I’m really enjoying Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood. I haven’t read the manga, but I loved the first anime, even when it diverged from the source material, so I’m not someone that demands an adaptation be a frame-for-frame duplicate, it just has to be good!

Anime is a totally different medium of entertainment to manga and as such, the dream of a ‘perfect adaptation’ is impossible to realise, because what works in a comic won’t always work for animation. The transition between the two effects everything, from the way the dialogue flows to the selection of a certain scene at the expense of another; an anime series will always have a limited number of episodes to fill and when the source material is particularly long-running, not every single panel can be included. This is a limitation of anime and one should approach an adaptation with that in mind.

The problem is that hardcore fans are often unwilling to compromise, and, in the case of FMA: Brotherhood, this really seems to be effecting the reception of the series, as if the fandom is literally expecting to watch a slideshow of the manga, and when it doesn’t materialise, they feel betrayed, despite the fact it was never going to be like that anyway.

It’s frustrating because depending on which reviews you read, FMA: Brotherhood is either a great, exciting series or just a terrible waste of time. I think it has been fine so far, but all the whining seems to be obscuring its true quality.

A great adaptation should always be true to the spirit of the original, but it should also have its own personality. An extreme, yet perfect example is Gankutsuou, which retains the decadent, rich corruption of Parisian society in Alexandre Dumas’s The Count of Monte Cristo, whilst transporting his story thousands of years into the future. Mahiro Maeda got away with it because the majority of anime fans aren’t as well-versed in 19th century French literature and as such, saw Gankutsuou as a stand alone work of anime, and as difficult as it may be, I think people should try to view FMA: Brotherhood in the same way too; wanting it, or any adaptation, to be a perfect duplicate of the original will always end in bitter disappointment.

I wasn’t aware Mitsuru Adachi (mangaka) even existed until the spring season of this very year, but all that changed after I’d seen the first two episodes of Cross Game. I realised I’d missed out on a lot of great anime of his and, to fill the gap in-between episodes of Cross Game, I started watching Touch too.

It’s a bit weird following both these series at the same time. At first, I was having trouble telling them apart. Despite the near 25 years separating their broadcasts, they are so similar. Both revolve around high school baseball, both place a stronger emphasis on emotion than action and both are noted for the tragedies that change the lives of their main characters.

Also, both are great.

I’ve wanted to get that off my chest for a while, but I’ve also been wondering about how I might compare the two. It’s not easy because Adachi’s loyalty to realism means that many of his male characters share similar traits, but then I thought about his use of female characters too.

In Touch, we have Minami. She’s your ‘typical’ perfect girl. Pretty, well-mannered and conscientious. She’s good at gymnastics, cooks for her father and studies hard at school, yet her friends and family talk openly about who she might marry in the future as if she’s incapable of living her own life, as if all she need do is follow their orders and everything will work out for the best. What’s worse is that she’s content with all of this, it’s just a part of the normal life of a girl growing up in Japan in the 1980s.

Aoba of Cross Game is like the antithesis of Minami; she’s rude, hard-headed and competitive. She’s also an excellent baseball pitcher, but destined never to play in an official game because of her gender. She isn’t living a girly life at all; in fact, and much to her annoyance, Aoba’s so bad at cooking that Kou has to take over!

The boy is cooking for the girl!

If one can take Adachi’s writing as a realistic reflection of Japanese society, then, obviously, Aoba’s way of doing things can be taken as evidence of the progression of gender roles in Japan over the last 20 years. It’s not that I think Touch is intentionally sexist or anything that heavy, but rather, I think it’s just a product of its time, as is Adachi’s reflective style. Both series are exciting, compulsive and heart-warming, with or without gender politics, but it’s interesting to note how the ideas of one man, and by extension, the institution that shelters him, have gradually shifted over the years.

To be honest, I doubt there is much I can say that will convince you to take a look at Armored Trooper Votoms. It’s an old series, with a heavy emphasis on war. Chirico is no Kamina. The characters are gritty and unrefined. When it can be hard to sit through just the 1 episode, 52 feels impossible, so I couldn’t blame anyone for not seeing in this series what I do, because it is most definitely an acquired taste; it’s just that I have acquired it.

Being a blogger, I feel like I’m constantly walking this tight rope between accessibility and obscurity. Only a handful of people will have seen Votoms, and even less will be interested in watching it, so, why the hell am I doing this? What is the point if I am just talking to myself?

It’s an honesty thing. A big part of why I’m here is to recommend anime worth watching, and my basic opinion is that I think Votoms is good, therefore, here we are. I persevered with this series because I trusted in someone else’s opinion, and besides, I wouldn’t be a particularly worthy blogger if I didn’t write about anime I’m enjoying, right?

I don’t usually feel like I have to explain something like that, but this is a particular case where the series takes its time to get going. The arc of Votoms I really want to write about is ‘Deadworld Sunsa’, which happens to be smack bang in the middle, between episodes 28 to 39.

It begins when the main character, Chirico, and his beautiful companion Fyana, awake to find themselves aboard a huge space cruiser. It’s completely abandoned, built with a foreign technology, and carrying them towards an unknown destination. Every few hours, without fail, the deadly quiet is ruined by sounds and images of massacre; the screams of the dead and the mechanical clanks of conflicts long since past stream across every monitor, echoing through the huge, empty corridors. They haunt Chirico with memories of his past; he used to be a ‘Red Shoulder’, a merciless band of soldiers feared for their war atrocities.

At the same time, their cruiser is periodically attacked by outside aggressors seeking to understand and control its many secrets, culminating in a crash landing on the planet Sunsa.

It’s a barren land and low on oxygen. Fyana’s health deteriorates and Chirico is forced to trek across hundreds of miles of desert in search of supplies, with her strapped to his back.

That is but a bare introduction to the plot, and one that omits many wonderful little details. I mentioned before that Chirico carries Fyana across the desert, the act in itself a heart-rending thing, but even more so in the way that Chirico carefully fashions her chair from assorted scrap-metal, which he then attaches to his back. It’s probably the first time he has created anything intended to help, rather than destroy, and being a fairly reserved guy, it is, in such a lovely and indirect style, Chirico’s own way of showing how much he cares about Fyana.

I have noted one particular line in the opening theme that I think poetically captures the essence of Votoms; it reads “choked by the scent of flames that seems to cling to me”, which is so apt. In one of his final exchanges with arch-nemesis Ypsilon, Chirico advises that “there is no glory in combat”. Ypsilon is a prideful warrior, born and bred to fight, and dares not contemplate what else there is to life, because without that scent of flames, he has nothing.

I’m finding this a difficult series to recommend because it’s visibly aged, long and slow, but I want to recommend it anyway, because it’s intelligent, serious science fiction with a strong sense of purpose, which is a genre I’ll always love. It starts out good and gradually gets better, but it requires effort too, because you won’t fall for these characters immediately. It takes time, and I think you know by now whether or not you’re willing to grant that. I’m at a point where I’ve seen most of the well-known classics of anime, where all that’s left are these more obscure, unknown quantities. Votoms is one of those; far from perfect, yet written well enough to be remembered.

I know it has been a long time since I published anything, but I hope you haven’t given up on me just yet. There is warmth in these embers still, I can feel it. I just need stoke them up is all, with a bit of hard work and guts.

The stupid thing is, it’s not as though I’ve stopped watching anime. I’m probably watching more now than ever; 15 different series in all, which is a lot to try to balance with non-anime things, and some of these are long-term commitments too, like Votoms, Hokuto no Ken and Touch, but I’m enjoying the challenge of keeping track of them all, even if that’s not exactly conducive to a consistent stream of blogging (ironic, really).

In my case, I think blogging is all about consistency. Not necessarily in the sense of finding something new to publish every day, but just getting over that first hurdle of a post and setting a tone to carry over in to the future. I’ve lost that thread over the last few months, lost sight of what I was trying to say and why I was trying to say it, so, this is me trying to start afresh, a new spark, but where to begin? It’s been a long time, and there is almost too much to say.

How about last night? I finally finished One Outs. Ten episodes in, it was clear that it was never going to be as good as Kaiji, but it was fun to watch and ended quite well, with Tokuchi, the main character, beating a bunch of nasty cheats at their own game, including throwing his bat at the opposition pitcher and later, a twist involving some sand paper!

One Outs is a good example of a generic, second-tier series; unpretentious and fun to watch, but fairly light and forgettable. Another problem is that second-tier anime is often obscured by another, more beloved show.

In the case of One Outs, it was Kaiji, but another one that’s relevant is Pretear, a surprisingly good magical girl series, overlooked because the same staff went on to create Princess Tutu and Aria. Infinite Ryvius had a great story, but if you’re ever going to check out a Goro Taniguchi anime, it will always be Code Geass first. I wonder how many people are even aware that KURAU Phantom Memory exists? It was forgotten almost as soon as it aired in 2004, despite being a really good science-fiction series by Studio Bones.

We often quote Sturgeon’s Law when it comes to anime, that “ninety percent of everything is crud”, but perhaps dear old Sturgeon was just lazy. Indeed, there is a lot of bad anime out there, but don’t just take his word for it, look for yourself. Sturgeon might have been a moe fan.

I’ve seen Ghost in the Shell many times; the most recent happened to be Friday night. It is a beautiful film, both beautifully animated and beautifully directed, only 80 minutes long too, and just as importantly, every time I watch it, I feel like I’m interpreting it in a slightly different way.

I first stumbled across Ghost in the Shell as a young teenager and was almost exclusively interested in the film’s iconic visuals. You know, like Batou pulling his gun in the crowded market-place and the abrasive sound of the gun fire, the Major’s brief yet brutal kung-fu fight in the midst of that shallow river; only her shadow visible against the calm water. The list goes on, yet with each new viewing, it is the film’s more introspective moments that continue to haunt me.

This all began with the Anime World Order’s recent review of Angel’s Egg, probably the most infamous film of (director) Mamoru Oshii’s career. In the film (which I haven’t seen, incidentally), a lonely girl aimlessly wanders about a desolate landscape, carrying with her a precious egg that she believes incubates her dying world’s last saviour. All her hopes and dreams are pinned on this (Angel’s) egg, but in the end, it breaks. The egg is empty.

Notably, the AWO review discusses how Oshii was an extremely religious person in his youth and had even intended to become a Christian priest, until something happened in his life, some pivotal moment that obviously pushed him towards his career in anime. Quite what that something was remains unknown, but it is suggested that Angel’s Egg is Oshii’s criticism of religion, or rather, the blind faith that it encourages. Such was my mindset as I approached this latest viewing of Ghost in the Shell, the film’s very title an allusion to the human soul.

If one can presume that Oshii had lost his faith, then Ghost in the Shell could be seen as a film about Major Kusanagi’s struggle to find some meaning in, or proof to, her existence, in a world where everything is manufactured; where even her body is artificial.
In her free time, Kusanagi dives into the depths of the sea, but since her cyborg body is too heavy to swim, she relies completely on her equipment to carry her back to the surface. She knows that any tiny malfunction could be fatal, but she does it anyway, precisely because it is frightening and dangerous, because to fear death is to value life, and in that brief moment, she feels alive.

One can imagine Oshii’s struggle. If someone grows up believing in a god, believing there is an underlying purpose to everything that happens; only to suddenly lose faith, that person would feel lost and alone. That feeling mirrors Kusanagi’s own melancholy and search for what it means to be alive. People often think of their souls, that essence of their individuality, as invisibly residing within their own flesh and blood, but without even her own body to fall back on, what else is left for Kusanagi to call her own? Likewise, if such a deeply religious person suddenly loses faith in the existence of his soul, what is it that defines his reality? What proves that he is alive?

The straightest answer is death. Life has no meaning without it, hence, at the end of Ghost in the Shell, the Puppet Master (Project 2501) has realised that the only way he/she can genuinely evolve into something that is alive is by acquiring the power to die. He chooses to ‘merge’ with Kusanagi because she shares similar doubts; her life may be artificial, but at least by agreeing to the Puppet Master’s plans, she has taken control of her own fate, and even if that path leads to her demise, it was through her own choice; if just for a few minutes, it proves that she was alive.

My own interpretation is that Ghost in the Shell is a film about the importance of free will, that the ability to act to one’s own accord, even if it means self destruction, is always preferable to a life with no purpose other than to blindly serve. I don’t know if that sounds depressing or not, really, I just know that I still love this film after all these years.

Mecha anime has always been a bit hit or miss for me. I’ll often find that I’m not as attracted to the mecha as I am to the science fiction stories they inhabit. That is to say, I enjoy a lot of good mecha anime because I enjoy a lot of good science fiction. I suppose it was inevitable, then, that I would eventually stumble over the works of a certain Ryosuke Takahashi, one of the founding fathers of the ‘real robot’ genre. In recent times, he has directed the likes of Blue Gender and Flag, but the majority of his most influential anime was created during the Eighties, one of which happens to be ‘Blue Comet SPT Layzner‘ (1985).

As of this post, only 9 episodes have been fansubbed, but I liked it enough to have watched them all this past weekend. I wish I could say that I’d always planned to watch Layzner, but the truth is that the recent batch torrent attracted my attention because the series has a cool name. The same thing happened with ‘Legend of the Galactic Heroes,’ too, for shame!

Anyway, the ‘real robot’ genre is one that takes the concept of mecha and anchors it within a story that is built on consistent, logical foundations. I’m saying this because I want to emphasize that Layzner is ‘hard’ science fiction. It has a deep story with names, places, alien races and foreign technologies. The mecha is just another element of that world, not the centre of it.

The series begins in an alternate reality 1996. Man has raced into space and installed outposts on Mars, but the Cold War still rages on and relations between the US and Russia are tense. The United Nations has itself a base on Mars and the story begins proper as a group of new students from the UN arrive on Mars to help keep the peace. From this point on, things go badly wrong, as a trio of unidentified hostiles descend on the UN base with a vicious intent.

Right there and then, the vast majority of the base’s inhabitants are killed, including many of the new students, and amidst the carnage, this one particular scene jumps to mind. The people in the command center are baffled by what is happening and plead with the attacking mecha to retreat, but in response, one of them simply turns around, looks straight at the building and blows it away. So quick, so devastating, everything that I thought I knew about this anime was destroyed in that very moment, too, and this was just the first episode; it was uncompromising, intense and thrilling.

This attack is just the beginning of one long and hard ordeal for the survivors. Cut adrift on Mars, they have to slowly scythe their way across the planet’s barren landscape to reach the distant US base, but meanwhile, confusion reigns as both the US and Russian governments blame each other for the destruction, culminating in yet another breath-taking scene. The remaining survivors are overjoyed to have finally sighted the US base on the horizon, but within seconds, their joy is replaced by horror, as a Russian atomic bomb rains down on the US base, incinerating with it what little hopes the survivors had left of escaping.

The plot unfolds in a very methodical, heat of the moment style. 9 episodes in, the survivors are still stranded on Mars, living every hour as if it were their last and fending off attack after attack from the ‘foreign’ hostiles. You see, that they are still alive is exactly the problem; if they can just get a message to Earth, they can warn mankind that a huge invasion force is heading their way!

That, then, is ‘Blue Comet SPT Layzner‘, a dark, fascinating and thrilling science fiction anime that I have to recommend. It’s from 1985, but the animation and general sense of story-telling is timeless. I’m aware it’s annoying that only 9 episodes have been subtitled, but unless more people show an interest in this series, I suspect we could be waiting forever. Layzner is too good to wait forever. Watch it, write about it, do whatever you can. Trust me on this, it’s worth the effort.

It’s the eve of the latest spring season, but I’m still playing catch up with a lot of last year’s finest. Last week it was Xam’d, and this week it’s Michiko e Hatchin and Toradora.

I’m only too aware that the anime community is driven by an insatiable desire for ‘newness’, and I’m really excited by some of this new anime too, but there has always been a feeling that a more considered, ‘concentrated’ and, dare I say it, slower viewing style is the ideal way to go. It’s true that sometimes a good series is impossible to resist, but I’m also thinking that there is so much more to gain from taking in only one series at a time.

Such is the way I’m approaching most anime these days. If nothing else, at least I’ll have the opportunity to write about something different each week, and this time, one of those things happens to be Michiko e Hatchin.

Since Shinichiro Watanabe was attached to it, this was one of my most anticipated anime of last year, but generally speaking, I would have watched it anyway, because, basically, Michiko e Hatchin looks really cool. It has a punk rock style, with a strong emphasis on things like fashion; the clothes are ever changing, the hair is messy and the voices are lazy. As if to suggest it couldn’t give two shits about whether you like it or not, it’s like the perpetually sneering, Johnny Rotten of anime.

If style was all that mattered, then this would be perfect, but to really admire something, I need characters to care about and a story to be fascinated by, too. Michiko e Hatchin has none of these things and as such, it ends up feeling ever so empty and aimless. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy it, because I was able to watch all 22 episodes in one week, so, obviously, I found it entertaining and beautiful to look at, but reflecting on it now, it just feels like there is nothing left to say. The fusion of anime and South American culture is a cool idea, but may be too much emphasis was placed on recreating the visual style and tropes of, for example, Brazilian cinema, to the detriment of a good story.

Then we have Toradora. I watched the final four episodes this morning and not expecting much at all, I was surprised by the impact it wrought on me. I’ve been back and forth with my opinion of Toradora for a while now, but, undeniably, the finale was hugely involving. We had the soulful dreaming of characters like Ryuuji and Taiga, Minorin’s conflicted smile and Ami’s desperate loneliness, each of them contemplating the state of their lives, while searching for happiness in indirect and painful directions. I lost a lot of faith in the series when it descended into cheesy Christmas songs and illogical plot twists, but the finale won me back over. It may be a generic set-up, but, in the end, Toradora was an honest and heartfelt drama. I couldn’t ask for any more.

The problem with writing an anime blog for any length of time is that I’m prone to repeating myself. I’ve had this ache to write about something, anything, over the last month or so, but there are only so many times I can say “this is good, that is bad” without feeling as though I’m running in circles, writing about anime for the sake of being an anime blogger. I don’t want to go down that road, I want this to be like a natural impulse, something that I’m compelled to do by an honest desire to share my enthusiasm with you. Nothing else.

That is why this post exists. I haven’t stopped watching anime, or anything as dramatic as that, it’s just that my mind has been blank. I’ve been waiting for something to shake me out of that apathy, and it turns out that that something is Xam’d: Lost Memories.

It’s not just that the animation is superb, or that the soundtrack is evocative, or even that the characters are great. It’s everything. The world-building, the whimsical adventure, the sudden bursts of brutality. I adore it because it reminds me of Eureka Seven and Nausicaa, that it makes clear nods towards Miyazaki’s synthesis of nature and fantasy, the sweeping landscapes and complex technologies of a strange new world. It’s so nostalgic for me; a story I can’t help but treasure dearly.

I’ve spent this last week navigating my way through all 26 episodes, and even then, I must admit, it has been difficult to follow. Considering its strange terminologies and complex foreign cultures, this has to be the hardest fantasy anime I’ve seen since Seirei no Moribito, and without ever pausing for reflection, it forges ahead breathlessly with the story. There is little time wasted on explanation or flashback, we’re just dropped right in to the centre of a world war and expected to keep up. In its slower moments, characters dream of their past adventures, regret old battles and wistfully sigh over lost loves, but all we have to go on are painful scars, a name or a place. That’s the thing about Xam’d, really, almost as if it has invented its own language, it speaks in riddles and poetry, and like the best of fantasies, it feels deep. One might compare it to a glass of vintage wine, a subtle taste nurtured over years of careful fermentation. Xam’d is a story in a bottle, a history fermented over thousands of years, a bitter-sweet taste.

It’s bitter because there is no easy way to save the world. Things like religion get in the way. Racism, child soldiers and suicide bombings. All of these things lead to tragedy. There is no escaping the fact that a lot of people die in this show; they inflict horrible wounds on each other and die in gruesome ways, and for 26 episodes straight, there is no end to it. Friends become enemies for stupid, petty reasons. Resentment and hatred boil to the surface. There is no logical reason for it, and only chaos that follows it.

Yet, it’s sweet because there are still people around with the heart to smile. Against all the odds, Akiyuki and Haru fall in love and are reunited, while, time and time again, Nakiami throws herself in harms way so that others may live. This one particular scene is stunning; Akiyuki’s mother runs and runs down the street, scraping her bare feet on the pavement, desperate to catch one last glimpse of her departing son.

There’s so much hatred in Xam’d, but so much love too. It’s vibrant and full of life, just look at how it has been drawn, it’s beautiful. Pretty like a fairy tale.

Knowing that some day you will die is not a prospect that one’s thoughts tend to dwell on, but in Casshern Sins, when death is everywhere and the land is ravaged with decay, that your life will some day end is impossible to ignore. It’s a feeling that I often get from this show, but far from ever seeming hopeless, each episode has an ephemeral, poetic warmth; refusing to linger in depression, it cherishes life, with color, and beauty, and sound. It is a joy to watch.

Flowing in this vein of hope, Margo’s own obscure achievements in episode 12 are typical of that irreplaceable essence of life. Just like any other robot in Casshern’s world, elegant Margo is slowly dying of the ruin, but instead of quietly accepting his fate, he keeps on going. In the throes of death, his elegiac last words reveal his heart’s truest motivation, “I wanted to leave my colour on my city”. It’s inspiring to think that he just wanted to be remembered, to leave a mark that proves that he was alive.

This was such a heartfelt parting sentiment, that honestly chimes with my heart, and exactly the kind of pathos that has me convinced that Casshern Sins is great.

When I finished watching Legend of the Galactic Heroes late last year, I felt like I’d had my fill of sprawling eighties anime series for a fair old time to come, but fate, it seems, has long been conspiring against me.

My destiny had seven scars on his chest. A mere swipe of his hand could (and invariably, will) render his enemies violently exploded! His name is Kenshiro, Fist of the North Star!

Firstly, I must admit, catching up with Hokuto no Ken has always been a secret ambition of mine. The 1986 “manga video” was a tangible part of my early years as an anime fan and exploring this whole, bloody story for the first time is akin to understanding that cliché feeling of a ‘child-like sense of wonder’.

Let’s face it, there’s no point in even trying to be objective about this, Hokuto no Ken is far, far, far from perfect. The story is predictable, the characters’ motivations are laughably ‘basic’ (’without wit’ may be a better description) and the aesthetic is like some inbred, mutant offspring of Viking culture and Mad Max 2. So far, so flippin’ weird, but that’s why I love it, too!

People often forget anime; time always has the last word, but it seems many still remember Hokuto no Ken, which is ironic, as it’s probably the antithesis of what many fans would today describe as good anime; the manly ying to the moe yang, perhaps.

A subtle, beautiful and moving observation of life; Kenshiro’s journey is none of these things.

In 199X, the world is decimated by nuclear war. In-lieu of modern civilization, the strongest warriors have risen up to build vast armies of mohawked thugs and conquer the world. One of the few men brave enough to retain his honor and decency in this harsh new world (as evidenced by the fact that he wears denim jeans) is our hero Kenshiro, successor to the deadly martial arts style of Hokuto Shinken. He faces many fierce adversaries on his road to nowhere, including none other than his best friend, the blonde bombshell Shin.

Before abducting Ken’s fiancée Yuria, dragging her off to his castle and basically destroying Ken’s entire life up until that point, Shin was a good old boy, really. He just had some bad ideas about love, is all, but that will hardly stop Ken from sweeping across thousands of miles of broken cities and bitter deserts in search of delicious revenge.

The thing is, Kenshiro is a vigilante. He and his friends rarely live to fight another day; each battle is to the death and the so-called hero of this story could aptly be described as a mass-murderer too, which is, I think, why Hokuto no Ken has managed to retain its edge to this very day. It’s such an extreme and morally irresponsible show that one gets a giddy, visceral thrill from watching episode after episode of brutal, bloody death. That, and I think the art (particularly the character design) is great fun.

There are many square jawed, horse riding, really tall, massively fat and fundamentally odd-looking people in this. The facial expressions are often very funny and the voice acting is so melodramatic that I can’t help but be swept away by the sheer enthusiasm of it all. Logic be damned, then, I’m really enjoying Hokuto no Ken.