My personal opinion is coloured slightly by a personal run-in I had with them a while back but before saying anything else I need to point out that my opinion on the site is more complicated than simple approval or disapproval of what they do.

Perhaps the most surprising thing is that, on certain issues, I’m actually on their side. “The standard of my writing should match what I myself find interesting and would want to read,” is a rule of thumb I try to work to (sometimes I read an old post of mine and think “urgh, that’s shite…”).

That is to say, if you don’t see enough interesting writing, put your money where your mouth is and try it yourself. I must admit that 1. there’re a lot of episodic-style blogs around already and I’m not interested in them and 2. I’ve no incentive to either read or write episodic posts for that reason. I regularly read and enjoy Hanners and the Sea Slug Team as ‘episodic’ blogs that stand out from the crowd, but otherwise it’s a case of “other people’s idea of ‘interesting’, not mine.” (Re: the rule of thumb in the previous paragraph).

In that sense I can understand how CD wanted to write differently from what they themselves were used to seeing elsewhere; it was a gap in the market that needed filling, so to speak. Quite a few of the blogs I read are of the more eclectic and unusual but many of them have succumbed to Hiatus Disease; bucking the trend(s) and striving to write something different is a good thing, because you can’t have too much good content around.

In regards to showing everyone else how it can be done and done well, the fandom would actually benefit from someone who has thick skin and innovative ideas…someone who grabs it by the shoulders, gives it a good shake and looks it in the eye to say “this is boring! You can do better than this!” Being a vocal detractor of the status quo but failing to actually provide an alternative simply won’t cut it: just ask Yutaka Yamamoto after he made a grand speech about saving The Industry before going on to disappoint viewers with Fractale.

Combining intelligence and humour is a difficult balance too, and at first glance a well-intentioned stance of “You guys can do better! We have the balls so show you how!” can come across as arrogant or condescending. Even so, I can make a list of things I agree with these guys on:

• Macross Plus is awesome.
• Gurren Lagann is fun.
• Madoka Magica was surprisingly good.
• A lot of anime isn’t interesting to me.
• Many anime blogs aren’t interesting to me.
• It’s possible to write intelligent and fun articles about anime.
• Some anime fans make me shake my head in bemusement and then click the “back” button on my browser.
• It’s all too easy for satirical/sarcastic humour to be misunderstood.

I’d also like to point out that they’re articulate and experienced in the fandom, and I enjoy reading quite a few of their posts: Loups=Garous was indeed a godawful film and deserved to be panned as such; Redline is a blast and Satoshi Kon was a genius at filmmaking. My opinion on the site though is still mixed and even though I can understand where they’re coming from better now, I still have issues with their methods.

The best analogy I have unfortunately comes from British TV, so bear with me on this one. Jeremy Clarkson’s public persona in his newspaper columns and on the Top Gear TV show is that of the opinionated, vocal alpha male. This on-camera attitude won’t be exactly the same as his real-life personality but even though it’s not an act, there’s a definite sense of it being tongue-in-cheek and playing on his own reputation. The CD staff came across as less, well, angry in interview but they admitted that their colourful blogging language is part of their attempt to get people to sit up and take notice, and also an attempt to be entertaining.

I’ve seen numerous instances where Clarkson and the other Top Gear presenters have offended people; similarly, I can appreciate that CD play the Angry Old Fan card and risk offending people to emphasise a valid point…or simply for the lulz. In my view, satire can’t fulfil its full potential if it avoids offending everybody!

Irony and sarcasm is easily misunderstood though, and it’s possible to argue “the writer fails at conveying this effectively.” just as easily as “the reader fails to get it.” An important issue here then is that of the target readership: according to CD’s perfectly reasonable goal of setting an example through posting interesting and entertaining content, they need to connect with people and encourage them to improve. Their irreverant style however implies that their readers must be of a certain level of intelligence and understanding, if only to stop them thinking “what a bunch of embittered old arseholes,” and going elsewhere.

I felt I was receiving mixed signals from the interview responses: do the CD staff aim to use their controversial approach to shock fans into being more thoughtful, interesting people? If their writing style is intentionally a “rabid dog running around the neighbourhood,” do they recognise that the implimentation of these aims can actually drive people away?

If people are intelligent and grown-up enough to understand CD’s humour, surely those readers aren’t part of the fan community’s problem? Conversely, if the blog is a campaign to make fools sit up and think, the last person you’d expect to appreciate a writing style that’s full of easily-misconstrued sarcasm is a fool who doesn’t like thinking about stuff. What concerns me, and may or may not be clear to the CD writers, is that it’s not just the idiots who dismiss them out of hand. It goes without saying that I’ve no intention of telling someone else how to run his or her blog, but I’d be interested to know if they realise that fact.

I agree with the intention to use sharp, dry humour, the desire to write high quality content and I recognise that the signal-to-noise ratio in the anime blogging community could be improved. Even so, this interview didn’t convince me that CD’s not also a thinly-veiled excuse to merely vent their frustration at the areas of the fan community that annoy them. I’m in a situation where I want to be mindful of what motivates them but at the same time I have a lingering feeling that it doesn’t need to be this way…and given the limited shelf life of any joke, it can’t last forever in any case.

The simple truth is that when people are angry with your attitude they are less inclined to listen to what it is you have to say. You be witty and clever, discuss issues others either ignore or are unaware of, but as long as you project yourself as an arrogant ass it runs the risk of falling on deaf ears. I understand why CD are annoyed at the fandom, why they want to show the world “a blog that doesn’t suck” but when tough love is mistaken for being a jackass it can actually be counterproductive.

I have no idea about what could possibly be relevant and break the wall of text, so here is a pic of a bear with a gun instead

Incidentally, when working for a team blog you also need to be mindful that what you say is going to affect opinions on the team as a whole. I personally find that responsibility constricting because my co-writers might get into trouble if I said something stupid, hence why this has always been my blog and mine alone. This is a point worth remembering; not just when you’re reading something CD posted, but when you’re reading any team blog or similar joint venture.

Whether a united front is present or not, it’s still comprised of individual human beings rather than some hive mind. Just thought I’d toss that general observation about the blogosphere in there (this observation also partly came about from a post on Shameful Otaku Secret!, when I congratulated Mike on a job well done then found out that Digiboy was the one who had written it. *headdesk*).

Believe it or not I’m actually considering putting Colony Drop on my blogroll, despite the flaws in their M.O. being so obvious to me. And on that bombshell…goodnight.

I’m sure the obituaries and tributes to Satoshi Kon from his family and friends will be formed as I type and my sincere condolences go out to them. I’m afraid I know nothing about who he was as a man: I sadly never had the opportunity to meet him. His work however is something I’ve become very familiar with over the years, and it’s my love of this that I want to express, as my way of acknowledging what he achieved.

What grabbed me straight away about Perfect Blue was the assured storytelling and startling realism. Because my anime experience at that time was limited to Gainax SF, family-friendly Ghibli and the usual newcomer’s “anime=cartoons” prejudice, it was a revelation to see an animated film so sophisticated, so complex and so…grown-up. It’s a notorious yet rewatchable film that I still recommend to this day as one of the greats. Hard to believe it’s a directorial debut.

Next up for me was the Magnetic Rose short, part of Otomo’s Memories anthology. Again, the realism was striking – especially when it’s set in outer space in the future – but its aesthetics and blurring of reality and illusion can largely be attributed to Kon. Then I saw Millennium Actress at a convention, expecting another Perfect Blue, but it’s nothing of the sort. It uses that classic Kon-ism of seamlessly connecting what’s real and what’s imagined to tell a biopic-style tale of one woman’s life that’s very different in tone and content, if not techniques.

The sumptuous visuals of Millennium Actress and the tenderness of its story made it another one of my favourites, in no small part because the romantic element was handled with such subtlety, and because it felt like a filmmaker’s love letter to the medium of cinema as a whole. His ability to draw the viewer in, allowing me to enjoy it as a movie rather than mere animation, was uncanny and a rare gift.

Tokyo Godfathers was different again, taking on the uncool and somewhat taboo subject of homelessness and weaving it into a somewhat fantastical and heartwarming story. For all my talk of how Kon’s direction and writing is imaginative and mature, this title highlights another important element. Again, I can’t comment on how fun he was to be around in real life, but this and all his work exhibits a wonderfully dry and sharp sense of humour. Often it’s very dark and pokes fun at society and human frailties, yet there’s a firm grasp of hope and a celebration of humanity in there.

Paranoia Agent is the black sheep of the bunch, being as it is a TV show. Regretfully, my final three discs of this went missing shortly after I watched it so my memories of it are hazy. I recall a lot of social commentary tied in with the mystery thriller aspects though, showing Kon’s sharp satirical eye on the world around him as well as his keen sense of what makes for an immersive fantasy world.

Which brings me to Paprika, his most recent and therefore probably most well-known film. I can’t stress this enough: Paprika is pretty much the only occasion when I didn’t find myself thinking “the book was better…” of ANY screen adaptation. Yasutaka Tsutsui’s novel is a fascinating SF effort that delves into what happens when dreams pop into the real world but I can’t imagine a better candidate for directing a movie of this than Kon.

If this film is indeed his last (there’s another that’s unreleased, but I don’t know how close it is to completion) it’s a fitting way to remember him. It’s thought-provoking, imaginative, well-paced and artistically spectacular animation for adults; just watch it if you haven’t already. Really.

I honestly don’t know what else to say. We often hear that there aren’t enough good directors around, and the likes of Miyazaki and Takahata are old themselves. Forty-seven is really too young for anyone to go but in that time Kon has made a big impression on a lot of people, and I can say with absolute sincerity that every title he’s directed is downright excellent.

I hope this conveys how important Kon’s work is to me, but more importantly I hope it encourages those of you reading this who haven’t seen any of them to look them up. It’s a shocking tragedy that he’s gone so suddenly but everything he did from Perfect Blue to Paprika is still brilliant. So go watch ‘em.

Her graphic novel is not an historical document. The whimsical slice-of-life angle doesn’t prevent it being meaningful though: fundamentally, history is about people and the relevance today of the events that occured then. This story is therefore very relevant even though the individual stories of this event are fictional; it also manages to convey hard-hitting subject matter with subtlety and restraint.

I’m neither American nor Japanese, and the bombings happened over thirty years before I was born so I feel a little uncomfortable with forming an opinion on it. My feelings on the events are strong, if mixed: my gut reaction is that the bombings should never have happened at all. On a detached analytical level, a weapon that destroys so much indescriminately has very limited practical use; on a more straightforward, human level I simply can’t accept the killing of other human beings on such a scale.

In reality, the background is more complicated: wartime atrocities of varying magnitudes were carried out by both Japan and USA so it’s naïve and over-simplifying to say that the attacks were morally right or wrong. They certainly brought a quicker end to the war, saving lives on both sides, but even though Hiroshima was a military target many of the bomb’s victims were civilians so it still doesn’t sit right with me. But then, I’d be judging people from another time and place by my own standards; I can’t imagine what went through the minds of those who made the decision.

The moral and ethical questions will probably never be answered so the best solution I can come up with is for us to learn from it and ensure it never happens again. It cannot be undone so, if nothing else, this way the suffering of those involved will mean something. Kouno doesn’t explore the US point of view, nor does she give the bigger picture regarding who started the war and how. It’s about one town – Hiroshima – and its inhabitants who were affected.

The first chapter follows one of the hibakusha trying to get on with her life ten years after the bombing: survivors of the attack were troubled over being unable to explain how they survived, and some felt guilt for escaping what claimed the lives of people they knew. One scene is a flashback of the aftermath drawn in shocking detail but until the last few pages of the chapter it returns to a relative feeling of normality. The closing dialogue is particularly moving and leans strongly towards highlighting the victims’ plight but I view it as merely conveying the point of view of one character, as opposed to voicing whatever opinion Kouno herself had.

The other two pick up the tale later on with associated friends and family in the years that follow. It effectively sets up a sense of continuity in bringing the course of events nearer to the present and shows that the events of 1945 continue to resonate after all this time, whether or not it’s outwardly evident. The fact that it’s already forgotten by the younger generation was I think a principal message of the novel, although the idea that life goes on is another significant point made here.

I initially found the art to be rough, sketchy and almost childlike. This simplicity brings the characters and their environment to life and, as some critics pointed out, adds an appropriate sense of fragility to them. The resulting innocent and harmless atmosphere also makes the really sad and shocking moments all the more powerful; the fact that the storytelling avoids heavy-handed sentimentality or biased moralising is an important part of why it’s such a readable piece.

Apart from those disturbing depictions of the bomb’s after-effects in the opening chapter the story does not show the incident itself. It’s instead concerned with the everyday: relationships, growing up, deciding what to do with your life…ordinary things of course but made somewhat extraordinary given the looming shadow in the background. The fact that this looming shadow is merely alluded to allows the narrative and the significance of its events room to breathe.

It goes without saying that this is, in parts, a sad story. Tragic things happen but what makes it more interesting and therefore more effective is that it’s not altogether sad. I recently outlined how a completely downbeat tone is counter-productive and this is a case in point: there’s no longer much value in reiterating how devastating the Hiroshima bombing was. Showing how lives were affected, on the other hand, is very valuable in understanding why it should be remembered.

Kouno explains in her afterword that although Hiroshima is her home town she’s not a hibakusha; she wrote the story because people outside of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, even those elsewhere in Japan, didn’t know the details about what the bombings meant for those who lived there. I admit that I don’t know anything outside of what history lessons and TV documentaries taught me so getting a feel for this, even from a fictionalised second-hand source, is helpful in this understanding.

The success, for me, of Kouno’s story is that Hiroshima is not portrayed as a mere dot on a map or a dead monument to history that needs to be mourned. It’s depicted as a living, vibrant town and although there are moments of tragedy and loss, it never descends into melodrama. It reminds us that the town and its people are alive and very much a part of this world – a world that should not dwell on the past or forget it either.

I can watch some stuff, such as The Place Promised…, Laputa and Paprika over and over; I’ve watched others once but they’ve sat gathering dust ever since. There are one or two purchases that I actually regretted, despite the titles themselves being very good. Actually, they were…too good for their own good.

I saw The Sixth Sense on TV years ago and Shutter Island recently at the cinema so, since the appeal of mystery-style stories relies so much on the twist endings, I can’t see the point of watching them again. For most other things it’s about the journey not the destination, so there’s usually enough enjoyment to be had even when I know what happens.

There are some titles that I consider to be brilliant but ironically I’ve only watched once. It requires a bit of hurried explanation when recommending them to other people with “you have to see this! What? Hell no, I’d never sit through that again.” The wartime ones are the worst for this: I borrowed a copy of Apocalypse Now off a friend but would never get my own copy.

It really is a fantastic film though: it’s well acted, has stunning cinematography and right from the throb of helicopters blending in with that haunting song by The Doors it’s one of those memorable must-watch classics (yes, go see it if you haven’t already). Similarly, no self-respecting movie fan should go without watching Grave of the Fireflies. Again, it gets pretty much everything right: the artwork is fantastic, the direction fluid and the story deeply moving.

The fact that the story is deeply moving is its greatest strength, but it’s also a problem. Simply put, Grave of the Fireflies is too devastating to watch again and again. It’s an emotional tactical strike that unflinchingly hits you with the true horrors of twentieth-century warfare and its messages, quite rightly, will stay with you forever. I watched to the end in awe at a story well told, then asked myself “why would I want to put myself through this again?”

Saikano is another masterpiece of character drama and commentary on the nature of modern warfare (the artwork is a bit off at times, but that’s Gonzo for you). The characters are flawed yet engaging, the drama convincing and assuming you take the mecha musume-style element allegorically rather than literally, it’s one of the most affecting pieces of animated television of recent years. Again I was floored by it but only once, because I felt that one viewing told me all it wanted to say.

The strange thing is, I usually appreciate dark stories. Cyberpunk is often dystopian, Satoshi Kon’s humour is black as pitch and Kinoko Nasu puts his characters through bouts of pitiless suffering that make me wince. How are Apocalypse Now, Grave of the Fireflies and Saikano different from, say, Nausicaä and its post-apocalyptic setting or Nasu’s gothic-tinged supernatural thriller Kara no Kyoukai?

To quote the ever-eloquent Ursula le Guin, light is the left hand of darkness: the most rewarding stories for me are often dark ones that, at some point, offer hope. It’s probably not a spoiler to say the protagonists of Grave of the Fireflies do not survive since it’s pointed out in the first few minutes and Saikano has the whole of humanity self-destruct. As parables for the loss and utter waste of war I can’t fault them, but do I need to be told twice when it’s stated so clearly and effectively?

I can rewatch Kara no Kyoukai despite the death and suffering of people who quite often don’t deserve what comes their way mainly because the central character goes through self-discovery and redemption during the course of the series. Even though some characters meet their ends in undeserving fashion this journey feels satisfying because of the resolution; it’s about the sacrifices made and lessons learned. The villains are either punished or released from their inner turmoil, which gives their downfalls significance.

Similarly Nausicaä is possibly Miyazaki’s most downbeat movie thematically apart from Mononoke Hime but again, there’s a promise of new life growing out of the ashes of the old in both cases. This is where the divergence happens for me: all I take away from the Saikanos is a clear message of waste and innocence lost. I’m not denying that their messages deserve to be heard but I don’t need to be made to feel miserable to get the point.

It’s obvious that War Sucks: innocent people suffer and die for nothing when the same objectives could be achieved through peaceful means. Being told just this on its own doesn’t offer much else to the table, no matter how pretty the artwork or how convincing the characters are.

Futatsu no Kurumi, a.k.a. Two Walnuts, is another historical wartime drama; this time a twelve-year old goes back in time and experiences the horrors of the 1945 firebombing of Tokyo first-hand.

It’s not a great movie. The artwork’s simplistic, the animation looks cheap and the direction is clumsy in that the CRY HERE moments feel manipulative on the part of the writers. In fairness it’s probably intended to be an educational film for today’s kids who won’t know a thing about what wartime Japan was like for youngsters of their age but that’s the point: it’s intended to be educational (I learned a thing or two about the Japanese WW2 home front from this too). Crucially the protagonist takes something away from her harrowing experiences: she learns from the events and is changed by them.

I like dark and angsty stories; not because of the darkness alone but because bigger lows have more relevance when next to some highs – it’s about contrast. A piece of music that uses dynamic changes, i.e. alternating very loud and very quiet passages, moves me more than pieces that are either loud or quiet all the way through. Narratives, either in a film or in written word for that matter, work the same way.

The issue is complicated by many other factors of course, such as whether the visuals and music are easy on the eyes and ears or how how well you relate to the characters. When I see them lost, uncertain or in pain I can sit through it if I feel confident that, even if things don’t turn out well in the end, their experiences will at least mean something. There’s more to storytelling than merely making you laugh, cry or perch yourself on the edge of your seat: I prefer the characters and the viewers to walk away with something they didn’t have at the beginning, even if much was lost along the way.

I would hardly dare to argue

Granted, she doesn’t appear much in the middle portion of the series, but trying to make sense of the Senjougahara Fascination phenomenon became a bit more important when I found myself a part of it. What the hell is this? Am I developing a 2D complex? Well, yes. And no. Idle thoughts coming up.

I don’t think less of someone for being a hardcore gamer, a yaoi fan, a furry, a figure collector or lolicon (apart from the last one. Those guys really are weird). I just don’t really get any of it. I don’t understand them because I don’t share their interest; conversely, I doubt everyone can relate to going weak at the knees over the Shinkai and Kon movies, vintage guitar gear or anything Type Moon or Macross-related. I raise a defiant Brofist to those who share my weaknesses for them though.

I certainly thought I was immune to the 2D complex: after all, I’d sooner seek real-life interaction with a female human being than a fictional representation of one, right? We all exhibit an attachment to certain shows and characters to some degree or other though. Rest assured I won’t condemn you for sitting alone in your basement fapping to the product of some overseas comic artist’s pencil and I don’t want those who do to take offence, but I don’t share your penchant for it.

I don’t experience the same empathy and affection for anime characters as I do for real people but I can’t escape the fact that I can still be on the edge of my seat or the verge of Manly Tears when a really emotional moment happens. Some characters stick in my memory: Nausicäa (from the Miyazaki manga), Shiki Ryougi and Saber (from Kara no Kyoukai and Fate/Stay Night respectively) share a special place in my mind, as do Noriko in Battle Royale, Lee Geum-ja in Lady Vengeance or Vivian Sternwood in The Big Sleep. Hitagi Senjougahara is another memorable female lead for me.

Hitagi’s appeal ought to be obvious: her personality is both a knowing take on the tsundere archetype and a source of entertaining one-liners. Placing her character alonside others that are represented by real, flesh-and-blood people rather than animated pictures in their respective stories might be an unfair comparison, but attachment to anime characters and those from live-action movies and books isn’t so different, to me at least.

You do have to think about what makes them appealing though: in my case I happen to consider Aki Maeda to be cute and Lauren Bacall was quite a knockout back in 1946. Personally however it’s not the fact that the image of an anime character is physically attractive: the resulting image of a real person in my imagination is memorable and appealing. This is easier for me to explain in, for example, Vivian Sternwood’s portrayal in Chandler’s novel, or other written, rather than drawn or filmed, characters.

Just as alluring in print? I can’t wait to find out

The circumstances are different but I found myself fascinated by Senjougahara in the same way that I was by Haruki Murakami’s character Sumire in his Sputnik Sweetheart novel. It’s not his best work in my view for reasons I don’t have time to set out here but one thing that stuck in my head was Sumire’s character. Being a novel with no televised or cinematic adaptation I don’t even have a screencap to explain why she’s awesome. A mere description of her is however enough to bring her character to life:

“I can’t cook or clean the house. My room’s a mess and I’m always losing things. I love music, but can’t sing a note. I’m clumsy and can barely sew a stitch. My sense of direction is the pits, and can’t tell right from left half the time…I’m bashful for no reason, and have hardly any friends to speak of.”

Sputnik Sweeheart, © Haruki Murakami, 1999, 2001

What the reader or viewer experiences when they encounter a memorable character is build up a profile, visual or otherwise, and find themselves thinking, how cool would it be if this person really existed? This is Sumire describing herself early on in the novel, and aside from the narrator’s own description of her that’s probably the best indicator of her character. The thing was that after reading this, a vivid and affecting image of a complex and fascinating individual popped into my head and I had a new favourite literary heroine.

Elsewhere Sumire is painted in an unflattering light as far as looks are concerned: even the narrator, who is deeply in love with her, admits she’s skinny, clumsy and not attractive in the conventional sense. She’s just a really unpredictable person, a departure from the usual type of fictional heroine or romantic lead, who shows her unique attractiveness in an unusual way, just like Hitagi does.

So then, if it’s possible to get sentimentally attached to a character who amounts to little more than words on a page, am I really playing devil’s advocate in defending otakus who go misty-eyed over 2D girls? A 2D complex in which the hapless fan dismisses the appeal of real humans in favour of pictures, animated or otherwise, isn’t something I’d call healthy but it’s an extension of the very commonplace experience of empathising with fictional characters. The degree to which this affects their interaction with real people should be the real cause for concern.

Writers do after all intend to create fictional characters that stick in readers’ and viewers’ minds, and more often than not we can identify with them to some degree and muse over how fun and rewarding it would be if we met someone like them. If I were in my local coffee bar or bookshop I’d certainly find it tempting to say hi to the young lady in an ill-fitting coat eyeing up the Kafka paperbacks, even if I was risking getting a stapler shoved in my face. I’m sure it’s a familiar feeling, so if you have some personal not-at-all-real heroines or heroes of your own, ‘fess up in the reply form below.

What do you mean “the first season was better…”?!

Haruhi Suzumiya is a texbook example of how these things happen although I’m a bit spoilt for choice of other examples. Naruto is an obvious one although it’s the stereotypical Narutard that upsets most people, probably even more so than the filler episodes. To a lesser degree you get a mirror image of this carry-on with notoriously bad shows but the general pattern is the same: a wave of opinion for A New Thing creates a reflex reaction in the opposite direction, forming another retort of the initial enthusiasm and so on. Like the old fave “Toilet Tennis: look left” and “Toilet Tennis: look right” scrawled on the opposite walls of a toilet cubicle, this is Backlash Tennis.

In the same way that The New Season Sucks and similar nonsense pans out, the Backlash Tennis thing is pretty darned obvious when you watch it from a distance. It’s old, too: ever since a monkey pooped into its hand and threw the stuff at another monkey, I reckon chucking crap at each other has always held plenty of entertainment value. The nature of the anime fandumb is familiar enough for me to assume the causes go without saying: the cosy and interactive nature of blogs, Twitter and the like means the shit flies faster and all that. Suffice to say Backlash Tennis is particularly obvious to me because the anime fan community is one I spend a lot of free time in and yes, the nature of the community provides the ideal conditions for breeding this sort of thing.

Fans are passionate and have very strong opinions so in the anime fan community the exchange of this passion and opinion is as rapid as those discussing the latest Harry Potter movie or whatever. I’m currently really enjoying K-On! for instance, until the WS releases shuddered to a halt and left me behind the times. Considering how the series doesn’t really draw attention to itself – a relatively quiet-spoken individual in a room full of louder voices -  it took a lot of flak. The show itself has its lovers and haters as they all do; the KyoAni connection however amplified the gulf between the two camps, which resulted in the Newton’s Third Law-style opposing reaction which was just as vehement as its fans.

This is to be expected, not least because the Moe Issue was also drawn into the fray. KyoAni, again, got fans riled over Haruhi Suzumiya: many loved it, some hated it but you can’t deny its overall popularity. In the three or so years that I’ve been blogging I’ve seen the tide as favourable, with a few dissenting voices in the meantime, but I’m seeing the Endless Eight test the enthusiasm of even the most loyal fans.

Even bigger, more enduring and more controversial than even Haruhi is of course Evangelion, which has been the subject of a Backlash Tennis for nearly a decade and a half. Although it’s always enjoyed a high profile the Rebuild movies have rekindled some old passions and opened old wounds; the funny thing is, you could look back in blog and forum archives from five or even ten years ago and still find the same arguments dragged out as if people have forgotten they, or fans who came before them, split the same hairs before. Look left, look right. Look left, look right…

My affection for the show has settled down into a quiet respect for what it achieved and what it aspired to but I hope I can at least see its flaws as well as its strengths. I did however see red when I read a review of the second instalment of the Rebuild series, You May (not) Advance on Colony Drop, which is a prime example of how the ridiculous Backlash Tennis game continues to rage on.

For certain people getting what they wish for is not necessarily a good thing

I’m not going to form an opinion on a movie that I haven’t yet seen, of course. Nor am I going to speak at length at the MO of CD in general, which is rarely as clever as it thinks it is; quite frankly even linking to the post in question is giving it more attention than it deserves. This attention-seeking is often the cause of the bitching but the other significant factor is the extra stuff that accompanies something that’s popular. The term ‘franchise’ rears its head again here and so does the ominous ‘phenomenon’; you aren’t merely going into a film or TV show as dive into something much bigger.

The arguments and divisions of opinion seem to spill over from discussing the product itself and pick up the myriad of associated factors that come with it as ammunition to pan it: merchandise, unecessary sequels/prequels and spin-offs or over-zealous marketing can all harm the enjoyment and reputation of something that, in of itself, isn’t all that bad. The reasoning behind CD’s assessment of YM(n)A is quite frankly idiotic to my mind because it isn’t so much their view of the film itself – which may or may not deserve the mauling it’s given – as a show of their displeasure of the marketing machine that runs off it. As a review of the film rather than the franchise it makes no sense whatsoever.

Needless to say the Rebuild movies are hardly the reinvention of the automatic bread slicer in the first place but it’s important to avoid jumping on any bandwagon: you might think you’re being clever and avoiding falling in with the sheeple by blurting out the opposite of the popular views but ultimately you aren’t. Merely reacting to a reaction is part of the problem rather than part of a solution of enlightened understanding, which might actually get us somewhere for a change.

Just for the record I stole this pic from a blog called, appropriately enough, Serious Fucking Business, which is well worth a visit

So then, I’m an academic without being an intellectual, watching anime as a layman but one who likes a decent movie in addition to the typical box office blockbuster. I hope I’m not insulting your intelligence here in pointing out that the term ‘anime’ is merely an umbrella term for a set of artistic techniques (animation) and the geography (Japanese in origin); except my own set of standards and definitions need something a bit more specific than this to differentiate a certain type of anime from the rest. No, I don’t have higher education qualifications in this area, but I still want to talk taxonomy. Please hear me out, ‘kay?

This division I have in my head doesn’t run along the lines between the commercial mainstream stuff that sells more DVDs or makes it onto Western TV and cult faves among fans. There’s another difference that exists among a minority of titles: a quick count through my MAL list reveals that out of the 143 I’ve completed so far, this subset that for the sake of argument I’ll call ‘Cinematic Anime’ makes roughly 30 or so, including the Studio Ghiblis. Even though I have a preference for them they still make up less than a quarter of what I’ve watched.

My definition is a bit arbitrary I’ll admit, but it goes something like this: anime that is Serious Fucking Business and is more akin to a live-action film you might see at the cinema than most other anime. This definition is NOT the same thing as depth or art vs. entertainment but to summarise my selection process it’s a title that can be judged on the same terms as its live-action counterparts. I’m not saying these are in any way *better*; rather, they shouldn’t be judged on the same terms. The definition of anime outlined in my second paragraph is just too broad to make this distinction.

To photorealism…and beyond. <3

My list of favourite contemporary directors goes something like this: Guillermo del Toro, Takeshi Kitano, Richard Linklater, Chan-wook Park and Ridley Scott, assuming Linklater’s rotoscoping is a subset of live-action (an aside I’ll get to in a minute). When I think of directors of Cinematic Anime I’d reel off Satoshi Kon, Mamoru Oshii and Makoto Shinkai; they are to me not only directors who make ‘very good anime’ but directors who make ‘very good films’ that happen to be made in Japan using the medium of animation. Both lists here are names I admire because, simply put, they make movies that are consistently enjoyable and impressive both thematically and technically. A good movie to me is a good movie whether it’s live-action, animated or, in the case of Linklater’s rotoscoped efforts, a quirky mixture of the two.

I got onto this train of thought after getting an impression that the Kara no Kyoukai movies felt like live-action, or more specifically felt like they are drawn and written to be as close to a live-action style as possible. The likes of these plus Ghost in the Shell, 5cm Per Second and Only Yesterday have a heightened sense of realism: the backgrounds, buildings, weapons and vehicles are especially lifelike; dialogue flows in a more natural manner; lens flares and camera angles are simulated with what I presume is the intention of helping the viewer forget it’s animated and enjoy it simply as a movie.

There are I’m sure reasons why certain directors work in the medium of animation when what they are doing could look and feel similar if it were shot in real-life locations, with traditional live-action acting and equipment. In Perfect Blue‘s case I believe the budget for an animated film was smaller; in sci-fi and fantasy movies sets and props may be so difficult/expensive to make ‘live’ they have to be done with CG; i.e. animated.

As cinematic Anime goes this is NOT what I had in mind

A simple litmus test I use for deciding whether an anime movie fits my criteria would be to imagine the film being taken to Cannes, Venice or, heaven forbid, the Oscars and running alongside the new live-action movies of the same year. In the current situation there’s a separate Best Animated Film Oscar, as though the judges can’t see past the fact that it has the painted appearance of cel animation; interestingly Waking Life garnered a number of awards in various events and publications for Best Film and Best Experimental Film but also received one Best Animated Film award. Just because the scenes are painted over to give a vaguely cel-rendered appearance, does that mean it’s animation?

Similarly A Scanner Darkly was described as “beautifully animated,” which is a nice thing to say but apart from details like the Scramble Suits it’s a rotoscoped live-action film, not an animated film per se. If you took a live-action Japanese film and rotoscoped it, would that make it an anime film? In which case I’ll be watching Baton with great interest because it’s a rotoscoped feature with two big names in Japanese live action film, Ryuhei Kitamura and Kunji Iwai, as director and producer respectively. Will it look and feel like an experimental live-action or an anime film? Will it deserve to be judged in that way?

I guess the reason why I feel so strongly about this is that most, but not all, anime is too different in terms of aesthetics, scripting and storytelling to be in the same area as live-action cinema; however, for the exceptions to these conventions it seems unfair to me that something as trivial as a painted colour palette or anime-style character designs somehow limits its appeal to just the anime fan when it’s made with a broader, or indeed different, audience in mind.

This is not the issue of its merit as ‘art’ (which Anime Diet covered very well shortly after this post’s first draft was completed); merely whether the fact that it’s animated should be a sticking point in appreciating it as film in a more general sense. Cinematic Anime for me isn’t necessarily more intellectual or innovative than any other anime but it still feels closer to live-action movies than other anime does, and perhaps it ought to be judged, and appreciated, accordingly.

She’ll make a man of him yet

Heaven’s Feel was immensely rewarding for me but was the darkest instalment of the visual novel as a whole. That said, even the most disconcerting moments were relevant to the plot and were important in drawing attention to the plight of the central character. Sakura always stayed in the background in the earlier routes, serving little purpose other than to cook meals and blush a lot but this route is the point where she has chance to shine; it really shook up everything I thought I knew up to that point about some of the supporting cast too.

That recurring theme of free will crops up again, this time asking if a weak and cowardly individual deserves to escape blame if his or her negative personality traits are rooted in events beyond their control. As much as I wish Sakura could have grown a backbone earlier, I suspect the abuse she suffered at the hands of the Matous had long since robbed her of the ability to do so. As I twittered recently the sight of dismembered body parts and the fluids within don’t bother me; I find the implications, rather than the depictions, of torture and abuse far more unsettling. There isn’t enough detail provided for me to decide when exactly she could have stopped beating herself up and retaliated instead, but then I don’t want to know the details anyway. All I know is, Sakura is a victim and that makes her deserving of sympathy.

If the Fate route offered an introduction to the worldview and how the Holy Grail War operates, the Unlimited Blade Works route put the male lead’s rationale into perspective. Heaven’s Feel however weaves a completely new story thread, casting a lot of characters and events in a different light in the process (e.g. Sakura’s true heritage and the heartbreaking yet awe-inspiring appearance of Dark Saber), and throws pretty much everything Shirou stands for in Fate and UBW out the window. The first two routes explain his desire to be a superhero and how his philosophy is both flawed and admirable but Heaven’s Feel pulls the rug from under him: by the end I saw his old way of thinking to be naïve and immature in comparison.

“The Force is strong in this one…”

He only really took the superhero malarky upon himself out of guilt for surviving the last war and out of admiration for the man who saved his life: it’s all fine to look up to your parent(s) and aspire to be like them as a child, but what about living your life for yourself later on? Kuritsugu may have approved of Shirou’s promise to follow in his footsteps at the time but he never implanted his adoptive son with a magic crest, nor did he train him fully either. Is it possible he wanted Shirou to be distanced from the constraints that bound him to the Holy Grail War? After all, Rin in contrast was so closely tied to that duty that she felt she needed to go as far as killing her own sister, thinking like a magus first and a human second.

Shirou on the other hand was prepared to throw away an admirable ideal and follow what looks like a more selfish desire at first glance, but doing so I think requires a peculiar kind of courage in itself. Yes, it involves greater sacrifices and potentially makes matters worse but the honest foolhardiness of it makes it all the more heroic somehow. I guess deep down the idea of risking your very life for the one you love is undeniably stupid but at the same time utterly awesome in my eyes. Call me an old-fashioned romantic beneath the layers of tsunderisms and cynicism, but there you go.

Shirou’s only justification for this is that he made a promise to protect her because he feels partly responsible for her current situation, and is prepared to take the flak if he fails. It’s not that he doesn’t care about anyone else – as soon as you make decisions in the game that would be out of character for him you hit a Bad or Dead End – but the simple, single-minded fact that the life of the woman he loves is in danger is what pushes him to lose his mind, body and soul; if that sort of resolve isn’t heroic, I don’t know what is.

An over-amorous Sakura is fine too: domestic bliss is heartwarming, regardless of the sauce. You have to admit the outfit suits her though

I don’t think even he knew at the time what the said flak entailed, but for me this resolve fits in with all that archery jargon we were exposed to early on. It was an example of the interconnected symbolism that the game was so fond of throwing at you, this time drawing parallels between the mindset of the sport and Shirou’s own way of looking at the world. Making a decision like those he did, relying on one’s own judgement and physical abilities, is very much like archery as the prose of the VN describes it. You weigh up the variables, aim for the target and after a certain point of no return the course of the arrow is beyond you control. Saving Sakura, and preparing himself for watching the course of the arrow – the arrow of fate I guess – is a nice foreshadowing of the type of Archer he’d become. Or maybe I’m putting two and two together to make five.

Taking a step back from the over-analysis

I thought the character designs were excellent overall and enjoyed the presentation as a whole more than I expected – could this be the game that gets this non-gamer into video games? The use of semi-static images (as in, stills that give the impression of movement by sweeps, zooms and pans) was wonderfully effective, especially in portraying the kinetic nature of the fight scenes. And damn, they didn’t skimp on the details either! During these moments the game’s sadistic streak was less exploitation and more awesome, which sat better with me. The exposition was overdone at points though and the, how should I say, clumsy and awkward descriptions in the H-scenes are something I’m still undecided on. As an aside I kinda forgot to install the vocal patch but selecting my own BGM from my laptop’s archive of Einaudi, Mogwai and My Bloody Valentine did the job just fine (I also used the extended hours of gameplay to remind myself how much I love Pearl Jam and Muse).

At this point I feel the need to soften the blow of all that angst with comic chibi goodness for some reason

The short OP movies, which must have led many people to scream “You HAVE to make an anime out of this now!” at the time of the VN’s intial release, featured This Illusion, a great electronica-based vocal effort that sounded like a collaboration between Yuki Kajiura and Joe Hisaishi or something. As far as I can tell neither were involved but I thought it was fantastic all the same, especially in cheezburger flavour. Enjoy!

In Closing and Acknowledgements

As a sort of emotional defence against seeing characters I grew sentimentally attached to suffer, I started to pay more attention to the way that the F/S N story plays around with the historical side of things. The very mention of the Holy Grail had me quoting Monty Python at the screen, Sakura’s transformation made me realise that Indiana Jones had it easy and Saber’s true identity is still, for me, one of the coolest plot devices in recent memory. Certainly, I now see the legend involving Guinevere and Lancelot in a whole new way: a shoujo-ai love triangle? In MY folklore? Makes me proud to be British for a change!

So, what’s next? I’m still experiencing the dazed feeling that comes after experiencing a powerful and well-written story but I have vague memories of the Tsukihime anime being atmospheric and intriguing (not to mention being greatly amused by the fanboy raeg that it spawned) so it looks like I’ll have to somehow track down a copy of the VN that inspired it. @Owen: I’ll be in touch about it. @IKnight, the other guy whose opinions of F/S N got me this far, this one’s for you. ^_^

Epic foreshadowing? You betcha

Shirou’s relationship with Saber is played down to give his screentime with Rin room to breathe but at the same time there’s the all-important explanation of Archer’s origins that gave this route its true impact and makes the story focus on Shirou’s fight more than Saber’s. It goes without saying that what’s coming up is as spoilerific as hell so don’t say I didn’t warn you.

There was a bit of chemistry between Shirou and Rin bubbling away under the surface all along but it’s surprising how these things can either come to nothing or become a major driving force in what follows, depending on how the protagonist (who is to a certain degree, thanks to the interactivity and first-person perspective of a VN, you) reacts to it. I found the progress of the relationship to be very convincing actually: Shirou earns Rin’s respect and ultimately her affection by showing selflessness and compassion. Basically, he wins her heart simply by being a nice guy and cooperating with her.

As an aside, Lancer was pretty cool in this route

There is of course a limit to how selfless one can be before it gets out of hand, which is where Archer’s backstory comes in. Here’s the rub: this cynical and damaged individual was originally the pure-hearted one whose moral code is so uncompromisingly different that the two of them cannot get along when they meet face to face. It is hard-hitting because whatever caused the change must’ve been pretty fundamental.

The root of Shirou’s fall from grace is the insurmountable rift between who he wants to be and what causality makes him. This is because the criteria for a superhero – a saviour of the innocent and a force for good – are not the same as those of a servant of the Holy Grail War. Servants work under greater constraints that severely limit what good can be done because they are bound by an objective which may not overlap with the individual’s own ideals. Shirou became a servant to continue his quest before discovering that the reality was not what he signed up for, and that realisation broke him.

The young Shirou is heroic, literally to a fault. He doesn’t save everyone – how can he? – but he accepts this fact and puts others first every time regardless. Shirou became a twisted character because he failed to see that in order to continue doing so he had to save himself first. Rin’s role in this storyline is as pivotal as Shirou’s was in Arturia’s rediscovery of her humanity: Rin understands how Shirou’s selflessness caused him so much pain that he grew self-hating and self-destructive.

I know the exposition is a bit repetitive at times but rest assured it’s all in a good cause

It’s easy to hate Archer but cleverly it’s also possible to understand why he thinks this way. The harsh truth is that being a hero is a lonely place: you are head and shoulders above everyone else and as a result you are likely to be misunderstood because other people see the results of your actions rather than your motives. While following logic and Doing The Right Thing is the most efficient way to achieve your aims, we are still governed, and judged, by emotion.

Arturia knew this all too well. She knew it was right to sacrifice a village to save a kingdom, but the altruistic desire to be a hero first requires sentimentality in order to progress to the position where unsentimental objective thought is needed; good souls must accept that making an omelette requires eggs to be broken. Because of that, she was seen as cruel and heartless in later life, even though it was her sensitivity and kindness that put her on that path. She was betrayed by those who failed to understand her; Shirou’s older self was betrayed too.

Archer sets out to kill his younger self because he feels it’s the only way he can atone for what he believes are wrongdoings but in the event he does something even more productive: he warns his younger self that the path of complete selflessness causes more problems than it solves, and offers the possibility of breaking the cycle. Shirou has to remember to do what he thinks is right without regrets and learn to look after himself, if only to prevent himself becoming burned-out and disenchanted later on; a more favourable outcome which may be attained by staying by Rin’s side. The final moment between Rin and Archer certainly hammers this home and wraps the issue up neatly into the bargain.

There are two endings to this route, which give slightly different outcomes but surprisingly I didn’t find one to be significantly more satisfying than the other: both involve a Rin End but one sees Saber disappear while in the other she remains as a Servant. I found the Disappearing Saber type of conclusion, like that of the Fate route only with added Rin this time, to be bittersweet but fitting; oddly I didn’t mind the scenario in which she stayed either. In that sense the happy ending stands up quite well to the supposed True End, but that’s clouded by an inexplicable sentimental attachment I have for Saber’s character. Fortunately though both address the beef I had with Shirou’s well-intentioned yet flawed philosophy.

“..into the uncertain divine/we scream into the last divide…”

I wasn’t as fascinated by Saber in the TV show but when the events are geared towards portraying events from her and Shirou’s point of view I had a much clearer picture of her circumstances and personality so felt for her predicament much more keenly. While Rin is the tsundere character (not a bad thing I might add!), Saber is I think someone even more interesting, with a imaginatively-realised backstory that I can’t help but admire on so many levels.

The the idea that masters are deliberately paired with servants who share similar characteristics is introduced very early on, which makes perfect sense if they’re to work as a team in combat: Rin and Archer are both laconic, practical, good at long-range fighting and planning ahead for instance. The link goes much, much further than this though where Shirou and Saber are concerned.

The reversed knight in shining armour and the damsel in distress setup was great, although I must admit Shirou’s desire to put himself in the firing line grated on me and Saber was quite understandably insulted by his (albeit misunderstood) reluctance to let her fulfil her purpose. As we see the flashbacks and lines of spoken dialogue though we learn why Shirou is so angsty and prone to self-sacrifice, and why Saber is equally stoic. The presentation of the emotional baggage was really well done actually, and gives the heartstrings some pretty hefty tugs. Then of course there’s the issue of Saber’s true identity…*grins*

The thing is, seeing someone who has suffered so much rediscover their humanity is wonderfully heartwarming: through the little misunderstandings and meaningful moments Saber gradually comes to realise what she’s lost and what’s important to her. It’s like watching someone learn to walk again, and I guess from her point of view it’s just as difficult. Shaking off a lifetime’s worth of having a certain destiny drummed into your head is no small feat, and this is fundamentally what the Fate route boils down to: where duty and destiny ends, understanding what we can decide for ourselves and what we must accept, and how detrimental it is to slip into self-deception.

“You make me real/strong as I feel…”

Clarke’s Second Law states that the only way to discover the limits of the possible is to venture into the impossible: you have to truly push yourself to know your limits. In a set of conversations that I’ve been assured are extremely significant Archer explains to Shirou that his self-abasement is as absurd as it is counter-productive, and that he is better off concentrating about what he is able to do for Saber as opposed to beating himself up over what he cannot do. It’s stating the bleeding obvious for those who find this aspect of his character irritating, but his adding of a more productive slant to over-zealous gallantry has a significant part to play in Saber resolving her own issues.

Like the Rin/Archer double-act Saber and Shirou compliment each other so perfectly, even without taking the sword-and-sheath revelation near the end into account. Shirou’s realisation of his role and knowledge of his strengths and weaknesses helps Saber come to understand her own and make peace with herself; both are their own worst enemies, and so sweetly similar for that.

“It meant the world to hold a bruising faith/but now it’s just a matter of grace…”

While I’m on the subject of togetherness I suppose I ought to give my opinion on the hentai scenes. It seems to be a damn good story with eroge elements mixed in so I very much doubt that anyone would pick this up purely for the sauce. There are only two sexually explicit chapters in the entire Fate route, although equally this excludes it from the under-aged by going into such anatomical detail.

I’m comfortable with it when it’s in context, however. The first scene in question seemed pretty gratuitous and felt out of place; the second scene on the other hand was in a more natural setting, felt relevant to the narrative as a whole and provided a milestone in the characters’ relationship. In addition to indulging in intercourse out of necessity (‘exchanging magical energy’ LOL), they were doing it for each other’s sakes too; finding personal reasons and desires within the sense of duty. Hentai not just rationalised but…romantic? Yep, just about.

The moments of ordinary romantic tension did the job just fine too: the gradual shift in dynamic between the two of them was immensely rewarding, not least because Saber’s back-story meant she was crying out for a little bit of happiness. Only when she met Shirou was she granted the wish she deserved to have in her own lifetime: that of being seen as a human being and finding peace. I still think it was a calculated decision to make a story about moral dilemmas and examinations of what can be decided for oneself into a branching narrative; her story also demonstrates how some things cannot be undone. But then, maybe some things shouldn’t, or needn’t, be undone at all.