Good job!

I find the Anno-isms to be a bit wearing in live-action format for some reason but given the old Gainax manifesto in terms of comedy, it’s a fitting choice of director in a roundabout kind of way. The packaging lists the director as he always is (i.e. as a ‘legend’ and the maker of Evangelion) but ominously Eriko Sato is introduced proudly as ‘Japan’s top swimsuit model’ and it raises no defence whatsoever against any accusations of being superficial, mindless fluff. It’s reputed to be one of MVM’s biggest sellers over here, too. No kidding.

What amazed me more than anything is that, after the hard-hitting and gritty subject matter of Love & Pop and Shiki Jitsu, it’s such outrageous fun to watch. I honestly thought that Anno had forgotten how to kick back and have a bit of fun despite his cult status effectively giving him free rein to use whatever subject or stylistic techniques he wants. Quite how he landed in the director’s chair for what is basically a trashy magical girl story I’ve no idea, but if that’s what it takes for my hero to rediscover his sense of humour then so be it.

The problem I have with Anno as a live-action director is that despite having an arsenal of clever flourishes and a sharp eye for cinematography he can’t fully let go of his animation-director roots: I still don’t think he’s woken up to his own potential in the live-action medium. Here it’s an advantage rather than a weakness though because keeping the tropes, garish colours and and other hallmarks of traditional anime actually adds to the comedic appeal.

Gold Claw is a smooth criminal

In a way Anno is poking fun at his own back catalogue with his hand-held camera angles, snippets of cel animation or live-action imitations therof, subplots involving parental issues (including, yes, dialogue that includes a declaration of “I won’t run away!”) and the use of classical music in a pivotal showdown scene. It’s a homage to the source material I guess, but also a display of “If you can’t laugh at yourself…” To be honest, I wouldn’t mind him animating this if the quality of the opening theme sequence is anything to go by.

If you have an aversion to cheeky trash TV nostalgia, hammed-up acting in the name of laughs, or plots that always have to make sense you might not enjoy this at all. It is however a prime candidate for viewing with friends and a few drinks (if only because watching Honey in various states of undress might feel like an even guiltier pleasure when watched alone) to dilute the retina-scorching colours and knowing silliness. Somehow it’s not as expoitative as you’d expect because Honey is clothed at least in her underwear apart from in the CGI transformations, and the CGI in general is intentionally bad, which automatically makes it cool anyway.

The thing is, because it’s so knowingly ridiculous Cutie Honey somehow feels a little less gratuitous than the premise or promo material suggest. A crucial factor, which is also the reason why Anno is a genius in my eyes, is the controlled absurdity that can still make a serious point or two. Anyone can make a bad movie but only a good film maker knows when to push the stupid button and when to let the meaningful messages make themselves heard; Anno has made a film that’s a clever kind of stupid.

More than just a pretty face…?

The biggest mistake the director, or any of the cast, could have made is taking any aspect of the movie seriously, so they didn’t. Besides, it’s yet to be proven that anime-style action works convincingly outside of anime (Casshern, take note) so the fact that the combat scenes bear no relation to Real World laws of physics or causality works in its favour. I guess the cast and crew realised they wouldn’t walk away from this with their dignity intact so they just let their hair down and threw caution to the wind.

Even so, Sato plays up the ditzy archetype well in conveying her dual persona with genuine comic timing. Aside from merely looking the part she manages to be both the kick-ass heroine and the goofy, thick-as-two-short-planks office girl; not bad for someone who was clearly not cast purely for her ability to deliver her lines. There’s even a teeny bit of character development amidst the mayhem with some profound moments that hit you even harder because profound is, understandably really, the last thing you’d expect from it.

This is after all a story involving nano-machines, undercover journalists driving orange TVRs, cameos from both the director and the original manga-ka, a laughably cheesy rendering of Tokyo Tower getting demolished by a giant corkscrew and villains who are accompanied into battle by their own backing band. Peeling away the homages, the gleeful excesses and the riotous mashing together of live-action film and comic book action is a movie with arthouse sensibilities and an honest sense of good-natured fun. At the very least, even those of us who smugly think that they’ve seen it all will sit back and ask “what the fuck was that?”

And yes, Shinjuku really does look as awesome as this IRL…

I don’t feel I have to understand the full background to the characters and their situations to understand them because enough of the important things are already made clear, which I hope was the intention of the writers. As is often the case I instead try to immerse myself in the worldview to let the answers reveal themselves in a passive fashion: something I find particularly easy for a show that takes the approach that this one does.

When the storyline plays its cards so close to its chest I can’t help but turn my attention to the atmospherics and aesthetics instead: the use of backgrounds, scene compositions and music to tell the story in absence of dialogue makes it feel a bit more, well, sophisticated than most made-for TV animation. The show-don’t-tell approach can backfire at times (certainly in the case of viewers put off by the fact that they can’t figure out what’s going on) but personally it massages my ego a bit by conveying its ideas in a more mature and cryptic way.

Similarly, the park scene with Hei and Chiaki seems to be based on the Shinjuku National Gardens

One thing I love about the series is the use of colour and lighting, mainly because it pays homage to the moody cinematography of film noir at various points. It reminds me a lot of those gritty crime thrillers set in darkened, rainy city streets that I’ve always enjoyed: in the same way that film noir is associated with ambiguous morality in its storylines and night-for-night rather than the easier route of day-for-night filming, I get the impression that for all its sci-fi trappings DtB goes the extra mile to achieve a sense of realism in the same vein.

Recalling the old documentary that came in the DVD extras for Otomo’s Akira, the studio staff emphasised how difficult it is to clearly animate scenes set in dimly-lit situations; the solution, innovative at the time, was to use red and green tones as well as the usual blues and greys. Similarly in DtB the nighttime streets are bathed in greens and muddy reddish orange hues of the streetlamps and lights from buildings, which must have been a headache for the art department but emphasises that twilight area in which the characters live.

As much as I love the vibrancy of stuff like the Comix Wave Sunset, it feels appropriate that a significant proportion of events in DtB occur in that beautiful nocturnal Tokyo cityscape: it seems to allude to the hidden side that we see in many of the characters involved. The air of uncertainty and lack of clarity is reinforced by the fact that even the stars themselves are fake: they represent a new, mysterious natural order that has replaced our familiar view of the world.

Gotta love the mask symbolism

The enigmatic hero represents this duality as Li the transfer student by day and the notorious BK201 by night: he’s torturing Havoc to extract information from her one moment then showing compassion uncharacteristic for a Contractor the next. At this stage in the game he sits on that half-light boundary between unassuming everyman and cold-blooded assassin – an apparently unique existence who is both Contractor and ordinary human.

I see Kirihara as another honest soul fighting an uphill battle – a neat gender reversal for her role but one that adds more weight to the burden she carries. I really enjoyed the way that the ninth and tenth episodes showed her torn between her old school friend and her duty as a police officer: in a medium that celebrates…girly girls (I’m trying so hard to leave moe out of this) it’s a bit of a rarity for an anime show to have a female character who shows intelligence and inner strength as well as vulnerability, and as a result exhibits a grown-up type of femininity that’s a refreshing change.

Even November 11 wonders how Kirihara wound up with a Porsche as her company car

What isn’t so unusual given the type of storytelling that inspired it is that idea of the femme fatale, of which there are several even in the early portion of the series. Chiaki almost leads Hei to his death, albeit in the Doll state; a beautiful widow’s manipulations make Gai’s life more complicated and dangerous; high schooler Mai fits the definition in a tragically literal sense when her dormant ability unleashes mayhem on those around her.

While I love the hallmarks of film noir they are ultimately cliché to the point at which more recent examples of the genre try to avoid them. Gai’s portrayal is an amusing pastiche but DtB can still be taken seriously because the tired tropes are shaken up with a sci-fi twist, given added relevance and genuine emotion and cast in a new light thanks to the cloudy moral stances of the characters. Cyberpunk is another subset of this film noir/sci-fi crossover but DtB is a more character – rather than technology – defined type of the storytelling sometimes termed ‘neo-noir’.

Gai is, well, gar

Gai is one of those unlucky blokes caught in the wrong place at the wrong time but has a hopelessly romantic outlook born from seeing one Bogart movie too many; his role felt like a tribute to the Chandler-esque hard-boiled detective fiction that is a well-known aspect of the film noir tradition, but little more. If you take his pitifully earnest attempts to be a 21st century Marlowe or Spade, or Mao’s cheeky exploitation of his status as a cat (if your ability as a Contractor allowed it, you’d want to be a cat too, right?) it’s easy to see how this show can lighten up, despite often packing a powerful emotional punch.

Not all directors can pull off dashes of humour that help lighten the mood but you only have to look at Stink Bomb to see how Okamura can take serious issues and sweeten the pill with dry, farcical comedy (he also does the retro homage thing in Project Blue Chikyuu SOS but that didn’t work as well for me). Since the subject matter is dark in both the visual and thematic senses of the word, it’s important that the script and direction find a comfortable balance.

I found Mai’s story to be harrowing but at the same time, if I understand the mechanics of the Contracts correctly, deep down she partly brought it upon herself. I recall this being the first of many moments that hit me out of the blue and stayed with me into my second viewing: her father’s drive to learn the secret of Hell’s Gate and save her only served to push them further apart.

There’s something cruel about the Moratorium state, the faustian pact that sidesteps the bindings of a Contract, with its own shocking cost. When I finally saw the haunting nature of her obeisance – one of the most dramatic and heart-rending of the lot, which broke my composure completely – I felt that she had finally found the control over her life that she was searching for, albeit in a fashion that caused her to lose so much.

The TV show (and the graphic novel series, from what I’ve heard) was strictly episodic in structure, so any feature-length version has to splice a number of the individual stories together and smooth out the screenplay to make a coherent narrative. This is one thing that the movie does reasonably well: it features several story arcs that fans are familiar with but emphasises the background to Ginko’s childhood and its relevance to his present life in an over-arcing theme throughout the film. The cinematography is also excellent, but beyond that…I’m far from convinced.

Making a series of self-contained story arcs flow for over two hours is I imagine a tall order but it’s pretty well done here. My only complaint in that respect is the fact that the guy from the Rainbow episode becomes Ginko’s travelling companion for longer than he was in the TV series, which slightly undermines Ginko’s lonely traveller status. To my mind his solitary lifestyle is a significant part of his mystique, so having other people accompanying him through multiple story arcs doesn’t sit right with me.

Visually though Mushishi is wonderful. Ignoring the hints about when the events take place (I prefer the historical setting to be unspecified; it adds to the sense of timelessness that way), I couldn’t have wished for better atmospherics. The backdrop of towering mountains, isolated villages, green valleys and cool rivers is mysterious and haunting, and the CG mushi look better than I dared hope. In that sense, live-action works very well: these supernatural creatures come across as even more lifelike and convincing, perhaps because the world they inhabit is depicted in a way that’s closer to our reality than the animated medium. I prepared myself for cheap and shoddy CG, but my fears were fortunately unfounded: the mushi look as weird as they are wonderful.

My first encounter with Joe Odagiri was his apearance as the principal villain in Azumi, but needless to say his turn as Ginko is very different. His performance is suitably understated and charismatic, which leads me to believe he’s one of those actors whose enviable level of cult popularity is matched by a genuine on-screen talent and presence. He strikes me as one of those effortlessly cool, Johnny Depp-style actors, much like Tadanobu Asano; I’m sure he’d be able to handle Ginko’s more jovial moments, but sadly none of them are represented here.

One of my favourite episodes of the TV show was A Sea of Brushes. Tanyuu, the heroine of that story, was one of the most compelling of the entire show; I was therefore relieved at how spellbinding Yuu Aoi’s performance was. Between this and her role in All About Lily Chou-Chou, I’d say she’s a young actress to look out for in future. I’m sure others will be more familiar with her role in the live-action Honey And Clover though, so I’m tempted to watch that on her performance alone.

The other significant name on the credits list is of course that of Otomo himself, which was a major selling point in the DVD box art and what little general promotion it received over here. The only problem being, I rate Otomo more as a builder of concepts and less as a director. What I’ve read of the Akira manga is actually better than the movie; while the latter was (and in my opinion still is) a superlative cinematic experience, the plot was notoriously hard to understand. Similarly Steamboy had some interesting ideas and looked spectacular, but felt overlong; Mushishi too feels plodding and meandering. It’s an easy trap to fall into given the sedate and itinerant nature of the original story, and Otomo falls in headfirst.

Mushishi is by nature sedate, but boring it most certainly isn’t. During the movie I was checking the DVD timer at frequent intervals, which I NEVER did when watching the anime: the impact that mushi have on humans and the moments of tension when Ginko tries (not always successfully, I might add) to resolve the conflict between mushi and human, adds a sense of urgency and emotion to the idyllic rural setting. The anime takes serene tales half-hidden in the mists of time and makes them exciting and involving; the movie, well, doesn’t. Not for me, anyway.

Given that the humanity vs nature conflict, including examining scientific endeavours and their costs on the natural world, is an integral part of Otomo’s CV I honestly expected this aspect to be explored further. The premise of the story is that of a minority of humans who have a working knowledge of these mysterious creatures; it might not be science fiction but I can still imagine how it could fall into Otomo’s comfort zone of allegorical fantasy and portraying people who are struggling to understand the world around them.

I agree with Helen McCarthy in her view of the film in that Otomo is technically gifted and has an eye for cinematography but his direction lacks focus, perhaps because he is allowed too much free rein due to the respect he’s earned in earlier productions. There isn’t enough consideration for viewers unfamiliar with the material either: if I hadn’t seen the events shown here in their animated incarnation I think I’d be confused and frustrated at how little is explained in regards to the nature of the mushi and how they are relevant to the human world.

In live-action format the Mushishi worldview is every bit as ethereal and immersive as its animated made-for-TV counterpart, but after transporting me into that world so effectively, it disappointingly made me feel a bit bored. If the story wasn’t as familiar and dear to me as it is, I don’t know how much appeal it would’ve held: for all the subtle nuances in the performances and the beautiful camera work it still feels like a missed opportunity to bring a modern classic to a wider audience.

Where’s a Reaction Guys-style celebration when you need one?

The problems with the middle episodes were minor ones: mostly the general absence of Hitagi, plus the ‘higher class of fanservice’ (as I clumsily called it) starting to feel a bit exploitative. Fortunately episode #12 made up for whatever I’d felt unsure about earlier on with the only remaining concern being that of the final three episodes. As in, how could anything follow on from this without feeling like a let-down? It was as fitting as it was surprising – I wouldn’t have minded too much if the series ended there and then.

The Mayoi Snail arc had an excellent twist to it; both Suruga Monkey and Nadeko Snake were enjoyable too but the fact remains that I consider Hitagi and Koyomi to be the main characters. The supporting ones shouldn’t take a prominent role: each offers valuable bits of information or moments of character development but I felt they took centre stage for too long. Looking back, I can see that they were actually worth sitting through to get this far.

An important moment for me in this Hitagi-free period was a conversation Koyomi had with Tsubasa in the bookshop during the Nadeko Snake arc; namely her warning about how he wasn’t giving Hitagi the attention she deserved. This part of the series showed the flaws in Koyomi’s character quite well, although there is that exploitation aspect: I’m not comfortable with the way that Nadeko was portrayed. It made me feel distinctly uncomfortable, but maybe that’s just me. Mayoi was less so, mainly because she teased Koyomi nearly as much as Hitagi did.

Then came the masterful twelfth episode. Sometimes the best moments are those that portray the chemistry between the characters; not the most obvious thing to get all enthused over when you consider how Shinbo’s (in)famous for his imagery but remember that in Hidamari Sketch so much of the magic comes from scenes of dialogue where very little happens events-wise. This instalment of Bakemonogatari works in the same way. If it wasn’t for the final outing of Eve no Jikan I’d call it the most all-round enjoyable anime episode of recent months. It was just two people interacting…but I loved it.

One inescapable fact about their dynamic is that it’s wholly unconventional. Granted, I love romance stories that are unconventional or just plain messed-up but the way that theirs has progressed is an especially refreshing change. Right from the moment where Hitagi takes the initiative and plans everything, we see her work around her insecurities to open her heart for the first time. There’s more going on here than the dere-dere breakdown and thoughtful pauses, and I don’t mean just the quirky visuals either.

What I found interesting was the place Hitagi chose for the time they spent together: a private and precious memory from a time before her mother’s illness and her father’s work-induced absence. I found it so poignant that she identified an impressive number of stars and constellations then modestly declared that this number was all she could do – highlighting, ironically, that she’s an intelligent and perceptive individual who does in fact know a lot and has a lot to give. The fact that she helped Koyomi with his studying meant something to her too, as much as her tsunderisms tried to play it down.

It was a bit frustrating to see Koyomi stumbling through, not delivering even his usual retorts to her put-downs or giving an answer to the “what do you like about me?” question that was as open and honest as hers. Still, his short conversation with her father was great. I suppose it’s natural to assume he didn’t do anything outwardly significant but this scene proves that it isn’t the case at all: he did just about enough, and that alone is worth congratulating him for.

Yes, those are twintails. Just saying

I guess Koyomi was just there for her, and the reasons why she first caught his eye way back then won’t alter the special and precious nature of the present moment. She’s just grateful that it happened at all; equally Koyomi is glad he put up with her eccentricities, again past caring how he did it. He’s just happy that it happened the way it did.

The way they went from that trippy first encounter to their hand-in-hand evening under the night sky is a well-paced piece of storytelling in that it didn’t follow the hackneyed old tropes like blushed confessions and montages of days and evenings out that the animated romance genre is so often tied to; the cementing of the mutual attraction crept up gradually, taking both they and the viewer by surprise. It felt so natural and lifelike I couldn’t not feel happy for them and hopeful that things will somehow work out.

We were shown an intimate and private moment between two human beings, yet it didn’t feel voyeuristic or intrusive. I thought it was a wise move to leave the consummation out of the equation too, because Hitagi’s problems left emotional damage that will take time to heal. Any attempt to ignore this in order to move the story along would never have sat right with me, so I was absolutely overjoyed that it ended how it did. As for the three episodes that follow? It’s weird; I don’t expect to be disappointed, but if the series were left as it is here I’d say it was as perfect an ending as you could wish for.

For every question answered in this episode (which is, I might add, a full ten minutes or so longer than the previous five) I reckon it posed another. But whatever. The way it effortlessly sways the viewer’s emotions every which way then leaves a bittersweet aftertaste is something to be treasured, really. I can’t stress how rewarding a rewatch is though, because there are little details that are important yet all too easy to miss; I’d love to see this in full HD. The Crunchyroll DtO option isn’t bad in itself: all good entertainment is worth paying for, after all.

The Code:LIFE thing crops up on the cover of a book in the café but also gets a mention in the technical specs for the android type assigned to the Ethics Committee’s covert surveillance. It appears that Code:LIFE is the A.I. developed for the more advanced androids, such as that Calvin-4 model and, I’m guessing, other modern versions such as Sammy and Shimei. I’ve never really thought about standardised operating software for the androids, but I guess it stands to reason that they have a common OS if they’re mass-produced, or prototypes thereof.

The surveillance had me wondering again how the Ethics Committee operates: are they a government organisation, or an independent party acting more legit after the infamous Tokisaka Incident several years previously? I’m siding on the latter at the moment, with an additional theory that they also take it upon themselves to act as a freelance detective agency who bring alleged android-related cases to the official authorities’ attention. They seem to be a pressure group from the TV spots and interviews, but they have quite a lot of resources at their disposal (androids, a huge-ass HQ and so forth) too, for all their protests at being a ‘friendly’ organisation that has the public interests heart.

I can’t recall if the position held by Masaki Sr. was revealed before, but it’s a development of a type the show excels in. The dim view that Masaki Jr. takes on androids, therefore, is down to what he saw to be abandonment by his own house-robot, Tex. What follows is well and truly in the tradition of the series: an ambiguous premise, truths revealed that toss any ideas the viewer may have on their heads, before a tear-jerking finale with a dash of humour. I’m not sure how emotion can be wrung out of a literally expressionless face, but Tex manages it. Less is more taken to the logical extreme:

The comedic elements in Eve no Jikan are always balanced well with the dramatic ones, which is no small feat given the concise script and the gravity of the issues addressed. The moment where the barrier between android and owner momentarily breaks down is always a highlight, but this time it’s followed by a brilliant and unexpected fall back down to earth as Masaki prepares to leave with his robot only to find the pathos of the moment broken when he has to carry it up the stairs. It was so unexpected, yet plainly logical, I couldn’t stifle a chuckle in spite of myself.

Joking aside, the Masaki/Tex dynamic was yet another variant on the master-android setup and used a very clever demonstration of Asimov’s Three Laws to drive the proceedings along. Who wouldn’t feel for Tex as the gears in his simple mind turned and worked through the dilemmas to help his owner in the only way he knew how? Even though this show of loyalty is merely the result of simple programming?

It’s certainly a turning point for Masaki in that he is finally able to understand what happened to Tex and why, so will no doubt react to the goings-on the Time of Eve somewhat differently from now on. If nothing else the superficial lack of sentimental attachment to a house-roid is stripped away, showing a bond that may go even further than Rikuo’s; they certainly share the view of androids as being effectively family members, which is quite something. Oh yeah, I had to take my hat off to Rikka’s attention to detail, again.

I recognised a certain item in the background as one of those solid state low-wattage guitar amps that Marshall make for the student budget/bedroom practice market. What struck me is how the artists included things like this to give a really lifelike depiction of the characters’ surroundings: little things like display screens, furniture and personal effects make the production values a cut above the ordinary and add a heightened sense of realism and reiterates the near-future setting. No wonder it takes Yoshiura and co so long to brew an episode up.

As much as this feels like the end of the series, Rikuo’s narration just before the closing credits, not to mention the operation that the Ethics Committee have set in motion, makes it feel like the beginning of another. Every episode has so far dealt with one particular character or pair of characters in turn but there are still some who haven’t yet had their time in the spotlight. Setoro and Nagi, two people who have been in all six episodes, are still an enigma to me. In the case of the former, he simply knows too much to stay in the shadows; as for the latter, I’m still half-expecting Yoshiura to do a Mizu no Kotoba on us…hell, even Pale Cocoon proved how he loves to write in a last-minute plot twist.

On an even bigger scale than this one I mean. Given Naoko’s attitude to androids, her view on how Rikuo and their mother treat Sammy, and her nonchalent domestic behaviour in general, I found this to be a really sweet way to round off the episode. If there’s one thing this show has shown me so far, it’s the the importance of those trivial, everyday human things. Or how awesome it would be if an android served me coffee in the mornings.

The prose reads smoothly and I’m pretty impressed with the presentation too (my only regret is not getting the hardback version. I’m anal about such things). What makes an even bigger difference than its adherence to the timeline, or the fact that it retains Noizi Ito’s original illustrations, is the first-person narrative approach that the novel takes. Unlike the TV broadcast order, which came across as little more than a cool gimmick, this detail makes the world of difference.

This device is traditionally associated with detective fiction but I guess the same applies to many stories that revolve around a sense of mystery. In this case Kyon’s narration means the reader has no idea of what’s going on, and you learn about the situations as they arise; interestingly the answer to the biggest question is as elusive and tantalising as ever. The appearance of Nagato, Asahina and Koizumi is fair enough, but what does Kyon have to do with any of this?

I really can’t over-emphasise the importance of the novel being told from his point of view. For starters his laconic and sarcastic turns of phrase are genuinely funny – there’s even a point in a later chapter where he jokes, “Yeah, I don’t understand my metaphors anymore either.” Time will tell if these one-liners wear on me but for now Kyon is even more entertaining than I remember him being in the TV show.

It works on a more far-reaching level too. I recall things like Asahina’s cosplay torture being more tiresome in animated format but perhaps because it’s verbal rather than visual this aspect of the plot is not as in-your-face. Speaking of being in-your-face, Haruhi is still every bit as infuriating as she was in the anime. the bottom line is, actually spending time with someone like her is a pain. Seriously. Being in the company of people who are thoughtless, shameless, moody and self-absorbed is NOT cool and it’s NOT fun. Whether it’s more fun to observe from a more detached perspective is a different matter.

The beef I had with the anime in that regard is the fact that the medium of TV is more…impartial? Asahina’s suffering felt slightly voyeuristic, and the “She’s a pain in the arse, you know…” portrayal of Haruhi didn’t come across very clearly. Thanks to events being coloured by Kyon’s viewpoint and wisecracks, her behaviour in the novel is not excused and he is able to make it clear how he is in two minds about witnessing what Haruhi does to Asahina, for instance.

I’ve heard time and time again that the Haruhi Suzumiya TV show is groundbreaking and different but for me it’s one of many high school comedies with supernatural underpinnings so this aspect held satirical value but little else. Telling it from Kyon’s perspective works much better, however: it instead offers a premise of “My life was normal, then this crazy girl showed up and weird shit started happening.” Rather than being yet another KyoAni high school show to add to a lengthy list, the unique-ness of encountering the character of Haruhi Suzumiya is much more obvious in novel format.

Perhaps because of KyoAni’s polished finish I was surprised at the pencil-sketchiness of the novel’s artwork but to be honest I think this is preferable because it’s less distracting; the text tells the story while the occasional illustration adds a dash of visual reference. I’m sure the manga works differently in that sense, but I think the emphasis will be different again: from what I’ve seen in the previews it relies more on the situation-comedy.

The novel on the other hand is less about the gags and highjinks, and more concerned with the dialogue and thematic comedy. I like that a lot. I dug the irony and absurdity of the whole situation and got the impression that this may be some sort of karma coming back to the guy who has a mildly Holden Caulfield-esque outlook. As much as Kyon talks of how Haruhi has rudely interrupted his quiet routine, life is now more interesting for him. As the prologue hints,

“Deep in my heart, I wished that aliens, time-travellers, ghosts, demons, evil organisations or espers might just pop up in front of me one day.”

The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya. Nagaru Tanigawa, © 2003, 2009

The final argument I have for the advantages of Kyon’s narration therefore is this: the idea of Haruhi taking centre stage and a story telling us about how Haruhi takes centre stage are not the same thing. Just for the record, I prefer the latter.

Don’t take just my word for it. Even Baka Raptor has read it.

I took a leaf out of Epic Win’s book and moved the blogroll to its own separate page, to tidy up the sidebar if nothing else. I want to add subcategories to my links to make use of the extra space and organise them a bit better as well – it’s all in aid of looking classier and more readable (unless you read these posts solely on a feedreader, in which case my efforts will be lost on you). There are still the usual niggling details to iron out but as far as I can tell this theme looks the same in Firefox and IE, which is as much as I could hope for really. Not bad for something I threw together in the space of an evening.

To put it bluntly, CSS is a royal pain in the arse and no amount of Muse and Kalafina can sweeten the experience of misplaced semicolons and colours that refuse to behave themselves. The gravatars and comment quicktag boxes are next on my list so should make a glorious return as soon as I can sort them out; feel free to make suggestions and bug reports in the (currently incorrectly-sized) comments form as usual.

In other news, pretty much everything I’m currently watching is finishing so expect the last of Spice and Wolf (squeeeeee), Tokyo Magnitude 8.0 ( T_T ) and even thoughts on Canaan, assuming the last ep leaves enough of an impression for me to actually have an opinion on it. Darker than Black is finally being released on DVD over here now so I can rewatch that before 2009 is out too.

During my week offline I was reliant on reading good ol’ fashioned books to kill time so expect posts on the Crest of the Stars and Haruhi novels – they’re damn good reads but the differences between the originals and the TV adaptations are interesting in themselves. There isn’t much in the new season that’s caught my eye but the DtB second season and possibly the second helping of White Album will be worth looking into.

The rest of my energies at the moment involve the upcoming replacement of my trusty old laptop with a new desktop rig, which I’m planning on putting together and fitting with a Blu-ray drive in the next couple of months. There’s a Top Secret project involved in this too (hint in the pic above)…well, two people know about it so far but I’ll post details when the pieces are in place.

Finally, I’ve never mentioned the subjects of the current banner images either, so here they are:

• Ryougi Shiki (Kara no Kyoukai) deskop; unknown source
• Screenshot from Byousoku 5cm
• A view from Tokyo Tower at sunset that I snapped earlier this year.

Before launching into the post proper I must admit I found the film more enjoyable than the novel, even putting my love of Kon’s style into account. A story that melds dreams and reality works better for me on screen and I found Kon’s take on the plot (as condensed as it was) to be a bit more cohesive. It captured the spectacle of dreams more effectively, and the mystery of the antagonist(s) was held out longer. That said, Tsutsui’s version is still worth a read whether you’ve seen the film or not.

My advice would be to try both. I love what Kon did with the story but the novel, perhaps inevitably since it’s too long for a scene-for-scene cinematic adaptation, has more explanations regarding the backgrounds to the characters. The translation is a bit clumsy and stilted in places but I prefer the less Americanised style that Andrew Driver writes in. I’m not sure of his nationality but he opted for British rather than American English; since most of, say, the two Murakamis have been handled by stateside translators this was a refreshing change for me. It flows quite well overall, and I feel grateful to Driver for doing his bit in bringing this novel to an international readership.

The novel features a slightly larger cast but the most obvious difference is the way in which the link between Chiba and Paprika is emphasised. Again, I find Kon’s portrayal of this to be slightly more in keeping with the mental weirdness of the story because I think Paprika is more convincing as an inner alter-ego rather than her alias in a literal sense. What Tsutsui does very well though is push the ethical aspect forward more prominently.

The subplot of Chiba and Tokita being in the running for a Nobel Prize for their work in dream-orientated psychological therapy is unique to the novel, and gives a fascinating slant to the proceedings. It holds a larger question mark over the moral implications of what their invention is capable of, not to mention how it adds more weight to the villains’ actions. Rather than being a whiter-than-white heroine of the piece, Chiba’s moral stance is less clear-cut, Tokita is even more naïve and the message about considering the costs of scientific advances comes across more clearly.

It also boosts the office politics and infighting; something that sits well alongside the side-story relating to the character of Mr Noda. It would’ve been enough to have him as a patient of Paprika on his anxiety condition alone, but his circumstances are dealt with in such detail they have some worthy messages of their own. There’s certainly a lot of satire and social commentary here which I really appreciate, but sadly some of that trademark black humour of Tsutsui’s that I’ve heard so much about was lost in translation for me.

What I didn’t expect was the amount of sexual tension running through the entire narrative: given the way in which the environment of dreams plays around with our thoughts, feelings and inhibitions maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised at this. Even so, the Institute for Psychiatric research comes across as a hotbed of simmering passions and sexual deviancy; a scenario that I find hard to believe based on my own experiences in scientific establishments! But eh, it’s an interesting concept when you think about it: considering how they are working with people who have serious mental problems, how do these particular research methods increase the risk of patients’ symptoms rubbing off on their doctors?

Again, it’s questioning the ethics of Chiba’s work when Paprika’s existence is supposedly secret but she is still popular with her patients. As much as Tokita is ridiculed as being irresponsible to the point of being inadvertantly dangerous, Paprika is celebrated by those who know her but they overlook the way in which she doesn’t follow anyone’s rules either. The odd coupling of Chiba and Tokita says a lot about public perceptions too, showing the latter to be relatively honourable next to the physically attractive but rotten-to-the-core Osanai and Inui.

The science is a bit shaky in regards to the dream monitoring technology but I daresay the same could be said for the psychology; specialists in the field could no doubt find some plot holes but the technobabble is able to hold the narrative together, at least in Paprika’s whacked-out universe. It may not stand up to scrutiny up close but the terminology is fun and convincing enough for the task at hand: namely immersing the reader in a vivid dreamworld.

So then, if you’ve already watched the film there are just enough surprises and interesting asides to make it worth your time (it made me appreciate what the movie accomplishes even more, actually), but if you haven’t I recommend you pick up the novel then check out how it’s brought to life by Kon’s vision afterwards. Someday I might actually be able to blog about one of his other movies again…

I would hardly dare to argue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sputnik Sweeheart, © Haruki Murakami, 1999, 2001

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

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

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

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

In most cases the point that stories are always about the characters is fundamental and obvious: remove that and all you’re left with is a cool-looking music video or experiment in artistic techniques at best, and a meaningless mess at worst. There’s more to FLCL than just the superficial coolness so the usual rules apply: when the after-effects of the explosions and WTF moments subside this series stays with you. Important things happen to those involved and, are meaningful because you care about what happens. The crazy stuff really just serves to emphasise why certain things are significant, albeit conveying the said significance of the feelings and events in an innovative and memorable way.

Naota is the source of my ‘spirit of adolescence’ impression of the series as a whole. He carries an air of Gen X cynicism, laconically describing Mabase as a boring town when everyone around him is either eccentric or emotionally damaged. His inadvertant brushing aside of Mamimi’s advances or the way he describes the steam periodically pouring from the Medical Mechanica facility as a bad omen is prophetic enough but seeing a factory shaped like a giant iron – a bloody IRON for fuck’s sake – and not seeing anything unusual in that says a lot about his character and, perhaps, the jaded teenage outlook he represents.

He never smiles, never shows innocent childlike curiosity; he is in some ways older than his years. I find this to be a little sad because he’s a kid who can’t appreciate the relatively carefree nature of childhood and believes the good times of life are already over. Of course, Naota isn’t quite a child: he’s in the halfway house of adolescence, which is a confusing time because, both physically and emotionally, everything changes…but not at the same time. I guess the unchanged facets of his make-up are trying to adjust to those that have changed. Maybe the disdain for both children and adults is a way of distancing oneself from these two demographics: he doesn’t feel he has anything in common with kids or grown-ups, and feels isolated as a result.

Looking at Naota’s adult role models, it’s hardly surprising he can’t look up, or even relate, to them. His father and grandfather act pretty immature and hardly set a good example; Haruko, the strange Vespa woman from outer space, is also an adult but she is so irresponsible and impulsive she might as well be a child herself. Surrounded by older people who ought to know better is bound to nurture a feeling of contempt in an impressionable teenager who already feels alone.

After all, Naota has already lost an important childhood companion in the form of his brother. His name is never mentioned as far as I can tell; we never find out much about him at all beyond the fact that he’s studying overseas, may have a new girlfriend over there and has left his previous girl Mamimi behind. I guess Naota feels a mixture of loss and envy for his elder sibling because good old Aniki, his hero and role model, has flown the nest for a flashy baseball career and has left Naota to suffer the boredom of remaining in Mabase.

Mamimi is fascinating. She’s more than just a lovesick jilted girlfriend, at least. I never really grasped her true feelings for Naota: is there a similarity between the brothers that makes her want to stay close to the familiar persona that has stayed by her side? Does Naota let her hang out with him because he cares for her too, or can he just not be bothered to get rid of her? Or is it the fact that they share a sense of loss over the Nandaba boy who left and seek mutual comfort in that?

Mamimi seems to be the sort of person who is reliant on the support of others, even to the point of leaning on a younger version of her boyfriend for company as some sort of substitute. Her backstory, hinted at in the Firestarter episode, suggests that she has her fair share of traumas and personal issues and seeks an escape from reality through some unlikely methods. She’s one of those characters I ought to feel contempt towards for being so prone to seeking refuge in fantasies and running away from the pain of real life, but for some reason I do actually feel really sorry for her.

I wonder if the robot creature that she unwittingly sends on a rampage inspired the plotline for Garakuta no Machi (Junk Town), a quirky Studio 4°C short in which another lonely kid finds company in a robot beastie with a voracious appetite for other mechanical objects. As in that OAV, Mamimi’s new friend is a symptom of her loneliness and ultimately this isolation spills out onto the human beings around her.

Another instance of someone’s inner feelings manifesting themselves as something outrageous and destructive is that of Eri Ninamori, whose Class President façade falls away in spectacular fashion in the third episode. The treatment of her character is an example how the story slows down a bit to catch its breath and flesh out the personalities of the characters portrayed; she finds something of a kindred spirit in Naota, which is a noteworthy moment because connection and understanding is such a rare thing in the FLCL universe.

The way that Eri’s circumstances are portrayed does feel like a flash in the pan but it says a lot nonetheless. Amidst the madness, there’s a character who seems to have both feet on the ground; the sane person in a crowd of unstable people. It reminds me a bit of the Monty Python movies or Blackadder actually, in which an intelligent and rational person is continually exposed to irrationality day in, day out. No wonder she loses it a bit.

As you get away from the central characters the amount of insight diminishes. Even so there are still occasional details that stick in the memory: as a parting shot I can’t not pass comment on Amarao. As the Chancellor of the Exchequer will testify, a pair of Epic Eyebrows definitely does not compensate for other personal attributes that may be lacking. The moment where one of his eyebrows comes unstuck and falls solemnly to the ground was a moment that carried far more pathos that it possibly deserved.