction written for a young audience, characters end up in bed together every now and then in many romantic drama stories anyway.

Thinking about how it approaches the themes it addresses, it’s less of ‘a story about disabled people’ and more ‘a story about people who happen to have disabilities’. The distinction is a subtle yet important one. It goes hand-in-hand with the idea of the storytelling being respectful and tasteful; I don’t think KS is intended to be an exercise in challenging people’s perceptions of the disabled in society per se. The problems and challenges that the characters face are not their respective disabilities: they’re connected, but are nevertheless separate.

Each affected character has overcome the obvious problem, but where KS gets interesting is in its portrayal of the knock-on effects. The core messages of this VN for me then were “look beyond the obvious” and of course “this is a story about people, not their disabilities.” Once I understood those facts of the writing, I was able to really appreciate what it sets out to do.

On my first read-through I ended up reading Emi’s route. It was in retrospect a good one to start on because it was relatively uplifting and comedic, and as a character Emi is likeable into the bargain. There were dark undercurrents later on but it set a nice direction for me in showing a character who has overcome her challenges, and in being by her side Hisao is able to move forward in life.

My favourite route overall though was Hanako’s, although it was somewhat darker and more tense in tone. It was for me the most well-written, mainly because the characterisation and the way Hisao brings her out of her shell were so cathartic and satisfying. It also subverted the common trope of ‘rescuing’ the girl from the situation she was in (by pure chance, a recent comment on my rather old post about the Heaven’s Feel route of F/S N reinforced my thoughts on this).

You’d expect Hanako’s route to get to know her and consistently help her…except, if you go too far into ‘knight in shining armour’ territory you hit the Bad End. Paying attention to the hints from Lilly and old Mutou-sensei though, you realise that the school is a means for preparing the students for the outside world so the pity of others is not helpful to them at all. Simply put, the only way to save Hanako is to give her the means to save herself.

I found this to be not only a clever bit of writing in terms of gameplay mechanics, but a realistic and true-to-life portrayal of the problems encountered by people affected by such things. Haruki Murakami references and character design aside (again, in another case of the “look beyond the obvious” mantra, she’s actually very pretty), I loved Hanako’s story: it goes on to use the H-scene as a plot device in an unusual way and delivers a Good End that is…just read it. It’s great.

Rin’s route was a bit of an odd one because unusually it’s not really about getting to know and understand the heroine…as a matter of fact, Rin doesn’t understand herself either. To make matters even more complicated, the decision points were very challenging so despite the emotional payoff I didn’t enjoy it as much in the conventional sense: I was unable to mentally work backwards through her background to get a grasp of why she’s the way she is, so the full force of the storytelling was a bit lost on me.

No story is perfect, especially when the narrative is branching and each component branch has a different writer; Shizune’s route for me highlighted how some are bound to be weaker than others. As a character she’s pleasant enough; I know there are fans of her character type out there even though I’m not one of them, but the issues I had were more to do with the character *development*, inconsistent pacing and relative lack of decision points.

In contrast, Lilly’s route was…pleasant is the best way to describe it. Again, I was fortunate in my choice of reading order because it had a warm, serene vibe and the final act actually felt more ‘final’ than any of the others. There was the additional benefit of the other heroines featuring prominently too: an issue I often have with multi-path stories is a difficulty adjusting to the shifted focus in each. I couldn’t start a route on the same day as finishing the previous one, for example, due to my sentimental attachment to the characters but when Lilly’s route features Hanako and even includes a lunchtime scene with her, Emi and Rin as well as Lilly I didn’t feel as though I was ignoring them.

Although it’s a closing thought, mentioning the hero at this point is actually rather appropriate; the protagonist of first-person perspective VNs is usually a tabula rasa figure in order for the reader to project his or her own thoughts and points of view onto him, but in this case Hisao has a backstory of his own and often the story is as much about him overcoming his issues as it is the heroines overcoming theirs. It adds to the interactive nature of the story in that we see Hisao help the heroine of each route, but at the same time the relationship benefits him as well. It’s a time for Hisao to mend his broken heart, in more ways than one.

VNs translated into English aren’t exactly commonplace, and in terms of subject matter I daresay KS is unique. I’m tempted to call it an experiment in open-source teamwork, and a successful one at that, but I’d be selling it as short as I would be if I were to call it “that 4chan dating sim about the disabled girls.” It’s not perfect – perhaps because of the voluntary and amateur nature of its creators or simply because no work of fiction ever is – but as a piece of storytelling it’s still impressive.

Maybe 4LS were mistaken in keeping a title that needlessly throws up extra preconceptions, or maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference; I don’t know. The VN format isn’t for everyone of course, and KS embraces certain tropes and aesthetics of the Japanese medium that inspired it so it’s not really intended for the mass market anyway. For the record, I found the experience of reading it very rewarding indeed, and my gratitude goes out to the people who helped to bring it to completion.

Final notes

I wrote some short-ish commentary on each route as I went along, in the order that I read them in. They go into a bit more detail than I did here and I’d only be repeating myself if I were to do a long copypasta, so here are the links in case you’re interested.

• Emi’s route
• Hanako’s route
• Shizune’s route
• Rin’s route
• Lilly’s route

I found myself compelled to see it through to the notorious end, but I can think of so many reasons why I perhaps shouldn’t have bothered. My lasting impression is that it really wasn’t bad; ignoring the waste of time that is the Summer Special (a course of action I thoroughly recommend, by the way) it still had its fair share of problems.

Firstly, there’s the fanservice. I know that’s such a common thing that I don’t normally bother to pass comment on it, but this series has so many boob gags and scenes in which the female members of the cast are shown topless it’s as though their nipples were pairs of accusing eyes watching me watching them, and making me feel guilty about it (I think I became desensitised to it, but I’m not sure if that’s a healthy thing).

Hand-in hand with this is the issue of the kids’ teacher. By her second appearance on-screen I’d already stopped finding her antics funny and started to wish she could be written out of the story altogether, especially since she served no useful purpose plot-wise. The irritating bint’s lustful advances towards the adolescent male protagonist actually creeped me out far more than the camera’s fascination with Mahoro’s tits did which implies that, in my eyes, a shotacon teacher is worse than straightforward gratuitous nudity. An interesting train of thought, that.

Seeing Mahoro and the other girls naked made me feel a little uncomfortable, but the housemaid theme goes against the grain for me too. There’s a market for that sort of thing of course (maid cafés, for instance), but the apparent portrayal of outdated gender roles left a bad taste in my mouth. I guess fans could argue about its subversive-ness (because, y’know, it’s what Gainax specialise in) and the fact that it’s not really about sexual politics, but the sense of exploitation/otaku maid fetishism still refused to go away.

The irony that Mahoro was capable of killing aliens but decided to make Suguru’s breakfast and clean his house for him after she retired from active duty isn’t lost on me, and of course it’s often part of the comedy and absurdity of the show. A more positive way of looking at her decision to become a housemaid after a life of a battle android is assuming the story is taking a pacifist/personal atonement stance…or so I’d like to think.

Mahoromatic‘s mood-orientated gear changes were a little jarring too. Since it dealt with both ecchi slapstick and tragedy, the production trod on thin ice and because the ending is in stark contrast to everything that preceded it I was caught off-balance (the comedy had outstayed its welcome by that stage so maybe that change in atmosphere was for the best).

This serious undercurrent that runs continually from the first episode to the last is however the very thing that lifts Mahoromatic up and away from the rest of the ‘forgettable fanservice comedy’ titles. No matter what the subject matter of the episode happens to be – whether it’s vacuum cleaner-powered breast enlargers, hidden porn stashes, a brassiere missile launcher or a festive christmas special – each episode ended with a title card indicating Mahoro’s remaining life expectancy…which is measured in days.

When the viewer is reminded every time the end credits roll of how fragile the fluffiness of the show is, it gives a powerful sense of inevitability and finality and ensures that you never forget the story’s bittersweet roots. On one hand I wasn’t comfortable with Mahoro being Suguru’s obsequious personal servant but on the other I really appreciated the other main theme of the series: a warrior who chooses to spend her final days making a lonely young human’s life more pleasant and discovering her own humanity. On paper, it sounds trite and dumb but seeing it happen on screen is really quite moving.

With the exception of the homeroom teacher the characters are quite likeable, even Minawa, the insipid clumsy moe maid, who miraculously failed to initiate my gag reflex. Suguru is far from the worst example of the Anime Male Lead – I’d put him in the top 50% somewhere, anyhow – and Mahoro is also one of the more memorable anime characters I’ve seen over the years. Quite a bit of effort was poured into the backstories of the two of them, and refreshingly this isn’t thrown out of the window towards the end either.

Perhaps I also unknowingly recognised Ayako Kawasumi’s voice behind Mahoro’s character, and saw her as another cute-yet-badass female with a more interesting bond with the male protagonist, and a more interesting balance between toughness and femininity too (I’m thinking of her roles as Lafiel in Crest of the Stars and Saber in the Fate franchise here).

The lifespan counter at the end of each episode is decidedly unsubtle but I still had a lump in my throat by the end in spite of myself so while I did feel it was enotionally manipulative, I was manipulated very effectively. We often walk away with more positive lasting impressions of a story if it has a memorable, powerful or satisfying ending, even when the bits that precede it are patchy; filler is by its nature forgettable, so I remember the parts that worked well and in that sense Mahoromatic did itself a favour by cleverly timing its big twists and shifts in atmosphere.

Is the comedy forced, formulaic and reliant on fanservice? Yes. Is it lightweight fluff? Until the latter episodes of the second season, yes. Does it play into the hands of the otaku and their romantic fantasies? Yes. Is it borderline sexist? Possibly. For all that though, I still can’t bring myself to hate it. I think it’s one of those guilty pleasure shows: deficient or simply crap in some aspects, but with a few redeeming features that are just enough to save it. I often wonder if Gainax deliberately choose risky projects and thrive on trying to make these unlikely propositions work. Grudgingly, I have to admit they just about managed it here.

It’s just that this is closer to how I’d imagine a Nasu adaptation to be (yes, I know Urobuchi did the legwork) so quite frankly the idiosyncracies go with the territory. Introducing a cast of this size, especially considering the relationships and connections involved, was never going to be a painless exercise for the viewer, in any case.

I can’t help but admire Ufotable for putting a figurative sign up at the door reading, “this is how we roll. If you don’t like it, you can sod off.” Perhaps it’s my memories of Yamaguchi’s dumbed-down domestic comedy sapping the dramatic weight from the Fate/Stay Night TV episodes; perhaps it’s the way Fate/Zero’s artwork, Kajiura OST and demanding narrative remind me of Kara no Kyoukai (which had planted an image in my head of how the Nasuverse ought to be animated). Or maybe I just like to see TV writers being uncompromising and having faith in their audience.

The thing is, I expect Type Moon stories to be dark, heavy-going and challenging. Although they have a cult following their output in general is an acquired taste – to my mind, the Fate franchise is about as light and accessible as it gets (with the exception of Carnival Phantasm, obviously).

Caster’s introduction to Uryuu for instance was gruesome and chilling: we see the meeting of two sociopaths, and it’s quickly obvious that yes, both are batshit insane and yes, this is bad news for pretty much everyone concerned. As a foreshadowing of Heaven’s Feel, it’s inevitable that we are shown Sakura going through unimaginable suffering and Zouken as another manipulative sicko too.

I’m not saying that it’s all angst, mind…I think even I’d find it too much to handle if it was. Take Rin’s Adventure episode for instance: they might as well have called it The Rin Fanboys’ Shameless Filler Episode but for all that, I actually welcomed the brief diversion. Although certain aspects of what makes her older character awesome are absent (because she’s, y’know, a kid), she’s fundamentally the same likeable, outspoken badass and as filler episodes go it was a very bearable break from the main plotline.

Speaking of likeable, outspoken badassery, Rider is probably the the most significant character who stops the entire venture being bogged down. Sure, he’s amusing enough but his comic aspects never outshine his admirable ones. Simply put, the guy is the life and soul of the party.

Iskander was, in life, a remarkable and larger-than-life figure of great charisma. The way he’s portrayed here – a mixture of Brian Blessed and King Leonidas in the movie adaptation of 300 – is far more theatrical than the real life Alexander would have been but it makes a convincing case for why history looks so fondly on him. It’s also an absolute blast to watch.

Perhaps as a nod to his up-front, direct approach to problem-solving explified in the legend of the Gordian Knot, the eleventh episode’s meeting begins with Rider turning up unannounced at the Einzburn castle…not to fight exactly, but certainly to address important issues head on.

Wrapping sincere convictions and a shrewd ability to weigh up his opponent behind a veneer of comedic bluster is a hugely entertaining way to present a character like this; it also eases the progress of a very dry and dialogue-heavy segment of the story. As a matter of fact, I’ve got into the habit of pouring myself a beer every saturday evening for my weekly dose of Fate/Zero…and Rider clearly sees the advantages of a good drink too.

The Fate route of the original VN goes into a lot of depth about Saber’s background, motives, strengths and weaknesses; here, Rider’s criticisms of her methods and aims in the Grail war were scathing, but contained elements of truth nonetheless. Her wish is a noble one on one hand, but is an insult to the courage and hard work of her and those who stood by her during her lifetime on the other.

I can understand Rider’s disappointment. He turned up to talk to two people who may be the only ones in the world who see it has he does, he brought a barrel of the best drink he can find to break the ice…only to find one of them has a classier stash of booze and the other opponent he respected so much is driven by what is, in his eyes, a misguided ideal. Rider’s wish is more, well, human than hers but even back when I was reading the VN I couldn’t help but think, “seriously, Saber, you deserved better than this.”

From Rider’s point of view it doesn’t make her much of a worthy adversary for his own gargantuan ambitions, and from the viewer’s it’s frustrating because she’s letting herself down when you consider what she put herself through to become a legendary hero in the first place. Fundamentally, those qualities are what made her the legendary hero…there are plenty of good-but-not-great monarchs who never reach mythical status, after all.

Fate’s portrayal of Arturia is that of a tragic figure and a slave to her role while Iskander’s approach was to place the king before the country; I suspect the best leadership figure exists between the two extremes of selfless martyr and selfish tyrant, but Rider does make a good case for his own philosophy. Arturia was an incomplete leader in that sense, having the fighting skills and the dedication to do the right thing but falling short of becoming the inspirational focus of her idealogy during her own lifetime. Iskander may not have put his subjects’ interests first but he did understand how important a king’s public face is in the eyes of those who serve him.

In your dreams, pal

Gilgamesh is, in my opinion, relatively straightforward and therefore not as interesting as a character. His scheming is fun to follow but as a character he lacks Saber’s inner conflict and contradictions, and doesn’t have Rider’s infectious charm either (he was very adept at talking Kotomine round in episode 12 though). Since he serves nothing but his own agenda, he’s less like Kotomine and Tokiomi Tohsaka and doesn’t really have time for playing along with everyone else.

Overall Fate/Zero occupies a peculiar position in the Type Moon canon in that anyone who’s familiar with the F/S N story has a pretty good idea about where it’s going to end. Its main purpose then is filling in the gaps and bringing the narrative up to the present; the idea of making decisions and shaking off the shackles of what’s pre-decided formed a central theme in the original, so the looming sense of inevitability in Fate/Zero gives it a different spin that’s quite refreshing.

As with the pic at the top of the post, we already know that, sadly, This Will Not End Well

The issue of the deliberate pacing remains – it feels like it’s still warming up and will save the real shocks for the second half. To my shame, I’ll still find it in myself to forgive it for that. Since the thirteenth outing will be up on Nico Nico Douga when I’m back with the family, my weekly ‘Fate/Zero and beer’ routine will be interrupted and I might have an excuse to finish reading the translation of the novel instead. Fancy that.

On that note, apologies for the sporadic update schedule this year…I’ve not had the time or energy to throw into the community as much as I used to sadly, but if I don’t get the chance before the end of the month I’d like to thank my remaining readership for coming back and wish you all a Merry Christmas and epic 2012. As always, it’s been a pleasure.

This accolade is never given lightly. Given its origin, it demands to be an award of the highest order as a recognition of epic courage, selflessness and sheer badassery; spoilers for Super Dimensional Fortress Macross are coming up, by the way.

In the Do You Remember Love? movie version of Macross, Roy Foker dies a heroic death in in battle so his comrades might live; in the TV series however, the events play out differently…and in some ways it’s even more powerful. It happens during a fairly fast-paced portion of the story immediately after a dream sequence-induced clip episode, so a lot of other stuff is already going on. The Macross has returned to Earth, but the occupants are not allowed to leave the ship; Hikaru is recovering from war wounds in hospital; Minmay is suffering from the pressures of new-found fame and as a result there’s a growing rift between them.

The build-up to Roy’s demise is really well done because there are numerous sleight-of-hand plot points to ramp up the tension and simultaneously foreshadow the event. Hikaru is unable to accompany his wingmen, resulting in a last-minute substitute; there’s a promise to see Claudia again with a carefree declaration of what he plans to do when he returns from his mission (as someone quipped in Scream, “when someone says ‘I’ll be right back,’ they’ll NEVER ‘be right back’.”); then the ground crew who inspect Roy’s plane afterwards make a grim discovery in the empty cockpit.

Roy’s final moments are a surprisingly poignant and moving piece of work on the part of the show’s writers: it’s very quiet and low-key. You might be able to put two and two together and say “I saw that coming,” but even so, the ordinary-ness catches you off balance. Most heroic deaths (his in DYRL? included) show the character going out in a blaze of glory but this time it was, let’s face it, how death often is in reality rather than how it often is in stories.

Part of the appeal of the Heroic Death as a plot device is the fact that it celebrates the act of dying with one’s boots on. The idea that someone meets his or her end while at work or doing something productive adds meaning to their final moments of life, and the numerous connotations and inferences are therefore mostly positive. It’s a sudden end that doesn’t occur due to natural causes; it’s a hero’s death.

The original Pineapple Salad scene is nevertheless different from, say, its DYRL? equivalent, and most deaths occuring while wearing boots for that matter. The gunfire is behind them, there’s no fighting or shouting; it’s a quiet, friendly domestic scene quite removed from the violence that preceded it.

It’s more than a man dying with his boots on. It’s a man who has fought the good fight, drawn enemy fire away from a comrade, brought his men safely home then kept his promise to the woman he loves despite being gravely injured…and we don’t even realise how injured he is until afterwards because he didn’t draw attention to his condition. Instead, he joined Claudia for dessert then finally keeled over with a guitar in his hand.

Let me reiterate that last point.

Roy Foker died. With. A. Guitar. In. His. Hand.

Now look me in the eye and tell me this isn’t a true hero.

It’s also important to remember how the series portrayed him. For some reason, I always thought of him as the arrogant, womanising fighter jock but in both this and his younger self’s appearance in Macross Zero he’s more than that, and I feel as though I haven’t been giving him enough credit for it.

Take the peaceful, cool-headed Bruno Global. He often looked out of his depth at first, like Captain Smith on the Titanic: a distinguished veteran offered a prestigious job before he retires, only to see events take a dramatic and unexpected turn. Global is a well-decorated officer with an illustrious career and as such is a good leader in a crisis, but it’s just as easy to imagine him living a peaceful life smoking his pipe by the fire at home.

Roy Foker in contrast is one of those people for whom it is hard to imagine doing anything other than flying a plane. During their time on the ground, the Roy Fokers of this world feel lost and without purpose; they often cause trouble for themselves and those around them because their role as a pilot is so integral to who they are. Hikaru drifted into the job but Roy was destined to fly a plane, live dangerously and do risky, heroic things.

For the most part I look upon the heavy drinking, womanising archetype with disapproval but Roy somehow gets away with it. This is I think partly because he does things most of us secretly want to do – namely drinking a lot, chasing the girls and putting yourself into dangerous situations to look cool – but wouldn’t dare do ourselves. He has the balls and we haven’t.

There’s actually an element of self-control to Roy’s excesses however, in that he can be the sober professional and skilled role model when the situation demands it. Unlike the ‘loose cannon’ type of fighter jock, his ability to behave appropriately when really necessary is as effortless as his ability to misbehave without showing a trace of remorse when he can get away with it.

When at play, Foker was a man of questionable morals but when the proverbial crap hit the fan and there was work to be done, his unwavering resolve to Do The Right Thing was anything but questionable. Although his reputation was that of a man who partied hard, thought monogamy is used to make furniture and relished a fight, it’s ironic to think that his final moments were in the peaceful company of a long-term girlfriend while waiting for a healthy dessert. The pineapple salad.

Macross is renowned for being a character-driven romance rather than a political space opera; for all the loving detail lavished on the hardware and military tactics Yukikaze still has plenty of time for humans and their relationships (even when the relationships are with machines!). The war is of course for the whole of humanity, but often for the combatants very personal issues are what matter.

Looking at the archives of my old blog, I described the approach of the Macross: Do You Remember Love? retelling as “innocent clumsiness”, which I think applies to the original TV show too: many of the tropes, character archetypes and plot devices that we take for granted now are still present there but in a more primitive form. A case in point is the slapstick and lighthearted way in which the Zentradi first encounter human culture, in the form of intercepted signals and a bunch of ill-prepared spies who infiltrate the Macross itself. Although they are mostly serving as comic relief, it’s not a bad way to highlight how strange our culture is from an outside perspective.

The first taste of Earth that extraterrestrial life will encounter is likely to be that of radio and TV signals; we can only speculate how their own civilisation might be set up but in terms popular media, fashion, human relationships and the like, what sort of conclusions would aliens, who have no grasp of such things, draw? At some points in Macross the misunderstandings are hilarious but at the same time this outsiders’ view casts our world in a refreshing, new light.

The JAM of the Yukikaze universe is/are even stranger than the Zentradi: in the first two Yukikaze novels the alien threat is very nebulous indeed. This even reaches the point at which it is suggested that the JAM are either hallucinations amongst the Faerie military or a fabrication to fuel someone’s own agenda; they are so alien that humanity has trouble believing they exist at all.

What really fascinates me about these two works is this: the JAM and, to a lesser extent because they are relatively easier to understand, the Zentradi are the antagonists of the story but also form a means by which the characters learn more about each other and indeed themselves.

Macross frequently highlights how the events of the Zentradi invasion have changed the characters’ lives forever. It’s possible that Minmay would’ve ended up as a professional entertainer but it’s far more likely that she would inherit the family’s restaurant or live some other normal life; confining her talent in the closed world of the exiled Macross, her true talents are plain for all to see and her career takes a different turn. Ichijyo is initially a civilian pilot with no direction in life either until he decides that the military is the best option for him.

In Good Luck, Yukikaze it’s frequently reiterated that the character of Rei Fukai has changed a lot since the opening chapter of the first novel. One of the major moments for that takes place during his leave on Earth, which gives him a sense of perspective that he never had before; I haven’t a clue what sort of life he had before his service fighting the JAM, but I suspect it would not have been a particularly fruitful one judging by the scant background info that Kanbayashi provides.

In his current situation, an A.I. is perhaps the only sentient being that Fukai feels comfortable with. There’s Major Booker of course but it’s fairly clear that Fukai is far more at home interacting with his plane than fellow humans, even those who are supposed to be friends and coworkers.

The JAM themselves are so shrouded in mystery that the characters question whether even waging war with them is the appropriate course of action. This does however mean that the results of the contact between two (or three, if you count the human computers!) sentient forms of life throw up many profound personal questions.

Macross tackles the alien threat with conventional tactics and intentions, the only concession to the alien-ness of the situation being the adoption of over-technology to enhance the Earth’s military force. The tale of Yukikaze on the other hand is set at a strange interface between Earth and something totally unknown and unrecognisable -  since it’s difficult to discern how to approach the JAM, humanity creates numerous high-performance computers and brings in very strange examples of human beings who would not work together (or function at all) under normal circumstances. Foss’s theory is that this unique environment has given rise to a new human/machine symbiosis to survive in this environment, in the form of Yukikaze’s A.I. and the airframe’s human pilot.

The idea that a human could love and trust an A.I. on a deep emotional level and place his life in its hands might sound preposterous (Foss says as much when she suggests it) but in the context of the story it’s actually quite believable. It’s something new and would never have come to pass had the JAM not invaded, A.I.s fitted to fighter jets and had one lonely misanthrope not taken the pilot’s seat of one of them.

Good Luck Yukikaze is more concerned with the military and psychological angles than cultural ones; Macross works on a broader canvas with human and Zentradi civilisations blending together as a result of their contact. Although the aliens’ advances are supposedly contained in terms of geographic conquest, there is a lot of change amongst both the humans and the aliens; there are a lot of lines and boundaries that get blurred, and ‘invasion’ as a concept encompasses more than just fighting an opposing military force for survival.

The alien invasion in Macross is that of the more tradition variety, highlighting to its characters the importance of those closest to them, and what are worth fighting and risking their lives for. There’s plenty of room within that premise for heroism, drama, angst and so much else but Good Luck Yukikaze is more experimental and, perhaps, a more introspective and world-weary take on the idea.

Fukai, Booker, Cooley, Foss and the others involved with the fight against the JAM are facing such an enigmatic adversary that they have to first stop to think why they’re fighting at all. There’s also less of a clear division between them and the enemy since the humans’ side is so reliant on A.I.s whose thought processes and even motives(!) are unknown. Wrestling with human conflicts and political red tape is par for the course even in the world of Macross, but the nature of the JAM further stretches the definition of war.

Ultimately the two stories are conveying slightly different messages: heroism and understanding can save the day and bring out the best and worst in us as humans in Macross. In Good Luck, Yukikaze it takes an enigmatic threat to push some very unusual people who lack humanity into defining what they’re fighting for – and against – before they can save the rest of us. It’s a distinction between remembering love and discovering who you are, but both are great.

Further reading

I’ve never done this before, but I’ve seen some other bloggers do this and I really appreciated it.

China Mieville’s Embassytown is an inventive and thought-provoking examination of how humans might interact with an alien civilisation, albeit in a more peaceful setting. It makes a lot of nods to classics of SF but also goes into the subtleties of language and culture.

Childhood’s End by Arthur C Clarke is an essential piece of classical alien visitation SF and one I feel I ought to include.

Lord of the Sands of Time and All You Need Is Kill (I wrote about the latter a while back) are both concerned with personal relationships amidst alien invasions and both are available through Viz in the same way the the Yukikaze novels are.

Finally, the whole alien invasion theme is absolutely enormous and covers the full gamut from genre-defining to deathly dull, so I’d love to hear your recommendations!

The plot synopsis is hard to summarise but at its core Love Exposure is a coming-of-age romantic comedy. Its intertwining plot threads feature graphic gore and manga-style violence, domestic strife, panty shots, teen angst, sexual and religious taboos and numerous awkward boners. To reiterate: not for the easily offended. It’s still bloody genius though.

The only film I’ve seen that even remotely resembles this one is Survive Style 5+, which was observed by one critic as “Pulp Fiction on steroids, and with better acting.” Both of these films share some stylistic similarities with Tarantino – such as unusual yet effective choices of music, Ravel’s Boléro being a good example in this case – but lack the self-indulgent glorification of sex, violence and other fetishes; Love Exposure does feature some shocking moments but at least doesn’t portray them in the same way that Tarantino does. Shock value – and fetishes – are key themes in this movie but I felt differently about them here…and even the awkwardness- and discomfort-based comedy of the coming-of-age aspect weren’t too offputting, as is often the case for me.

The length of the film is an important point, not least because I’m one of those viewers who’s guilty of the “…side characters and minor plot points cannot be fully addressed in the running time of a stand-alone feature…” criticism. Love Exposure seems to have realised this so takes the time to go off at tangents, stops to introduce and follow up on incidental people and events, and maintains a comfortable pace without letting boredom set in.

The price to be paid for this is four full hours of your life and if I were to be honest, would it be a much worse film if it were slightly shorter? No, not really. It takes longer than necessary in order to go where it needs to go but there are none of the resulting stodgy, languid moments or shaky acting you might expect. The fact that Sion Sono’s writing is able to sustain itself over such a duration is remarkable but the expansive screenplay also gives the characters the breathing-room they need to develop. Since pretty much everyone of any importance in the film is emotionally fucked up in some way or another, I can’t emphasise the importance of background and development enough.

As much as I could go on about how unpredictable the story gets at points, the larger-than-life characters really make this film and the performances, particularly from the younger members of the cast, are outstanding. Takahiro Nishijima pulls off the bemused, frustrated adolescent Yu Honda with both likeable goofiness and genuine pathos; Sakura Ando is gleefully ruthless as Aya Koike while holding the crucial element of sympathy for her shocking and tragic upbringing; and Hikari Mitsushima as Yoko Ozawa…yeah.

Most J-cinema geeks will remember Mitsushima as the sweet and innocent kid sister in the Death Note live-action efforts but I was floored by the realisation that this gal can act. My first impression actually was “Hot damn! She’s GORGEOUS…” but after reining that in I was amazed at how she stole scenes on professional talent alone. The humour is for the most part slapstick or pitch-black farce but when the drama kicks into overdrive the cast absolutely shine.

I’ve read that Sono is interested in the life story of Jesus but has no particular religious stance; although Chrisitanity takes a significant role in the story of Love Exposure it’s more a case of examining how individuals’ faith and beliefs shape them and those around them. I expect the religious aspect is controversial among the domestic audiences for different reasons: the Zero Church cult bears an uncanny resemblance to organisations such as the notorious Aum Shinrikyo that made headlines in the most shocking way possible in the 1990s (for more info on that incident, I recommend Underground: the Tokyo Gas Attack and the Japanese Psyche by Haruki Murakami).

I don’t think that social commentary was on the agenda here though. A pivotal moment in the movie (and another dramatic high point for Mitsushima I might add) is a recital of a passage from Corinthians that lays the themes of faith, hope and love bare and manages to present the religious, superficial and more seriously romantic aspects of the meaning of “love” fully. It kick-starts the dramatic and blood-soaked finale as Yu realises the depth of his feelings for Yoko (as opposed to merely noticing how she gives him a tent-pole in his trousers) and resolves the other main subplots in a way that makes staggering sense.

The ‘extreme’ moments suggest that this film is an exercise in being as lively and firecracker-under-your-backside startling as possible so it’s a bit of a surprise to realise that its extensive plot and eccentric cast are all in the name of an in-depth and remarkably affecting character study. Perhaps because of the four-hour duration or perhaps because so much batshit insanity happens during the course of the movie, the ending is all the more jaw-dropping and satisfying.

The time I needed to physically watch the thing was the main reason I put it off for so long, but within minutes of Yura Yura Teikoku’s Kudo Desu finishing over the end credits I went straight to ordering my own copy despite the fact that payday was still a week away. The striking storytelling and memorable characters made such an impression on me but I appreciate the fact that it’s so long, dark and twisted it’ll be more of a cult title than a mainstream hit. For all the importance placed on the importance of love, understanding and family I could never comfortably sit down and watch it with my own…

Ultimately it made me grin like a loon and gave me that rare ‘drained in a good way’ feeling and that of wanting to tell anyone who will listen about how it’s one of the best movies I’ve seen in months. And Hikari Mitsushima is still HAWT. ^_^

*And I might add more original screencaps when my retail copy arrives.*

HE HATES IT

The gritty and unconventional storytelling and aesthetic of Kaiji are refreshing and it’s therefore still a heady weekly dose of ugly, dirty, suspensful badass-ness and, well,  everything that the generic otaku fodder isn’t. The fact that there’s nothing quite like it around right now is as true now as it was way back in ’07…and it still kicks.

Trying to explain exactly why I enjoy this so much is harder than merely saying “it’s different…” however. Apart from the fact that the entire cast comprises of blokes who fell out of the ugly tree and are drawn in thick line-art in the style of the Gorillaz, virtually all of them – our hero included – are worthless losers so it requires some elaboration into why any of them are deserving of your attention. The subject matter is also fairly niche: I’m not an expert on gambling but the choice of games used in the show are in of themselves either too simple or trivial to be sources of high tension or drama.

The first arc of the second season for example is Underground Chinchiro, a variant on cee-lo, a straightforward dice game. Part of the dramatic weight of this portion of the series hinges on the predicament of the players since they’re playing to win money that will earn them a day’s leave from their underground workplace: the exchange rate between perica, the in-house currency and that of the standard Yen means that the small amounts involved in the bets are made to sound like huge numbers, resulting in matches whose tension is appropriate for the bizarre and hellish environment.

The players are also at their lowest ebb so if they’re not playing to escape the crushing boredom of their menial job through recreational gambling they’re desparately trying to scrape together enough cash for the prized day’s furlough. The background to the story arc piles on the pressure and raises the stakes because these guys are so close to rock bottom, in more senses than one.

Apart from the striking visual style – which can best be described as functional rather than aesthetically pleasing – and the meticulous construction of the Underground Chinchiro rules, Kaiji has one or two other narrative tricks up its sleeve. The voiceover style is a brave move in that, like many aspect of the show’s premise, it’s so over-the-top it runs the risk of backfiring and being laughable. Once you get into the series though, it’s pretty damned awesome.

The nearest comparison I can draw is the classic Don LaFontaine movie voiceover style, which was originally intended to sound epic and serious but its over-use has since made it subject of numerous parodies. If you imagine a Japanese version of the late and great LaFontaine following a down-and-out gambler and giving a running commentary of his exploits, you’d have a good idea of how dumb it might sound, and yet how pleasantly surprising it is when it actually works…which it does here.

The over-the-top-ness of the narration pushes the proceedings through the realms of ridiculous and bravely keeps going, out the other side and into the territory of “LISTEN UP AND TAKE NOTICE” credibility. Accompanied by the eerie whispers of “ざわ…” (“Zawa…”, an onomatopeia and trademark flourish of the manga-ka Nobuyuki Fukumoto), the direction throws subtlety to the wind: when the metaphorical door of opportunity slams in Kaiji’s face or when he sinks into figurative despair, you see a door in his mind’s eye physically slamming or him in his imagination flailing in a bottomless pit full of swirling ざわ… hiragana.

This unusual storytelling draws the viewer in and makes you see things from his own perspective, which makes you follow the rollercoaster ride of his triumphs and failings. As far from ordinary life as his current situation is, it’s easy to relate to the predicament of wanting to blow your wages on beer and snacks after a hard day’s work. This is when another outwardly laughable plot point – the pitiful sight of a grown man shedding streams of Manly Tears™ – is painfully significant and genuinely moving when viewed in context of its setting.

When things are going his way Kaiji is full of defiance and good intentions to better his lot but when he meets another crushing defeat he’s a sullen emotional wreck. The Underground Chinchiro Arc is fifth so far and I believe there are more to come so it’s fair to say that his journey is far from over; even so, I find myself cheering him on and waiting on the edge of my seat to see what happens next even though he has a long and painful journey ahead of him. I guess it boils down to our instinctive empathy for the underdog – the lowly working man who just wants to overcome the obstacles in his way and beat the system.

The premise is extreme and the storytelling has all the subtlety of a kick to the gut but once you’re immersed in its wordview you start to appreciate not only the attention to detail in the games themselves but also the psychological mechanics that govern the characters and the decisions they make. The narrative owes its meticulous construction to Fukumoto’s impressive knowledge of both gambling games and the mindset of the people who play them: it’s a cleverly blended mixture of nailbiting chance and shrewd strategy. It’s unpredictable and utterly gripping. ざわ… indeed.

AKGs and Fender combo HELL YEAH (1)

2DT did a good piece about the evolution of moe and how it relates to K-On and the early days of anime heroines such as those in old-school Ghibli movies, which led to me making some massive rambling comment about the characters. There’s a great discussion going on there if you’re interested but I wanted to make a proper job of elaborating on my comment to 2DT’s article…namely how it’s more to do with the fact that I’m a shameless tech nerd.

To summarise my previous experience of this show: I approached K-On as a music-centric comedy with the appreciation of the characters and their goofy charms surfacing later. I’ve not seen many viewers make a big deal out of the musical techniques or equipment though…apart from Lelangir, but that was on his old blog that I can’t find links to any more(2).

K-On has a lot of gags and references that I think musicians would appreciate even more than everyone else, especially early on in the first season (Kakifly is a musician, or knows a few. I’m sure of it[3]). When 2DT’s post prompted me to think about exactly why Mio and Azusa were my favourite characters, this was what sprung to mind: it was down to the music and I could relate to those two more than the others.

Because of the appeal of Azusa as the ‘serious’ or ‘straight guy’ role of serious musician in a room full of kids who want to slack off and have fun, her character is perhaps one that frustrated band members can relate to. My memory of her introduction to the story is a little hazy now but iirc she walks in from the jazz club with plenty of good intentions and proper musical experience, which appears to be wasted when she’s forced to dress in embarrassing outfits and eat cake.

My music geek brain immediately felt for her then asked itself “why a Fender Mustang?” because K-On’s another example of how these guitars enjoy a cult following in Japan (Solanin, anyone?). I reckon part of the reason is the short scale length and slim neck are comfortable for players with small hands; it was originally sold as a student model so the likes of Azusa playing one makes a lot of sense. The controls and circuitry are easy to customise so between this, the playability and the relatively low price, the Mustang lends itself well to youngsters who want to modify or repair their instrument on the cheap.

Why is a (minor) classic of musical Americana popular in Japan? During my online travels around the Mustang history I stumbled on Hisato ‘Char’ Takenaka, a guitarist who made his breakthrough in the mid 70s with a funky jazz/blues technique played on a Fender Mustang. It earned him quite an enduring domestic fan following: I’ve read reviews that call him the “Jeff Beck of Japan”! His hit tune SMOKY has fast, skilful playing with plenty of whammy bar pitch dives and fretboard virtuosity; no doubt the scale length and sensitive vibrato bridge of the Mustang work well with his energetic style, and off the back of this high-profile endorsement Fender found plenty of customers in Japan who wanted a Mustang like Char’s.

Could Azusa’s choice of instrument be a subtle nod to the generation of Japanese kids who were inspired to pick up a Mustang and aspire to be the next Char? It’s an interesting thought. I must admit that any musician is very prone to gravitating towards certain styles and gear because of those who inspire them; I know I was.

Similarly, Mio’s behaviour and choice of instrument immediately made me think “I can see where she’s coming from.” It’s cruelly ironic that she’d rather step back when playing live but for a number of reasons winds up in the spotlight. A crowd of people listening to every note you play is embarrassing so was Mio written in as a leftie Fender Jazz Bass player to get attention and entertainment value from the discomfort that results? Or did I miss another reference this time? Suggestions welcome.

Back when I was still deciding what instrument to play, a friend lent me his cheap Squier Jazz bass (right-handed) to try out. Being a weedy self-conscious sixteen-year-old, I figured that if I did get into a band I could merrily plunk away at the side of the stage…without the fact that playing right-handed felt clumsy and *wrong* to me being too obvious.

There must be many other fellow southpaws out there who are overjoyed when they find left-handed instruments…I struggled for years with ‘rightie’ guitars until the looming threat of RSI in my fretting hand gave me the excuse to track down a leftie bass and make the switch. If it weren’t for hearing the Verve’s A Storm in Heaven I may never had made the decision to learn guitar in the first place but as it turns out, Simon Jones played a J-bass on that album(4). They’re great sounding basses, anyhow.

One moment I found utterly hilarious in the early episodes was how Yui’s choice of instrument came about – most of the time it’s a case of “my hero plays one…” or “it sounds cool…” but “it looks cute!” is very…Yui-esque. I’m not sure though how many people know how much a Les Paul costs when new, but it was the comedic icing on the cake when she walked out the shop with something worth more than what the average adult earns in a month after haggling the clerk down.

Someone of her stature jumping with a Les Paul slung over her shoulder is impressive (5)

The episode where they book a studio when the club room at school is closed highlights the attention to detail in the show’s artwork that probably slips right by all but the real gearheads: the rooms are kitted out with Pearl drum kits, JCM900 series Marshall half stacks, Ampeg SVT bass rigs and…something that could be either a Roland JC120 or some blackface Fender combo. Hard to be sure at that particular angle. It’s like trying to discern whether the realism is repeated product placement or whether it’s for the viewers’ benefit. Not that I care either way.

In any case, I wager this post was probably more fun to write than it is to read, but eh.

Footnotes

1. All the Mio fanart shows her wearing K-701s…how anyone could afford a set of those on a student’s budget is anyone’s guess. I recommend the K-240 mkIIs on personal experience though.
2. I recall him mentioning that Yui’s playing technique improved over the course of the two seasons, such as using different chord shapes. Nice touch.
3. A fan of P-Model and the pillows at least, if the character names are anything to go by.
4. Jazz Basses are used by Chris Friedrich of Caspian and Dominic Aichison of Mogwai too, which influenced my eventual decision. Check ‘em out if you can!
5. Solid mahogany and maple? Those things are heavy!

Back when I started blogging it was all about Haruhi Suzumiya…and that was the first season before everyone got upset about Endless Eight. For Madoka though the opinions I’ve seen so far have been overwhelmingly positive; while in the NoitaminA slot Fractale has met a lukewarm reception and Hourou Musuko has been excellent in a more understated way, Shinbo’s latest offering has set the fandom on fire…consistently and repeatedly.

To answer some of the comments on my first article I wanted – but possibly failed in the attempt – to clarify the difference between expressing pleasant surprise at the fact that I was enjoying a show belonging to a genre I didn’t have much prior experiencing in, and dismissing the said genre out of hand. Simply put, my lack of knowledge of magical girl shows prevents me from saying whether it’s normally capable of credibility and dramatic weight. I’ve read of Princess Tutu mentioned before as a particularly good series and given my appreciation of dark, slow-burning and well-written stories in general, I appreciate the recommendation and will look into it when I can.

My doubts really lie with the concept of magic in fiction in general. Has my science-based education given me an appreciation of SF stories at the cost of my enjoying fantasy/magical ones? It’s an interesting thought. The reason why I’m such a big SF fan is because the underlying ideas have grounding in something recognisable to me; it’s either a current concept or technology applied in a new way, or an extension of them. I feel ‘connected’ and ‘safe’ with science fiction because it has direct link – if even a tenuous one – with science fact. People die when they’re killed; matter cannot be created out of thin air. Writers can be creative and unpredictable up to a point, but they’re bound by certain laws and constraints.

I don’t get the same sense of security with magical stories, simply because the concept of ‘magic’ itself implies anything can happen so I worry that a dramatic cliff hanger or similar tight spot can be solved easily with a wave of a wand, rendering the tension or need for explanation meaningless. Fortunately I’ve experienced some applications of magical fantasy such as the Nasuverse, which mentions ‘equivalent exchange’ and even J K Rowling declaring that in Harry Potter stories “when you’re dead, you’re dead,” that don’t do this.

The best example I’ve so far seen is the magic portrayed in Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea, in which magic has its own laws, levels of influence and knowledge, and genuine elements of cause and effect. To me, it’s so thoroughly structured and has so many parallels to Real Life that Le Guin’s idea of magic is a science unto itself.

MINOR SPOILERS FOR MADOKA EPISODE 9 AND 10

How is this rambling relevant to Madoka? The most important recent development in the story is that magic is not a limitless power – it’s like mana that is measured in finite and dramatically significant quantities, or it’s structured in that there is a definite cause and effect (although it throws up the same paradox problems as any story involving time travel. I’ll let that slide for now). The idea that teenage angst reverses the very power of entropy and greases the axles of the mechanics of the universe was so unexpected! In a way, this adds a SF element to the show but it sets the premise into a tangible and structured form: actions have consequences and there’s a (very cruel!) semblance of order in the universe.

I'm assuming this is a visual gag relating to how it's not worth the cost. Or something

Whether it’s based on hard science or a completely fabricated system in the writer’s head, turns out to be irrelevant when you’re so immersed in the emotional impact. Half the appeal of Madoka is in the marriage of Shinbo’s visually arresting direction and Kajiura’s haunting soundtrack but, as one of my commenters pointed out another important factor is the writing, which can be attributed to Gen Urobuchi.

This is a name I wasn’t familiar with but those plot twists that hit us every week can I think be attributed to Urobuchi’s screenplay. I’m taking a personal interest in how he’s going about it because it’s his novel that’s forming the basis for the Fate/Zero anime adaptation this year but his input for Madoka is superb. Even when you can see a plot point coming a mile off, the relevance and drama still hit you like an express train.

This is a combination of creative talents that works wonderfully, and I wish had happened sooner (if Urobuchi had worked on Cossette, would the notoriously nebulous plot have felt more solid?). In Bateszi’s recent appraisal of the show, and Celeste’s comments that follow, some good points were raised about how Shinbo directs productions that superficially appeal to the latest otaku trends but have undercurrents that go further. Madoka is aiming higher than character archetype fan service or simple tearjerking, even if he steps close to the line at times.

I believe Kyubey is a poor choice for ‘sealer of contracts’ since he lacks the humanity that would allow him to emotionally connect with would-be mahou shoujo and more effectively persuade them to put their lives on the line. Whoever’s using human kids as fuel for a galactic power station clearly hasn’t researched human nature thoroughly enough if a demonic cat is the best sales rep they could come up with.

So yeah. I dig the SF aspects of Madoka but I’ve already been slowly trying to bring myself round to enjoying fantasy too. The direction shouldn’t be written off as just another example of a contemporary anime director’s fan pandering; the writing is excellent and I’m looking forward to more of the same. Most importantly perhaps we have the likes of Homura and Kyouko whose backstories are so powerful and compelling I find myself wide-eyed on the edge of my seat even when the futility of their situations are painfully clear.

The validity of employing scientific theory vs. fantastical magic is irrelevant: the fact that its universe is literally powered by pure, raw emotion is the clearest indicator to me as to where the series’ intentions lie.

It goes without saying that Godzilla is a cultural icon; the image of a giant lizard owning the streets of Tokyo is one of cinema’s most enduring images but out of the people who recognise the popular silhouette of this radioactive dinosaur, how many have seen its first silver screen outing? With the aid of my Lovefilm subscription I decided to conduct a little experiment in experiencing a piece of filmmaking that’s around the same age as my parents…and the results were surprising.

I was expecting a black-and-white movie whose storytelling and technical approach are clumsy and dated, but I didn’t expect its intended power and entertainment value to reach as far as a twenty-something UK viewer who’s been brought up on full-colour contemporary cinema. The common assumption that it looks like what it is – a stuntman in a rubber suit trampling on studio models – is impossible to refute but there’s one hell of a lot more to Godzilla than that.

It’s an historical curio in some ways, but it’s still surprisingly watchable and affecting. Even though the script is bogged down in its 1950s sensibilities and the acting is similarly a product of what I’m guessing was a relatively young and inexperienced industry there are still elements of tension and meaning. I was prepared for laughter at the primitive special effects and expected to feel bored for the rest of the time, but Godzilla is still fundamentally a gripping story.

Of course there are over five decades of cinematography evolution working against Godzilla: not only that, it was made with the A-bombs of WWII fresh in the memory and the opening scene of a Japanese fishing boat caught in the fallout of the atomic bomb test was inspired by a real-life event that had occurred shortly before filming began. These are all history to us now so the background to the movie is unlikely to resonate with audiences now as much as it did on its release. Nevertheless, atomic bomb tests (and the controversy that results) are still newsworthy and the general Dangers Of Science concept is still a movie script staple in some form or another.

Despite the fact that it’s a product of a bygone era, there’s still a definite sense of unease and foreboding as the main characters are introduced and the existence of the monster begins to be felt. In short, as a disaster movie it still works. I noticed little details such as a ‘wipe’ scene cut, which was a personal favourite editing technique of the aforementioned Kurosawa, which work to give a plot progression that’s actually quite natural and sophisticated.

The slow build-up is an example of the screenplay’s deliberate pacing in that the screen time of the monster itself is held until as late on in the story as possible; ample opportunity is devoted to constructing a mythos before it appears with villagers recounting local legends of a ‘Gojira’ out at sea and the scientists finding the first signs of radiation and *something* having found its way ashore.

Although the film was inspired by a combination of Japan’s then-recent wartime trauma and early ‘monster movies’ such as The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms, it has all the ingredients of the disaster films we know and love today. Now some aspects are tired tropes and clichés but none of this is Godzilla’s fault: for its time I can only imagine how groundbreaking it was (the countless sequels and remakes back this up, surely?). It’s important to remember that we only think of them that way because Godzilla did them first. Any eye-rolling at, say, character archetypes or a misanthropic scientist’s breakthrough saving the day is due to the fact that they were over-used by films made after this one. They, not this film, are the reason why they’re clichés in the first place.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I was glued to the screen when the camera peeks over the hill to see the huge scaly head of the monster for the first time and that its roar still sounds alien and unsettling. What I want to say is, Godzilla should be enjoyed as a film and not watched purely for scholastic purposes; its messages are still relevant even though its technical execution detracts from them at points. When we film fans get all nostalgic, there has to be something noteworthy to get nostalgic about, and Godzilla has that in spades.

For instance: the monster is not painted as evil in itself; in some ways you feel a bit sorry for it by the end. The common preconception of a monster film is that the creature is an evil force that must be stopped at all costs, but I didn’t get that impression here. Some of the characters, such as the superstitious villagers, revere it as a god or force of nature; one of the scientists wants to capture it alive to study it. Even the other scientist, who ultimately provides the final plan, is reluctant to use such a desperate measure to destroy something that most experts agree was brought about by human intervention.

Perhaps that’s why Godzilla is so enduring as a character; it’s a subject of fear and awe but the true evil of the film is the ignorance and rashness of humanity and the monster is a victim, and manifestation, of those human failings. The destruction and loss of life is meant to be terrifying and jaw-dropping but in a way the people of this world brought this monster on themselves.

Unfortunately it’s impossible to ignore the fact that yes, it’s not in colour and the monster is just a bloke in a rubber monster suit but there are enough moments of real cinematic genius that still pack a punch. To put it into perspective: I’m now willing to buy my own copy of this on DVD, but all I can remember of my viewing of the 1998 remake is that it was made in 1998 and that Jamiroquai wrote a song for the soundtrack. I think I’ll stick with the rubber monster suit and cardboard Tokyo, thanks.