The best part of all is the fact that this is in full HD: the series was from the outset a cut above the made-for-TV fare in terms of details in the artwork and fluidity in the animation, so the big screen treatment is what it deserves. If much of the content itself is the same then seeing it all in such glorious resolution is in itself worth the experience…and of course the increased detail means you’re less likely to miss some subtle yet potentially important plot point.

My impression of this feature-length format is slightly different from that of the series however, so I’m reluctant to recommend one without the other. The series served the narrative’s ideas in bite-sized chunks; you were encouraged to think it over and savour every moment because the releases of each instalment were so sporadic. The film takes the viewer all the way through in one go which gives a more cohesive experience, but offers less time to pause for thought: there’s a clearer sense of the ‘big picture’ but the trade-off is that it gives you less opportunity to appreciate the details in its writing.

That’s not to say that it’s more poorly paced than its predecessor: most of the content is the ONA’s footage spliced together after all, except shown without breaks for OP/END credits and with a few ‘new bits’ added in. It still has that same sense of succinct storytelling that I loved about the series: every exchange of dialogue is meaningful and not a moment is wasted on filler. That distinctive simulated hand-held camera approach also fits the big screen format – it’s as though Studio Rikka wanted Eve no Jikan to end up here from the very beginning.

I can finally say I CAN HAS FULL SIZE

The first difference I noticed is a slight, yet thematically significant, shift in emphasis. Much of this is due to rearranging the order of some scenes so overall there isn’t much that wasn’t in what I remember of the ONA. Many of these are short and, I must confess, really sweet moments in which Rikuo’s houseroid Sammy reflects on the relationship she shares with the family she works for. Her character comes across as even more endearing, introspective and tellingly more human that in the series.

The more major changes are in the ‘big picture’ of the story, which was originally drip-fed during the course of the six episodes but here is introduced in the first scene. It’s also evident in the closing one so the real treat for fans of the ONA comes in these final moments and during the end credit segment, in case you’re tempted to look away early. It inevitably poses a whole host of questions that only fuels my desire for a sequel, but also addresses a few earlier questions that the series didn’t explore as fully.

The recent passing of Satoshi Kon prompted the question of how many other directors have a natural knack for making innovative works that bring fresh ideas and perspectives to familiar concepts: narratives with an effortless ‘flow’ and an ability to balance differing sentiments and moods from scene to scene, but not always following the conventions. Sadly there aren’t very many who can do this: Tensai Okamura, Makoto Shinkai, Hideaki Anno and Mamoru Hosoda are the only people in the field of animation that I can name off the top of my head, but Yoshiura is another rare talent who is able to smoothly guide the story between tear-jerking, intriguing and laugh-out-loud hilarious. The characters of this story – human and android alike – are expressive and full of life, and the familiar issues associated with AI in society still hold a lot of potential for further discussion.

The important thing is, Eve no Jikan never lays the philosophy on thickly enough to get in the way of appreciating the everyday ramifications of androids in everyday life; it brings up Asimov’s Three Laws and technical jargon only when relevant, and resists the temptation that’s common in CGI-rendered productions to go overboard in portraying the future as being so far advanced that it’s unfamiliar. Sometimes little details are more effective than grandiose cyberpunk cityscapes.

The icing on the cake for me is that the ending theme tune, I have a dream, works far better in this context than it does as the closing track of Kalafina’s last album. On its own it’s as close to underwhelming as Yuki Kajiura’s songwriting has gone for me, but I’ve now warmed to it far more than I expected. Toru Okada’s BGM is still too quirky and lo-fi to be taken seriously but it fits in well with the playful and light-hearted vibe of the movie – a production that takes on one of the most popular yet weighty themes in science fiction, yet is still enjoyable.

Sammy is adorable.</discussion>

This is the kind of movie that is crying out for exposure at film and SF festival screenings worldwide; not just as a visually impressive indie film but a shining example of how speculative fiction can be thoughtful, inventive and fun. Those of you who haven’t yet followed up my recommendations to watch the series might as well track this down instead. You really won’t regret it.

Perhaps we’re supposed to be concentrating on Chie and Shimei here but I was even more fascinated by Rikuo’s predicament in this episode. The philosophical stuff – and simpler, more day-to-day issues too – gave me plenty to think about, and ultimately provided the biggest emotional hit from Eve no Jikan‘s latest quarter-hour offering. As unlikely as the prospect may be, I hope Ray Kurzweil is watching this too.

It’s fair to say Shimei is an android, and a special one at that. This raises the question of the whereabouts of Chie’s biological family, but also the meaning behind Shimei’s status as some prototype. I still have this nagging suspicion that in addition to being a modern convenience, the place in everyday life that androids enjoy(?) could well be some sort of experiment by an organisation or organisations unknown. Then there’s the fact that Rikuo’s and Masaki’s respective parents are involved in the android industry too…

If Chie is happy with the arrangement, does that make the arrangement acceptable? Is it fair that she isn’t aware of the fact that her ‘foster parent’ isn’t human? Does this fact matter when they are content with things being the way they are? I guess we need to know the exact circumstances of how their situation came to be in order to judge it objectively but the questions nevertheless kept on coming and continue to do so even as I type.

In saying this I’m trying to stress that the Chie and Shimei thing was not just interesting but significant too; the most thought-provoking and memorable aspect of this outing from a personal point of view however was the subplot of Rikuo and his piano.

Firstly, there’s the issue of whether a non-human being can create or perform a work of art; keeping on-topic with the field of musical composition and expression, does it matter whether the performer is a human or machine? If the audience appreciates it regardless of this, you have to wonder. In terms of technical accuracy, digital wins out; and yet the nature of the wetware of the human brain, with the inaccuracies and unpredictabilities that go with it, must surely win over software in terms of individuality and spontaneity – two things that are important in musical expression.

I’ve often wondered, looking at the worryingly-expanding collection of effects processors connected to the guitar amp in my living room, whether there’s any truth in the idea that digital technology is superior to analogue equivalents it is trying to emulate or replace; much like the solid state vs. valve amplifier argument (which would require a lengthy explanation that I ought to save for another time). Even if the difference in sound quality of analogue is purely in my own head, does it still exert a positive effect on my playing, and if so, does this perceived psychological difference make its own case for my mantra “nothing can match the warmth of analogue” in my choice of what type of gadget to use?

Perhaps this applies to the issue of android musicians, or perhaps not. While, say, a digital chorus pedal may be more reliable and consistent in performance than an analogue counterpart, accuracy isn’t everything. A machine may be able to hit the right notes, but as Gaguri recently mused an individual’s interpretation is important when appreciating a musical piece. I’m deliberately avoiding using the word ‘soul’ here, BTW.

The way in which music evolves, and the individuality of a given piece or performance, is through new ideas – be they intentional or accidental. Humans might lack note-for-note accuracy but it remains to be seen if machines can ever be creative; assuming we’re able to formulate some Turing-style test to spot it in the first place. A bum note, slip in timing or squeak of feedback from an amp may set the performer or writer in a new direction that yields something new – currently all a machine can do is flawlessly recreate an existing work created by a human.

This is I think Rikuo’s realisation: he felt discouraged by the idea that a machine could encroach on an area he felt he could excel in. Eventually he rediscovered why he started learning in the first place: practising an instrument takes time and patience but being the best isn’t everything. One of my favourite scenes of this episode is that in which Rikuo overcomes his misgivings and plays a piece in the Time of Eve, not to win a contest, or to prove anything; he plays to entertain those around him, and to experience the pure enjoyment of making music that is your own. A machine may have wowed the critics but Rikuo could take comfort in the fact that his friends enjoyed the music HE played.

I still love the dynamic between Rikuo and Sammy, which this episode once again showed to wonderful effect. The piano scene, in which she tried to play the same tune Rikuo does, shows a very humanlike sentimental attachment to the song, and to Rikuo too I suppose. The look on her face, and that of the android audience in the café too, makes me question my earlier statement that machines cannot appreciate music in the same way humans do.

The flashback-style scene with the two of them walking in the rain absolutely floored me though, honestly. The imagery casts my mind back to an old saying I heard once: “Love is a shared umbrella.” Aside from this personal thing, the symbolism here is reminiscent of the use of umbrellas in Hideaki Anno’s Shiki Jitsu and even on a more direct level the way in which the scene summed up their awkward relationship and how it is perceived by others was simply breathtaking.

There wasn’t even a need for dialogue, which is why I think the cinematography of Eve no Jikan and this scene in particular excel so well. There’s the formation of understanding and the gradual emergence of unsaid feelings between the two of them but on top of this, the story once again highlights the way that the general public view androids and the expectations forced on android and owner alike.

I honestly don’t think the Robot Revolution is as close as we’d like to think but the early signs, such as a synthesised idoru getting her first Real Life gig alongside human stars, suggest that technology is catching up with us in a number of areas. Although I daresay some of the so-called music artists deserve to have a Sharon Apple-style figure knock them off the top spots in the charts, there are still some regions of human endeavour where machines are not so much unwelcome as unable to occupy. The degree to which this applies is one of the things I love about Eve no Jikan…not to mention the fact that it continues to make us question the status quo with such ease and makes us empathise with the characters into the bargain.

The setting of that wonderfully odd café contributes a lot to this I think. The clunky star of this episode and his predicament is shown to wonderful effect in its unique environment and the characters who frequent it – the problems with the older-style androids, such as the rigid nature of their thought processes, are highlighted by the policy of equality Nagi insists on; at the same time it feels like a gentle reminder of how we can discriminate without even realising it. Nameless’ quirks are certainly a problem unique to androids but Masaki’s and Rikuo’s reactions are similar to those we see in encounters with other humans who are, for whatever reason, different from the norm.

If they ask Nameless a question or give a command outside the realms of his limited capability he undergoes an awkward mental meltdown so they go to extreme (not to mention hugely comedic) lengths to prevent embarrassing or dangerous consequences. This means treating this android with extreme care, but also makes the establishment’s house rule challenging. How can you treat an antiquated android as just another customer when, for example, it may not be able to drink anything?

Equality is not easy to put into practice with even the best of intentions, which is the main message I took from this episode. If, say, the Time of Eve made no discrimination between young and old humans, older people would need to be treated the same as younger ones…but how would frail and infirm people climb the stairs to the balcony unaided? Fit a stairlift or ramp? Or be forced into treating them differently by restricting them to the lower floor for their own comfort and safety?

At this point I was reminded of a similar scene in Spielberg’s A.I.: Artificial Intelligence, albeit less harrowing and featuring more Evelend and less veg

I suspect Nagi knew it (he?) would be able to consume a cup of Evlend without frying but if she was unsure of this, would she hesitate in serving it? I suspect this android’s thought processes are too simplistic for it to be so easily offended but its requirements are pretty strict and unusual since most androids who visit the place are more technically advanced, and closer to humans in physical construction and behaviour.

The fact that this android looks so different even from the other androids also means that Rikuo and Masaki are quicker to nervously laugh at its idiosyncracies…but as easy as it is to judge, that is still strictly speaking against the house rules. Considering how this scene had me laughing out loud too, it certainly makes the viewer question his or her own stance on these issues, which I thought was a wonderfully clever bit of screenplay writing. Because he looked and acted so differently to the other androids we’ve seen so far, it was easier to slip into mockery mode, which is the beginning of the slippery slope towards discrimination and inequality.

Neatly tied to Nameless’ situation in this outing is that of the Ethics Committee and their latest campaign: that of the disposal of obsolete androids. Presumably this one was dumped and its distinguishing features (partially?) erased to prevent the former owners needing to pay for disposal through legal channels. While the ad campaign seems like an ordinary reaction to android fly-tipping I’m still getting the impression that they’re something more sinister.

Why paint the androids in such a negative light when their place in society is so accepted that they’re overlooked and in some cases subject to maltreatment? Is there a conflict or power struggle going on amongst the authorities? Addressing the more practically-orientated aspects of how such a technical revolution can impact on everyday society and the way in which these changes are governed or monitored is one this series’ greatest strengths at this point, and will hopefully be explained more fully later on.

I don’t know whether the fact that Rikuo’s father works in the android industry will become an important plot point later on either – this series isn’t one to waste a moment on meaningless things so I suspect both this fact and Masaki’s aversion to androids in general are significant and certain to be revisited. I know I was initially sceptical of the simulated hand-held camera work but as the episodes progressed I began to appreciate its merits and gradually stopped noticing it entirely; which is a compliment, really.

Oh, and this. I’m sure Nameless’ final monologue dropped some hints about Nagi amongst the noise

As a matter of fact the only time this effect caught my attention was when it spun from one side of the table to the other in the café during Nameless’ scene, giving a great sense of immediacy and heightening the nervous, panicky feel of the situation in question. The end result is less about cuts and simulated viewpoints and more of a wonderfully fluid journey through the environs, making fine use of the layouts and giving an almost first-person perspective on what’s going on. Similarly the flow of the script took me from curiosity through out-loud laughter and lump-in-the-throat contemplation when the full implications hit home; another excellent episode from an outstanding series.