Unless you count my yearly flings with Football Manager, I’ve never been much of a gamer. Even still, I bought myself a Playstation 3 in December.

Stepping into today’s world of consoles is intimidating at first. I’d been divorced from the culture for nearly a decade and knowing how deeply some are into it, it’s easy to get cold feet.

I had to try, though. I wanted to play Shadow of the Colossus.

After stumbling over a review of it one day at work, I made the impulsive (and, obviously, expensive) decision there and then to buy the game so as to have a proper look.

I’m a slave to aesthetics, you see.

I love minimalism in design and there’s an elegance and simplicity to Shadow of the Colossus that I found instantly appealing.

Much time in the game is spent travelling. Often I’d yearn to go back to wandering its quiet landscapes when trying to topple a particularly difficult colossus.

The colossuses make the game what it is, though. Upon meeting them, I felt awe. They are beautiful things, strange, other-worldly wonders, appearing magical and sacred against the wide-open deserts we ride amidst.

First catching glimpse of a colossus is akin to a waking dream, such is the shock of realising that you need somehow to defeat this beautiful, intimidating thing lumbering towards you. It’s hard not to just sit and gaze.

I think I fell in love with Agro, the horse, as soon as I coaxed her towards me.

Like Yakul in Princess Mononoke, much of the game’s beauty is channelled through our interaction with her; she’s our truest companion, and silent witness to the journey we find ourselves caught up in. In a place filled with surreal wonder, she’s our only link to the world beyond the misty mountains.

The soundtrack, too, is gorgeous. In my mind, I’ve always connected Kow Otani with Haibane Renmei, but this is better than that, being so sweeping and emotive and just huge.

It perhaps symbolises my naive attitude towards video games when I say that I was surprised by how good this soundtrack actually was and how much it immersed me in the story.

Towards the end, my heart began to flutter. And then sink, as I lost my dear ally.

These are my impressions of playing the game, but if truth be told, I’d fallen in love with Shadow of the Colossus long before I’d actually touched it, which is a hell of a pretentious statement to make, yet I just look at the images taken from it and my imagination soars, even now. In the clouds.

I think I’ve finally seen something here that changes the way I think about video games. About time, too. (And if you have recommendations (particularly for games similar to Shadow of the Colossus,) they are more than welcome!)

To Aru Majutsu no Index has been on my list for a while, but I’ve passed it up for things I’ve categorized as more “high brow”, “mature”, or newer. It wasn’t high priority. But on a  quiet, snowy Satruday night I figured why the hell not? It’s nice to know what the younger generation is into these days (since my own, refined tastes are oh-so-far removed).

I set up my torrent, and as I was doing so examined that last train of thought mentally:

The younger generation? Bullshit.

It has come to my attention that, somewhere in my recent history, I’ve identified a “younger” generation of anime fans, and for the first time ever, I haven’t self-identified with them. This “younger generation” is the Other. At the tender age of 23, I am now old.

In fact, recently, quite a few ‘firsts’ have been recorded in my anime viewing career. Notably:

• Consuming alcohol when watching anime. In fact, I sat down to watch Index with a glass of wine and croissant in hand.
• Dropping more anime that I pick up. Both for currently airing series; even ones I’m interested/emotionally invested in, such as the -monogatari series. And for older series (still haven’t finished Mirai Shounen Conan).
• Watching anime with someone else. Not that this is particularly new to me – my early days of anime watching were spent alongside my sister and good friends. I’m talking in more of a significant other snuggle-up kind of way, which is certainly novel. If I may be frank, this impedes viewing the screen properly (one person is always more off-center than the other) and isn’t the best arrangement.

I suppose this time was bound to come. I’ve been watching anime for well over a decade, and well over half my life, and that anime watching career has gone through more than a few translations. From dub watcher to sub zealot, anime fansite creator to blogger, and all the stages inbetween. In the end, as a person I’ve gone out into the world, and experienced things, and matured. It’s hard to keep any part of your life static when the core of who you are seems to have refined itself so much.

What I find funny about watching To Aru Majutsu no Index as an “older generation” anime fan is that other older generation anime fans tend to view it as a part of the same pile of harem moeshit that is the Cancer that’s Ruining Anime. Ironically, Index is probably more quintessentially anime than anything I’ve watched. It’s all chibi characters and banter and action and fireworks and chase scenes, even a token bit of random appropriation of Christian imagery. It’s kind of fun, in that way.

Interestingly, To Aru Majutsu no Index extrapolates the traditional setting of a school, instead choosing to set itself in a city of schools, Academy City. With a population of 80% students (naturally), Academy City, and the To Aru Majutsu franchise is leading itself towards one elegant conclusion: once the casts graduates, they must invariably leave, and scatter across Japan to become adults. A true ‘going out into the world’ if ever there is one.

There is a reason for Academy City, of course. For a normal character, the confines of a small building in a big city are enough to develop themselves. But I suppose for espers and lightning-bolt shooting teenage girls, like the ones in To Aru Majutsu no Index, an entire city is needed.

The prospect of being an “anime fan forever”, much like being a high school student forever, is one doomed to failure. However, though we may grow up and grow older, and appear to move on, there is a part of our histories which will always remain in a certain time, and a certain place. In the tweeted words of a famous Japanese idol – “I’ve become an adult but I’ll be Peter Pan forever”.

The easiest way to see why it’s a rehash is to look at the main characters of each show and to see how similar they are. Mireille and Madlax are both experienced gunslingers and professional assassins. Both go by code names that serve as the titles for their shows. Both are mildly dissatisfied with the lives they live. Meanwhile Kirika and Margaret are both young, short, slender girls with mysterious pasts. Both girls appear fragile and absent minded, but actually have great power of their own. The personalities of these pairs of characters are so similar that Bee Train could have taken Noir‘s characters, put them into Madlax, and Madlax would have played the same.

The similarity between the series suggests that Bee Train’s goal with Madlax was to repeat the formula that made Noir successful. The problem with this approach is that it leads to a boring show. If you’ve seen Noir, the first 2/3 of Madlax will seem like a pale imitation. And by the time the show finds a new direction, it’s almost over.  The upshot to Bee Train’s approach is that it probably led a number of Noir fans to watch Madlax in the first place. It certainly led me to watch it instead of a show like Phantom: Requiem for the Phantom which sounded more interesting, but which I knew less about.

The strategy of trying to recreate a proven success happens with Western media all the time as well. For example, Twilight did well, so now there are three different shows about vampires on TV. A good example of successful adaptation is the play West Side Story.  The plot is adapted from Romeo and Juliet, yet the characters and the action are still fresh. This is as true for those who know Romeo and Juliet by heart as it is for those that haven’t seen it before. What Madlax failed to do was take the idea behind Noir, girls with guns with a fantasy twist, and create a compelling new story around it.

Bee Train’s mistake is repeated by much of the industry. The anime studios are busy copying old shows instead of transforming their ideas into new shoes. Luckily for Noir, Madlax isn’t its last shot at reinvention. The US TV network Starz is releasing a live action adaptation of Noir soon. It will be a good chance to see if Hollywood can succeed where Japan failed.

Kunisawa Amon is a blip on the radar for most Hana Yori Dango readers. Like most of the antagonists in the manga (and by antagonists, I mean people who obstruct the getting-together of main characters Domyouji Tsukasa and Makino Tsukushi) he receives his own story arc, and eventually fades into the background. However, his story is perhaps the one of the most pertinant parts of the manga, if simply for the character growth he forces upon Tsukushi.

For those unfamiliar with the manga, Hana Yori Dango is another one of Kamio Youko’s manga. Hana Yori Dango is by far her most famous work, and chronicles the story of the dirt poor Makino Tsukushi, as she enters the aristocratic Eitoku High School. There she encounters the F4 (short for “Flowery 4″) and its violent, idiotic, and overwhelmingly rich leader, Domyouji Tsukasa. The manga dedicates itself to their rivalry, and then unprobable romance. Hana Yori Dango was Kamio’s first and longest work, and much like her main characters, the artwork grows and improves considerably over time.

Tsukushi, backed into a wall by Domyouji Tsukasa’s overlording and cruel mother, is forced to abandon their fledgling relationship to save her friends. To ease her depression, her friends set up a goukon with some college boys. Kunisawa is introduced as Kiyonaga, a violend and dark college student who shows up to the goukon.

The older Kunisawa, parading as Domyouji’s cousin and going by the name of Kiyonaga, smokes, and generally acts like a giant dick. A very distracted Tsukushi, still raw from her forced breakup with Tsukasa, doesn’t know how to react to this. She lashes out violently, as she would with Tsukasa; forgetting that the two are separate people.

.. and winds up embarrassing herself and her friends.

A chance meeting with Tsukasa after the goukon only serves to worsen things. Tsukushi and Tsukasa, who have been frozen at a crossroads for far too long, finally seem to move forward, though initially, not in the way that one would hope – as he throws a (very expensive, custom-made) Cartier necklace in to a dirty Tokyo river. Though not positive progress, the couple finally begins to move again.

The Kunisawa Amon story arc is a time of growth for both Tsukushi and Tsukasa. Still in love with Tsukasa, Tsukushi dives into the river to search amongst the trash for the necklace, as Kunisawa watches. Tsukushi, embittered by the world and her circumstances, comes to see the good in people she’s long since judged as evil…

.. and Tsukasa, ever proud and stubborn, learns to bend.

One of the most beautiful parts of Hana Yori Dango these moments of growth. Even in her first work, Kamio Youko shows that she is a master of taking two rough diamonds and polishing them into adults. She removes the surface impurities in her characters, but still leaves in tact the flaws and traits that make them human and relatable. With the narrative bandwith that 200+ chapters provides, she takes the time to do this with all of her side characters in Hana Yori Dango, and all the while they contribute moments of wisdom to Tsukushi and Tsukasa.

Amon’s crowning moment is a one-liner, and like so much of this arc, not what the audience wants to hear. It’s all the more powerful because of this, however.

Kunisawa Amon is older than the majority of the characters, more experienced, and doesn’t mind admitting this. His presence confuses and and brings about the unexpected in the plot, but he isn’t a plot device. He isn’t there to explain the inner workings of Domyouji’s “witch” mother, or to get Tsukushi and Tsukasa back together. It’s simply the nature of his character – cold, mature, and able to see the grander scheme – which guides the characters to make their own natural moves towards these ends.

One thing we may deduce about author Mohiro Kitoh from Bokurano and Narutaru is that he probably had a few bad experiences growing up.

It’s otherwise very difficult to understand why his stories about children are quite so fucked-up. Case in post, Narutaru, of which I just finished watching the anime adaptation.

I remember when it first appeared, it had an aura of uneasiness. Even now, it’s spoken of in hushed tones, but on this evidence, it’s a reputation well-earned. I’ve rarely experienced a story as angry and bitter and, well, nasty, as this became.

People talk about Blood-C or Shiki being hard to take, but until you’ve seen a bunch of 11 year-old girls trying to force a glass test-tube into the vagina of another and then stamp on her stomach, well, you get the idea.

This isn’t the type of series one would expect to see on a TV station called “Kids Station,” but as we know by now, Japan sometimes does funny things.

The basic premise of Narutaru can be described as ‘Pokemon gone bad.’ It takes the idea of adolescent children bonding with cute-looking creatures and transports it all into this nightmarish suburban tragedy where the children are less than innocent and the adults selfish.

It’s an absolutely fascinating premise, but overall, badly let-down by a low-budget and dull direction. It’s not a bad anime, but it isn’t as good as the writing deserves.

I’ve always found it exciting how Kitoh plays with genre, though.

Bokurano is another that takes the premise of every mecha anime ever and then forces it into an unrelenting world-view, where children too young have too much responsibility foisted upon their shoulders and buckle under the strain. Just them struggling a tad would be enough for most, but Kitoh pushes his characters way, way beyond breaking point.

In Narutaru, the aforementioned bullied girl doesn’t so much fight her opposition as straight up massacre them in the most gruesome and cruel ways imaginable. All this in a series that, on first glance, one could mistake for Pokemon.

I kept expecting someone to step-in, or for it all to be a dream, but there’s no saviour to be found here, no shying away from immorality or weakness, no escape.

It’s not fun to read or watch something like this, but it’s interesting; a dark-side to Japan’s popular culture.

It’s easy to forgive the children in Kitoh’s stories for the things they do because they can’t know any better, it’s them merely reflecting their interactions with the adult world.

I’ve taken to describing his adults as small-eyed, soulless husks. They look so lifeless and dreary, are so selfish and sadistic, that it’s hard to imagine them as children. That, I think, is Kitoh’s point, too.

He uses, or perhaps, sacrifices, children to highlight just how precious and care-free that time of our lives should be, and why to have it taken away is so tragic.

***

I’m not into torture porn or anything like that, but Kitoh snags my attention for subverting my beloved anime genres.

We’ve grown-up watching our heroes pilot giant robots against invading aliens and fighting off evil with their pet monsters, yet to see them fail so spectacularly is oddly captivating to me, too.

A case of putting away childish things? I still dream, but a little dose of Kitoh’s harsh reality is needed (and, quite frankly, recommended) now and then, too.

We'll miss you Bandai

Iyadomi provided two partial explanations for the parent company’s decision, both suggest that it was Bandai Japan’s plan to pursue a new business model rather than piracy that led it to close its American subsidiary. First, Iyadomi stated that Bandai Japan was disappointed by Bandai USA’s poor economic performance over the past 5 years. Even with these results, Iyadomi thought Bandai USA could have survived another few years. If Bandai wasn’t doing great, but was still well enough to keep going, that suggests it was making enough to at least cover its costs and eke out some small profit.  Would it have been profitable enough to continue if piracy wasn’t an issue? At best, maybe. Some people would have bought DVDs, others would not have. In any event, if Bandai USA was profitable, why did the Japanese shut it down? The answer is that cheap DVDs threatened Bandai Japan’s profits at home while producing little profit abroad. Even if some of those pirates bought DVDs, the profits in Japan would have dwarfed what Bandai made in the US.

This conclusion is supported by the other reason Iyadomi cited for the shutdown: Japanese unhappiness with cheap US boxed sets. The price of anime in the US continues to decrease as the fan base shrinks. That threatens the profits Bandai Japan made at home. Those profits, based on expensive Japanese DVDs, are what sustains Bandai worldwide. Anime companies have long been worried that Japanese fans will stop buying anime at home and import American releases. With Bandai America’s profits already low, Bandai Japan realized the risk wasn’t worth it. It knew it could make some money from the US, without any risk, by selling its Japanese discs directly to US customers for Japanese prices.

All good things must come to an end

Again, from Bandai Japan’s perspective this strategy is a win-win. It still makes some profits in the US, with little risk to its Japanese business. It can even continue to target more mainstream fans unwilling to pay $50 per disc by providing region locked streaming or rental options. It already does so with Gundam Unicorn on PS3. This streaming strategy parallels what the US media market is already doing, moving away from physical discs to streaming from the cloud. But, unlike Netflix’s widely panned moves towards streaming, Bandai’s move is defensive. Bandai made its decision to protect profits in Japan, not pursue them elsewhere. With the high cost of anime production, it would seem like the Hollywood strategy of increasing foreign profits would be a better bet. Hopefully Bandai will have better luck with this strategy than Netflix did.

Trend #1: Lawsuits

The anime industry had so many lawsuits this year that I’m surprised no one was inspired to make a Phoenix Wright anime. There were lawsuits between domestic and foreign companies (Gainax vs. ADV and TV Tokyo vs. 4Kids), a lawsuit between a domestic company and downloaders (Funimation vs. 1337 bit torrent users) and one between legal and illegal streamers (Crunchyroll vs. Youtube Uploaders).

Of the lawsuits, Funimation’s suit grabbed the biggest headlines and was the biggest head-scratcher. The popular strategy of media companies suing bit torrent users had lost steam around 2008 when the RIAA and MPAA stopped doing so. Apart from the publicity, Funimation’s decision to sue bit torrent users accomplished little on the surface. The whole event felt like a bad twilight zone episode in which we were transported back to the year 2000 when the RIAA sued Napster. Luckily, the trip ended quickly as the suit was dismissed. It remains to be seen whether the lack of courtroom success will dampen the enthusiasm for suits going forward.

They need a real logo...

Trend #2: Streaming

The two biggest streaming developments this year both involved Funimation. First, the company announced a partnership with NicoNico to create Funico. The partnership at first suggested the failure of the simulcast model, as it appeared that Funimation was exiting the market and letting NicoNico stream the shows Funimation licensed. But any suggestion that Funimation was abandoning streaming was put to rest when it announced its Elite Subscriber program. Not only was Funimation continuing to stream simulcasts (if only in standard definition) but it was also giving subscribers access to dubbed episodes, on the same day those shows were released at retail stores.

DVD sales continue to be the source of industry profits, as Funimation made clear in an interview with Zac Bertschy on ANN. But anime companies (at least in the US) realize that streaming is the future. The challenge going forward will be for the industry to monetize streaming in a way that replaces the profits from physical discs when the public’s appetite for DVDs finally runs out.

Good, but not the breakout hit we need

Trend #3: No more blockbusters

The most disappointing 2011 anime news was that this year lacked a blockbuster anime release. Great shows aired in 2011, and Durarara!! even made it on Cartoon Network, but nothing captivated audiences like past mega-hits Death Note, Bleach and Naruto. This poses the biggest threat to anime going forward. If the industry wants to expand its market share outside of Japan, it needs big shows that will draw in mainstream crowds. The distribution network is in place to deliver anime to the masses, online through Hulu and Netflix or on air at Cartoon Network and G4. But without a breakout show the market will continue to shrink, when we need it to grow.

Recap

Two out of three trends I listed above were negative, but I think the year as a whole has been good, at least for consumers. Anime continues to get cheaper and more accessible, with $30 box sets and free streaming becoming the norm. As the world economy slowly recovers and anime companies figure out how to make money in a digital world, the industry itself looks to be on stable footing. Now we just need a few blockbuster titles and maybe a Sailor Moon re-release to galvanize the masses, and 2012 could go from looking good to being great.

First in Utena:

Then in Star Driver:

As I mentioned above, I’m not going to go in depth about all the ways Star Driver and Utena are the same. If I wanted, I could write an entire post about how the shows have similar art styles, how each has a woman with a small animal friend and how both shows center around duels and school. Instead, this post is mainly about my pleasant suprise at seeing the symmetry in the images above, a fitting tribute by Takuya Igarashi to Utena, which he worked on (and discusses in an interview here).

In addition to the similarity itself, what struck me about the Star Driver scene above (apart from the semi-naked background painting) was that the message was delivered by a villain. This maintains the symmetry with Utena (where a villain delivered the line), but it also highlights how the villains are the most interesting part of Star Driver. Although the hero in Star Driver gets stronger easily, it is the villains, through pain and technological progress, who work hard to gain strength and evolve. This is the opposite of most action shows, where the villain has effortless power but the hero catches up only through hard work. I haven’t finished Star Driver, so I can’t say what role the villains will play in the ending, but I’m hoping their role continues to be nontraditional. Otherwise, I’m going to be the one who has lost something along the way.

The show’s concept is similar to X-Men: a group of humans, called contractors, have gained super powers. But these powers come with a big drawback, called a price. The price forces a contractor to perform an obsessive compulsive behavior after using his power. The compulsions range from the bizarre (eating a flower), to the mundane (smoking a cigarette), to the truly gruesome (like breaking a finger).

The show lasted two seasons (I’ll talk about season 2 in another post) with a short OVA to tie the two together. Of the two, the first is my favorite. It follows Hei who is part of a team of contractors employed by a criminal group called the Syndicate. The plot is structured in the same way as in Witch Hunter Robin, each episode has a separate story while simultaneously pushing a season long plot forward. The longer plot, which concerns the syndicate itself, is generally good, but sometimes over-complicates something that should be simple.

The lovable Huang

The show’s plot is enjoyable, but I found it more rewarding to just focus on the characters and the action. One of my favorite parts of the show was an arc dedicated to Huang, Hei’s non-contractor crew boss. Huang is not a likable character; he’s grimy, has a wart on his nose and is prepared to kill his team members if the syndicate orders it. His flaws make the story about his relationship with, and eventual betrayal by, a contractor one of the most poignant parts of the show. The arc provided an interesting back story and convincingly explained Huang’s complicated feelings. Too often side characters in anime shows just fill a stock role, here the side characters seem alive.

The other notable part of Darker than Black is the action scenes. I thought the OVAs had the best and most exciting fights in the series (perhaps because of a higher budget?) but season 1 had at least one fight per episode. The contractor’s powers are vividly detailed, with ice effects, explosions and gun shots liberally applied.

As much as I enjoyed Darker than Black it was not without flaws. Season 1 suffered from uneven pacing. Parts of it slowed down to a point where it was hard to keep watching. The scenes of Hei walking around his apartment and interacting with his neighbors were my least favorite part. In these scenes Hei adopts a fake personality of a bumbling college student. His interactions with his neighbors are consequently all fake, and don’t give much insight into how Hei really feels. The last quarter of season 1 picks up considerably, with fewer useless scenes, but the first three quarters can be a tough slog at times.

Perhaps the most interesting relationship in the show

Whether the show is unique or whether it is a poor riff on shows like Cowboy Bebop, is perhaps the hardest part of the show’s legacy for me to evaluate. The two shows have a number of similarities, including similar plot structures. Both feature evil syndicates and follow teams that work outside the law. I think that Darker than Black had enough interesting elements, including the contractor’s powers and drawbacks, that make it worth watching. Given the lack of other recent shows about adults, I don’t think its inferiority to Cowboy Bebop should hold people back from enjoying it.

I sat through all of Endless Eight, or rather, I nearly did. I fully intended to, which is the important thing.

***

Watching Haruhi for the first time now is like reading an old newspaper. In 2006, it was about as ubiquitous as anime gets. The dancing ED, the fake first episode, the way the TV broadcast was all jumbled up and yeah, that concert scene. People just wouldn’t shut-up about it, and it seemed to kick-off that whole moe thing, too.

Therefore, I couldn’t bring myself to watch it for 5 short years, but such is my odyssey in anime blogging that today was always inevitable. We’re a bundle of contradictions, anime bloggers.

Anyway, for a series as venerated as this, it wasn’t as extreme as I was expecting and began for me more as a tour guide than an actual piece of storytelling.

I softened up with every further episode, though. It wasn’t the moe purgatory I’d feared, but it isn’t the masterpiece that the ghost of anime past would have you believe, either. I’m just glad I finally got over that hump.

This is all stuff I felt like I needed to say, but generally speaking, I’m impressed by how Kyoto Animation approached the series.

In lesser hands, it would’ve never been as interesting or subtle, but almost everything that’s great about it can be attributed to them. It has a strong sense of independence and I’d like to think that’s truly why it captured so many hearts.

***

Watching Haruhi like this though brings one huge obstacle: Endless Eight.

Calling it audacious would be an understatement. After 3 years of waiting, the fans finally got their new series, but Kyoto Animation would soon be drinking their delicious tears by the bucket-load.

I couldn’t help laughing to myself at the abrupt end of yet another episodic loop and imagining the sheer demented exasperation it generated. To be honest, I liked Endless Eight quite a bit.

I’m sure I’d feel differently if I were watching it week-in week-out for 2 months, but I was able to see it more as a 3-hour movie.

It isn’t merely the same episode repeated 8 times, either. In terms of pure filler, Naruto is about as bad as it gets. I can’t watch that, but Endless Eight, despite the admittedly repetitive jokes, keeps things interesting enough to seem a real artistic endeavour.

It elevates the significance of every passing moment, how everything, or any place, can seem so different the second (or, indeed, eighth!) time around.

As it wore on, I became fascinated by Yuki Nagato at the night festival, standing in-front of that glowing wall of masks, each representing a different path; a symbol of the endless possibilities in life; all delivered in her trademark expression of indifference and sadness.

It reminded me of Watashi in the last episode of The Tatami Galaxy, finally stumbling out of his room into a human kaleidoscope of a road; everyone around him is changing, their clothes, hair-styles, even company: a woman walking alone is suddenly holding the hand of a small child, the next moment, a boyfriend on her arm.

“Stop wandering aimlessly, and grab that opportunity with all your heart!”

***

In the end, I watched the last episode of Endless Eight thinking it was the seventh. I only realised something was wrong with 5 minutes left to go and, by then, it was too late. I could never go back at that point, therefore, I can never say I watched all of Endless Eight.

***

This is likely to be my last post before Christmas and, that being the case, I hope you have a good one! This will be the blog’s sixth Christmas and, sooner or later, she’s going to realise that Father Christmas isn’t real, but for now, she still believes!