I realised I had to stop half-way through episode 3, when child soldier Jonah runs straight at a couple of renowned assassins without cover. Both sides fire at each other from point-blank range, yet manage to miss. Seconds later, the same assassins hit some generic snipers perched on the roof of a building. That’s the kind of thing I expect to see in a Bee Train anime; I could even take it in Black Lagoon, but for Jormungand, it was the final straw.

A post at Eye Sedso argues that it’s more like Bee Train’s 2009 series Phantom: Requiem for the Phantom than Black Lagoon. I actually really liked Phantom, which was written by a pre-Madoka Gen Urobuchi. Both it and Jormungand stray the line between serious and stupid, indeed, as does Black Lagoon, but where they are able to balance their respective madnesses with intriguing moral quandary, Jormungand has no such intention.

Jonah is no Rock or Zwei. The former has a mind of his own and falls willingly into the world of crime as a means of escaping his bored modern life, whilst the latter is brain-washed and forced to fight to survive. Unfortunately, Jonah has no personality to speak of and kills willingly and without question, nor is there any tension between him and female lead Koko, in the same way that the mere presence of Rock’s heart-of-gold could lay ruin Revy’s blood-lust. Phantom was always concerned with Zwei’s lack of emotion and rapid descent into apathy, but, if anything, Jormungand celebrates Jonah’s emptiness. The characters are a bunch of warmongering, abhorrent mercenaries. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but they need to explore their cynicism and give us something to cling to.

All this is to say, I feel no empathy for anyone in the series, and if it’s going to be superficial, the action needs to be exciting. It isn’t: one knife fight between lesbians apart(!), it’s mostly just poorly choreographed shoot-outs.

It’s a shame because anime like Jormungand aren’t made very often and this feels like nothing more than a missed opportunity. I wish it were better.

I was convinced by Eureka Seven AO at around the 19th minute of the first episode, when a Scub Coral appears on Iwato Island and all hell breaks loose. There’s a huge explosion that decimates the surrounding fields and the island’s residents flee for shelter.

Caught in the middle is Ao. He’s heading away from the Scub Coral when a huge cloud of dust surges over him.

A group of what looks like farmers urge him to hurry when a “G-Monster” mecha appears and fires in seemingly random directions.

In an instant, the farmers are killed, crushed by huge rocks of concrete sent flying by an incomprehensible power. Merely collateral damage.

It’s around now that I need to mention that the soundtrack composer is none other than Kōji Nakamura, the lead singer/songwriter of Supercar. The song that plays during this scene is a swelling orchestral piece that speaks of a desperate struggle against an unstoppable force and had my heart beating twice as fast.

All that’s left to do is run.

Run for your life.

As everything you knew, everything you took for granted, is razed to the ground.

The animation in this scene, particularly the shot of Ao running, is outstanding (and also very similar to a sequence in Bokurano. I wonder if it’s the same person?) People often muse about the importance of dialogue in anime, but there’s simply something so soulful about movement like this. Everything you need to feel is communicated here: desperation, horror, fear, it’s all right there, in his run.

How much of this, I wonder, was informed by 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami? This is something we often forget when we’re merely consuming Japan’s anime, but it was a country ripped apart by natural disaster just last year. Imagine seeing a flaming wall of water head towards you, sweeping away everything, and everyone, in its path, and then look at Ao’s facial expression as he runs, and the music as it climaxes. The wide open fields covered with smoke and debris.

This is anime, the anime I remember blogging about, why I’m excited enough to be an anime blogger. These are rare moments, but every now and then, I’m still swept away.

Like any potentially great anime, the new Lupin the Third: Mine Fujiko to Iu Onna has given us much to talk about already. It’s a beautifully animated, adult series the like of which we haven’t seen in TV anime for a while.

Reading about it in various places since Wednesday evening, people have tended to talk about how the main character, Mine Fujiko, is seen in various states of (*ahem*) undress. Its detractors have pointed out that such things, like nipples, don’t an adult series make, and I agree with that, but I still think it’s an adult anime.

It’s often said that Cowboy Bebop, and Spike, in particular, was influenced by Lupin, but I also see a lot of Faye Valentine in Fujiko. They both share an (ostensibly) unshakable confidence in themselves and a willingness to use their sexuality to get what they want (not to mention,  a talent with guns!) That last, cool image of Fujiko on a motorbike riding off into the sunset could easily be Faye on her hover-bike, heading back to the Bebop; both in a bad mood, just exuding that Hard Luck Woman vibe.

Anime isn’t known for its frank depictions of sexuality. In most series, sex is something to be embarrassed by. We’re used to seeing busty, provocative anime girls, but it’s inevitably accompanied with a blush, reluctance, or a male character not knowing how to deal with it. The difference here is that Fujiko isn’t embarrassed by her body and that Lupin isn’t afraid of her. That’s why Lupin the Third: Mine Fujiko to Iu Onna is adult and why it’s so refreshing: nothing to do with the sheer amount of nudity, but rather, its attitude towards sexuality and what that can communicate about its characters. Such brazen, light-hearted eroticism is not something we often see in anime.

Re-L is incapable of smiling

The show takes place in an enclosed city called Rondo. It is a paradise where robotic assistants perform most of the work. At least that is how the privileged residents, called “citizens”, perceive the city. The other half, refugees from outside Rondo, called “immigrants”, live in decrepit surroundings and perform grunt work. The two groups, citizens and immigrants, co-exist peacefully without outward tension. The appearance of a monster shatters that peace. The granddaughter of Rondo’s ruler, Re-L (pronounced Ree-El), vows to kill the monster.

The show also has a major greco-roman theme running throughout that maintains the muted goth flavor

Re-L and her friends spend much of the series on a quest to learn the secrets of, and ultimately try to destroy, the monster. The group’s journey helped me understand the characters and world of Ergo Proxy, but the director had the opportunity to do more. This segment felt listless and dragged on several episodes too long, as if the show itself had lost its way. Unlike superior flavor-of-the-week shows like Kino’s Journey, the cities the group explored in Ergo Proxy lacked distinctive features and did not raise intriguing moral issues. The visits served the narrative of Ergo Proxy but did nothing more.

I liked the angular nature of the character designs

The show did explore moral issues, mostly those common to futuristic authoritarian stories. These include what it means to be human, what happens when humans dabble in artificial life and the desirability of an authoritarian government. I appreciated that the show goes into these issues, but felt books like Brave New World have done a superior job of addressing them.

Everything is okay as long as her makeup stays in place

What sets Ergo Proxy apart from most of its contemporaries isn’t animation quality or the story, but its music. The soundtrack was mostly instrumental and uninspired, but the opening and the ending songs rocked. The show is the only anime I know that features a famous western song, in this case Radiohead’s “Paranoid Android” accompanied the closing credits. The song fits well with the theme of the show, although I would have preferred the song to accompany the show’s opening instead of the ending. Luckily, the opening song the show used, Kiri by the Japanese band Monorol, was a great choice. It feels dark and powerful in a way that captures the show’s mood. I don’t know if anyone watched Ergo Proxy just because it included a Radiohead song, but I appreciated that the show took an (expensive) risk in its music choice.

Probably the only truly annoying character in the show

I appreciate Ergo Proxy‘s decision to take risks, both in licensing high profile music and in creating an intriguing goth flavored world. Ultimately the show failed to execute on its ambitious concept and the middle section dragged out much too long. Still, the show is unique enough that I recommend it to fans that want something different than the anime series currently simulcast online.

(correction: Re-L is the granddaughter, not daughter of the ruler. Thanks to Son Gohan for catching this)

Mamoru Oshii directed Innocence and he structured it as a detective story, but it lacked the resonance I felt with his earlier Patlabor 2. A good mystery story should keep the audience on the edge of its seat, guessing at the outcome. I never felt invested in the outcome of Innocence. I could follow logically as the heroes tracked down the perpetrator, but I just did not care. In Patlabor 2 the investigation into the mastermind behind a terrorist attack formed a central part of the movie. Whereas in Innocence the plot mattered little, only the action scenes and the interaction between the characters mattered.

The highlight of the film lies in its visuals. It looks great, especially given its age and it’s one of the nicest examples of animation I’ve seen. The producers invested time and money in adding background detail and moving people in areas where other films use matte paintings. The backgrounds and the visuals kept me engrossed in the story.

My only regret is that I didn't nab this on Blu-Ray

The action scenes are amazing as well. Lots of guns. Lots of explosions. Lots of hand-to-hand combat. The choreography looked fluid and the various aircraft, cars and boats looked great. The vehicles blended in with the rest of the animation, rather than sticking out as computer generated vehicles often do.

This reminded me of the paper bird in Read or Die TV

The artists produced seamlessly blended visuals, but the writers failed to create a similarly integrated script. Instead, the writing felt like two different works. One part included standard movie dialogue. The kind that moves the plot along and deepens the audiences’ understanding of the characters. The other part takes the form of a philosophy journal with famous quotes inserted haphazardly. The movie’s fixation on philosophy overwhelmed me at times. A little philosophy in anime gives the plot added significance. Here, the references overshadowed whatever message the movie tried to convey.

"Like an Elephant in the Forest." Part of one of the many philosophical lines the movie trotted out.

Overall though the quality of the Japanese production impressed me and Bandai did an admirable job keeping the English dub at a similarly high level. The cast from the Ghost in the Shell TV series returned for the movie and sounded comfortable in their respective roles. The movie exists in a different continuum than the TV show, and therefore could not take advantage of the character building from the show. However, the voice actors still benefited. The actors sounded at home in their roles, unlike the stiffness of the acting in the first Ghost in the Shell movie.

Overall, I highly recommend the movie, even with its uneven script. The attention to detail of the animators shows through. If you are deciding which Bandai releases to pick up, this deserves a place on your list.

That’s important because, for years previous, Noitamina was a convenient rallying point for fans not so taken by J.C. Staff’s latest. It was, for the most part, anime made for adults (especially women,) free of the debilitating self-awareness that renders so much TV anime nigh-on inaccessible to casual viewers.

For many, a series associated with Noitamina was a mark of quality. It was elite, separate and different. I’d often go along with that, too, conveniently forgetting about the likes of Jyu Oh Sei. Noitamina was never about good anime, though, but rather, an unspoken adherence to the idea of making anime accessible to adults. If it ever pandered, it was to adult women, not otaku.

After Fractale, however, things changed. Next came AnoHana, Guilty Crown and Black Rock Shooter. AnoHana was quite good, but as it went on, it became clear it wasn’t a good fit for Noitamina. I’m not even convinced that The Tatami Galaxy was, either: as great a series as it is, that was the moment Noitamina first tried tinkering with the formula, but rather than produce more unique, cool series like that, it went in completely the opposite direction; making safe choices and going for the otaku audience.

Alas, they still have it in them to present the odd gem like Thermae Romae.

It’s such a shame that it’s only 3 episodes long.

Like Trapeze and Astro Fighter Sunred before it, Thermae Romae has a serious dude (bath-designer Lucius) for a main character caught in a crazy situation: he’s from ancient Rome and is thrown back and forth in time to the bath-houses of contemporary Japan, where frank nakedness and modern technology abounds.

As is befitting of a citizen of the Roman Empire, Lucius’ arrogance prevents him from realising what’s actually happening. He sees the modern Japanese as “flat-faced slaves,” and rather than worry about getting home, he’s more interested in such delicacies as ramen and fruit-milk. His experiences with them are accompanied by brilliant reaction shots as he tries to comprehend it all and how he might copy it Rome (because if the flat-faces can do it, he sure as hell can, too!)

It’s the type of comedy that makes the everyday things we take for granted in life, like toilet paper, a constant source of wonder and, well, relief. I loved it!

As for Noitamina, 2012 may yet salvage some much-needed dignity. In April, Sakamichi no Apollon marks the return of none other than Shinichiro Watanabe (Cowboy Bebop, Samurai Champloo,) whilst with Kenji Nakamura (C, Mononoke, Trapeze) at the helm, Tsuritama seems promising, too. Only time will tell, though, if it ever reclaims the consistent sense of purpose it once held.

Winter hasn’t helped, either. Although a notoriously poor time for anime anyway, there’s usually something to keep me ticking over until April. Last year, it was Madoka, this year so far, there’s simply nothing of that calibre (a high bar, admittedly.) I’m vaguely interested in Nisemonogatari, but until I’ve seen Bakemongatari, I’m stuck.

All I’ve been left with, then, is long-shots. I’ve heard a lot about how Mouretsu Pirates is decent, but nothing about it so far has caught my eye. And with Noitamina continuing to shit the bed, that was me done with anime in February.

I’m sitting here today, though, intending to write about Rinne no Lagrange. Not exactly the season’s critical darling, but then, I’m quite liking it.

So, old friend, let’s get started, shall we?

Why Rinne no Lagrange, then? Because it looks so bloody vibrant, of course! I knew absolutely nothing of this series until last Thursday, when I came across some images of episode 8. It just looked so colourful and bright, and that was all I needed. Yes, I’m seriously that superficial. I started watching Honey & Clover all those years ago for the same reason. Apparently I like bright colours in my anime.

Let’s not fool ourselves, though. There are some serious drawbacks to Lagrange that, I would suggest, can be put down to the era in which it’s being made. It’s a problem best symbolised by a character we meet in episode 8; a perverted gothic lolita who, as it turns out, is in control of everything; mine eyes were rolling. Also, in episode 7, a swimming suit-clad girl is covered in eels. The problem, obviously (and as ever, sadly,) is fan-service.

There are a lot of parallels with Gunbuster here, except that whilst Gunbuster was made in 1988, Lagrange is a product of 2012. Those 20+ years make a lot of difference: Lagrange has that same mixture of fan-service and mecha action, but the balance is off.

There’s not enough hot-blooded action, no character manly enough to be voiced by Norio Wakamoto and, as yet, no real sense of sacrifice. It could be improved tenfold by introducing something like time dilation, but the series is instead bogged down in modern anime tropes and some all too obvious, embarrassing winks to the audience: the disease of modern anime, then, claims another victim.

It’s a shame because there’s a good story waiting to happen in Lagrange. I love the idea of an all-powerful, long-feared mecha, of a God machine capable of destroying civilisations. It’s a really cool sci-fi concept that I’ve loved ever since reading about Ideon and Lagrange achieve can achieve that same kind of planet-busting scale; a flashback to a character’s youth growing-up in an apocalyptic wasteland was proof enough that it’s capable of a deeper/darker perspective.

Not that darker is always better, mind; I quite like the series’ sense of fun, I just crave some balance. Lagrange has 24 episodes planned and it’s more than capable of stepping up its game. I live in hope, always, but the one thing we can rely on, at least, is the colourful, fluid, consistent animation, and if you’re as superficial as me, you’re in for a treat.

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.