Time flies. It’s scary, it really is. One thing I’ve always noted about Honey and Clover–my favourite anime, if you’re new to this blog and don’t know me–is how terrifyingly quickly the years fly by. The fall festival leads to Christmas which blends into the snowy winter months and before you know it you’re watching the cherry blossoms again.

But that’s not what I’m going to talk about. Today is the first of September, which means that this blog has been alive for three years. That’s quite a while. I started this thing at the beginning of my grade 11 year, looking to explore the anime scene and get my name out there like all of the other cool kids on the internet. It’s hard to say where I’ve gone since then. My annual anniversary posts are usually a tad wistful because of the way that they fall at the end up summer and the beginning of a new year. This one is a bit odd in that I’m still in Oxford until Sunday, so I guess I’m celebrating the end of my summer course and the beginning of the school year.

This past year was obviously terrible for my blog but it was fairly productive for me as an anime fan, leading me to learn the basics of fan translation and sharpening my writing skills with my work for The Nihon Review. More importantly, I have a renewed opinion of the anime blogosphere and a much clearer goal of where I want to go within anime fandom and in my career. By this point there’s no doubt in my mind that I have to become a writer when I finish school. I don’t know what I want to write yet but I absolutely have to write something. This sense of clarity, however broad it may be, is helping me to develop what my new blogging style will be. Personal and “update” posts like this will probably stop being written, but I’ll talk about that when I officially return to the blogosphere. My new theme got a bit delayed but it’s being worked on and it can’t stay unfinished forever.

In the meantime, let me thank all of you who kept this dead site in your feed reader for so long. I’ll be back someday. And to those who aren’t reading this: I’ll win you back within a year.

Semicolon-close-parenthesis.

©2012 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

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Did you know that my last entry was my 200th post? I didn’t. Funny that I should unconsiously stop blogging right at the 199 mark.

Anyway, this post is more for newcomers who don’t know me and stumbled onto this blog from the splash page (which is up and almost complete). I already sketched out my new theme and, as I said before, I should be back before I leave home for a month in August. Until then, feel free to browse, but don’t expect me to reply to comments just yet.

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No points for guessing who’s going.

Right. I’ll be at AN as always, though I don’t have anything too exciting planned. If you’re in the Toronto area and you plan on going to the con, feel free to say hi–I have these really tiny 18+ eroge stickers on my bag that no one will ever notice. Helpful, hmm? Itinerary is pretty straightforward, just the usual gaming and hanging around. I might stalk GipFace since he seems to want us to, although I say that every year.

Also, I suppose it’d be odd to write this post out of the blue and not address the fact that my blog is effectively dead. I admit it, first-year university killed my blogging schedule and forced me out of the internet, just as it did to everyone else. That said, I have a plan for the direction I want to take this blog in the future. I’m not expecting to resume writing until September at the latest; blogging is something that you need to incorporate into your daily life to succeed at it, so if I can’t do it during school I shouldn’t be doing it at all. However, I’ll be working on a new design for the site during the summer and I’ll try to clean things up. I’ll have the same address and blog name and everything, but it’ll be a reboot. Memories of Eternity v2.0.

Look forward to it. I’m getting old and bsns is getting srs.

©2012 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

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[fuyouchu]

Download

Welcome to the first episode of the Memories of Eternity podcast! I believe I’ve mentioned this idea in passing before but it took a little while to get the ball rolling. The format is pretty much stolen straight from wah–each episode will have a (usually different) group of people chatting about whatever issue we decide on in advance, preferrably something topical so that the listeners will be on the same page as us.

Ironically, everyone won’t be on the same page for this one because it was recorded a few weeks ago and it took me a while to find the time to edit it. Regardless, I hope you have fun with it. Do note that this was a new experience for all of us so it may be a little rough around the edges. Feedback is always welcome.

Guests:

• Executive Otaku
• rune_devros
• chronolynx

Songs:

• OP – Taste of Paradise by Eri Kitamura (Onii-chan no Koto Nanka Zenzen Suki Janain Dakara ne!!)
• ED – Magia by Kalafina (Puella Magi Madoka Magica)

Show notes:

• We were using Moetron‘s Winter 2011 chart.
• The post on Behind the Nihon Review I mentioned is this one, written by Kylaran.
• Toshiyuki Kato directed Code-E, Mission-E, and Level E but I don’t think they have anything in common.
• Want to join the OniiKoto drinking game? It’s on the calendar. Also, check my old post for a more coherent explanation of why I think it’s better than it looks.

~ ETERNAL
つづく

©2012 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

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Post tags: Beelzebub, Cardfight!! Vanguard, Dragon Crisis!, Fractale, Freezing, Gosick, Haiyoru! Nyaruani: Remember My Love(craft-sensei), Hourou Musuko, IS: Infinite Stratos, Kimi ni Todoke 2nd Season, Kore wa Zombie Desu ka?, Level E, Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magica, Mitsudomoe Zouryouchuu!, Onii-chan no Koto nanka Zenzen Suki Janain Dakara ne!!, Podcast, Rio: Rainbow Gate!, Winter 2011, Wolverine, Yumekui Merry

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[koi]
(Random picture to catch your attention and stop the post from getting lost on the front page)

As you might have heard on Twitter, I’ve been accepted as a staff member for the fairly reputable review site, The Nihon Review, alongside episodic blogger Shinmaru. This is a fairly big move for me since I’m certain that it’ll help me sharpen my writing abilities, and I’m looking forward to contributing to the site’s impressive archive of entries. You might also see me on the staff blog from time to time, though I’ll have to prioritize this site for editorials.

As for what this means for my posting schedule–well, if you’ve been following me for any amount of time, you’d know that I’ve been all over the place since university started. Frankly my life has been all over the place too. As a general rule, my target here is one post per week, and I aim for that regardless of how many other activities vie for my attention. The good news is that I don’t normally write reviews here so my articles over at the NHRV won’t detract from my editorial ideas.

Anyway, please check out the site if you haven’t already done so. I’ve been reading them for a while and I can guarantee that you’ll learn a thing or two if you keep an eye on them. If you’re already a fan, then I hope I can bring a bit of modern-day bishoujo fandom into a blogging style generally considered to be for the stuffy and elitist. Not that that’s a bad thing–moe fans could do to be a bit more discriminating!

~ ETERNAL
つづく

©2012 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

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Post tags: Announcement, Site, The Nihon Review

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I avoid writing these subjective, meandering articles whenever I can–if I have nothing of substance to say, why publish a post about it? Still, there are exceptions to every rule, and K-ON!! seems to have forced my hand. I’ve written about it twice (disclaimer: old posts are embarrassing and bad), and in that time I’ve said all that I have to say… yet I can’t leave things hanging.

So, instead of analyzing the narrative (what’s there to analyze?) or digging into the heart of its appeal (it’s pretty self-explanatory if you ask me), I’m going to tell you a story. It’s a story about the rise to fame of the world’s five greatest moeblobs.

In the beginning, there was a legend: a promise in a season preview chart that the renowned Kyoto Animation would be taking on a new project, adapting a fun but ultimately unoriginal 4koma manga series. Having seen the likes of Haruhi Suzumiya and the Key adaptations, anime fandom knew that, like it or not, K-ON was going to be a financial and popular success. As yet another entry in the growing trend of “database”-styled moe shows, it attracted both diehard fans and haters. People knew whether they would like it or not before they even watched it.

Fast forward a few months. K-ON is now more or less a cultural phenomenon, apparently making a direct impact on Japan’s guitar sales. What exactly made the show magical enough to garner this kind of adoration? Frankly, it may not have been magical at all–who would be surprised that a high-budget otaku-targeted KyoAni production would make waves in fandom? Being the shameless bishoujo fan that I am, I loved the show, and I was impressed at how its lightheartedness never drifted into the dangerous realms of boring fluff and forced drama (the moe version of shounen filler).

The second season was much of the same, and I mean that in a good way. I commented a couple of times on how it took an average of less than 5 minutes of an episode for me to start grinning, either at a joke or as a natural reaction to the dialogue. Worst case scenario, the OP would make me smile. It’s like listening to Perfume.

And then something happened. Episode 20–the final school festival.

Graduation drama is a bit of a cheap shot in that it forces you to relate to it, but it usually winds up being hollow. Forced drama at the end of a comedy series is nothing new. The best case scenario would be the likes of Azumanga Daioh, which, if memory serves, ended on a bittersweet high note without attempting to conjure any real emotion.

But that’s not the impact that K-ON had on me. I felt something. I was impressed, too, at the way everything was presented: drawing out the introductions during the concert, setting the climax in the club room, using tears as the first visual cue that the drama was about to hit. I can understand why I enjoyed the scene from a formal perspective, but in reality, it reaches far deeper than that. The dialogue in that scene was poignant in its reflection of the girls’ personalities and the little quirks in their relationships (the mention of lycopene was brilliant), but the scene is really about the dialogue in the entire show. It brings to mind every one of Yui’s silly comments and Mugi’s naive exclamations, the kind of events you think nothing of because you know shows like this never end.

Really, you don’t realize how important something is until you lose it.

I was surprised. Of course I love KyoAni and I liked K-ON since the beginning, but I liked it as a fluffy moe series–the best of its kind. It normally takes a full-fledged drama to get an emotional reaction out of me, and even that can go wrong. What was I thinking, nearly tearing up at the end of the concert? It’s just a moeblob show–the best of its kind!–it’s not the kind of thing to warrant tears. We know it made money so there’s bound to be more of it, as confirmed by the upcoming movie. Heck, the TV series even packaged a couple extra episodes to tide us over and keep it from ending on such a sad note.

No matter how much I think about it, though, nothing can change the fact that it reached me. My emotional reaction to fiction usually revolves around events: a death, a disappearance, a breakup. Sadness resulting from nothing but a little drama at the end of a moe comedy series is new to me. Even so, I felt something for K-ON, a show with no plot or depth of narrative, a show with nothing but amusing characters. At what point did that amusement turn into genuine depth? I’m not sure.

If there’s anything I can say about K-ON in the end, it’s that I underestimated it. I praised it since day one, but I underestimated it. I would’ve never thought that the characters whom I once deemed to be the epitome of the good kind of archetypal shallowness would become this whole and emotionally affecting.

~ ETERNAL
つづく

©2012 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

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Post tags: K-ON, Kakifly, KyoAni, Kyoto Animation

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In dire need of an imouto route.

Contrary to what some believe (possibly even the popular belief), dating sims are an intricate art. They’re not about the (nonexistent) ero-scenes or other forms of sexual titillation, and they demand more depth from their characters–even if it’s an illusion of depth–than your average moege. They are, after all, referred to as “romance simulation” in Japanese. Much like a good moe series that puts its own spin on the tried-and-true archetypes, good dating sims demand immersive writing that doesn’t rely on plot.

Judging from AIC’s adaptation, Amagami is indeed a good dating sim. I was underwhelmed at first since the show opened with perhaps the least realistic arc, but it quickly became evident that, despite the absence of Kenichi Kasai’s rather liberal interpretation, I was enjoying the series as much as KimiKiss.

My opinion of Amagami has always been more or less positive, but the turning point for me was Sae’s arc. It wasn’t really about anything per se, but wasn’t it sweet to see her struggle against her exaggerated fear of social interaction, all the while slowly falling for her mentor? She’s not much more than a mess of overdone tropes, but I fell for her all the same. It didn’t matter that I saw the ending from a mile away or that I consciously realized that her personality archetype is simplified and that a similar scenario would be impossible in real life.

…In other words, I fell right into the show’s trap. That’s exactly the reaction that dating sims coerce from you.

Looking back, all it took for Amagami‘s neatly woven fantasies to sink in was an encounter with my chosen heroine’s route. It’s telling that I loved her arc even though her story was one of the most bland–some might call that shallow, but it’s more a testament to the writing than anything else. In most cases, four episodes of utterly transparent (and let’s face it, childish) romance would be literally painful to sit through, but here, it works. It didn’t surprise me at all when I found myself enjoying Sexhair Kaoru’s and Tsukasa’s arcs just as much, despite my lack of emotional involvement with the characters.

Best scene in the show, and it wasn’t even from my favourite character or arc.

Specifics are tricky in a subjective genre like this, but I did notice a few things while viewing the series. One key scene that every (or at least almost every) arc features is the moment in which each girl realizes their feelings for Junichi. It’s only a matter of seconds, but those little third-person interjections in the narrative make a world of difference. In fact, most of them stand out in my memory: Haruka talking to her friend on the phone, blushing and kicking her feet; Kaoru brooding in the bath, Ayatsuji going deredere as she realizes that she enjoys Junichi’s company. Nothing is more effective in a romance series than those subtle moments–and in a dating sim, they double as a moment of victory.

The show is also very stylized, both in terms of presentation and plot. I don’t mean it in the sense of “following convention”; rather, I’m referring to the way it goes along with unrealistic clichés or events for the sake of telling a better story. Case in point: Ai’s kiss scene on the swings. The scene was as cheesy as something out of a shoujo manga, but it works. Same with dressing Sae in that frilly lolita outfit for the final episode of her arc–all the writers did was hang a flimsy lampshade on it, but it works because it’s all part of the fun. Even the unbelievable triumph that was Haruka’s arc looks good in retrospect as it embodies a completely different dynamic.

In other words, Amagami is both plausible and implausible where it counts. The little scenes that need an extra stylistic flare are bolstered by a bit of dating sim magic, but it isn’t enough to shake the viewer’s suspension of disbelief created by the core of the story, which is simply a series of well-written love stories that make you forget just how impossible they are.

[haitaka]

Amagami‘s appeal is naturally subjective and so it’s a difficult thing to articulate, but I believe the show’s heart lies in its dialogue. Plotless romance is a hard thing to do right, but these guys can do it, apparently. There isn’t much textual evidence I can bring up short of quoting random conversations (and I’d be quoting fansubs at that), but we all know that romance writing can’t be pinned down that easily.

It’s a more general thing about how the stories capture all of the awkwardness and hesitance and eventual thrill of first love. Every key conversation resonates with realism, even if the scenarios are implausible, and the characters are just transparent enough for us to enjoy watching them fall in love. Each relationship has a completely different dynamic, too, and Junichi ranges from playing the persistent would-be loser to the oblivious childhood friend. He’s a great guy, Junichi Tachibana–the only thing generic and uninspiring about him is his character design (and I have nothing but respect for that purple turtleneck).

Amagami impressed me more than I expected, and that’s saying something since I expected a lot. Part of me still thinks that the romanticized love polyhedron of KimiKiss will always be superior since it’s a spectacular adaptation, but Amagami proves that the real heart of both stories is in the source material’s writing. I applaud the staff at AIC for putting together an anime in which 4 episode arcs are enough to capture the naive bliss of a full-length dating sim.

~ ETERNAL
つづく

©2012 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

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Post tags: AIC, Amagami, Amagami SS, Enterbrain, Yoshimasa Hiraike

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Tamayura turned a few heads when it was released toward the end of 2010, though most of those heads belonged to viewers who already adored director Junichi Sato’s work on the Aria franchise. The two anime are similar in the ways that count for the genre–Sato manages to build an aura of magic and childlike wonder around his settings, and he explores them at a laid-back pace. Tamayura’s presentation isn’t spectacular or particularly memorable but something about it reached me more effectively than Aria did.

I should preface this post by telling (reminding?) you that, against all odds, I am not a fan of the iyashi-kei subgenre. While I adore some plotless atmospheric shows from time to time, straight-up “healing anime” has always put me to sleep. Admittedly, I couldn’t make it through an hour of Tamayura without nodding off, but the experience was more touching than your average hour of aimless stress relief (note than I’m referring to literal stress relief and not the ubiquitous J-List innuendo).

This, of course, says more about me than the show itself–the genre certainly didn’t bend its rules to meet my expectations. I suspect the plot had something to do with it. I find the device of photography and old photos to be strangely romantic, perhaps figuratively, perhaps literally. There’s an air of mystery surrounding Fu’s father; he no longer exists in the world, and yet he’s immortalized by a single photograph. It’s such a powerful symbol, and it’s used in all forms of fiction for good reason. The same dynamic applies to Fu’s search for the location of the picture her brother drew–by finding the “truth” to every photo, every record of the real world, it’s as if she can relive the past.

Perhaps it’s more notable that Fu’s picture-taking habit in itself is the perfect metaphor for the whole aim of the iyashi-kei genre and Sato’s work on this title and Aria. It’s about exploring the world around you, finding beauty in the most everyday things. Whether it’s the fantastic Neo-Venezia or a more down-to-earth town in Japan, the importance of atmosphere and setting shines through. It’s almost the opposite of the world building of high fantasy and sci-fi–instead of developing the internal mechanics of a universe, Sato fleshes out the aesthetics of his worlds in order to create a living, breathing atmosphere. Not to downplay the important element of character interaction, but it’s no wonder that viewers are enthralled by watching a cast of Undines or middle schoolers explore their vibrant world like curious children.

It’s vague, it’s abstract, but I don’t believe it’s possible to concretely pin down the appeal of shows like Tamayura. It’s not about the thinly veiled symbolism of Fu’s photos representing her appreciation of the world, one shot at a time; it’s not really about her relationship with her friends and family. It’s something less tangible than that.

It’s about forging a narrative which gives you characters to relate to but doesn’t pull you down with threads of rehashed plot. It’s about breathing life into a fictional setting with countless hours spent on visual production to choose soft colours for the background and to animate the girls’ reactions in all their bubbly glory. It’s about taking the time to draw the long shots, to repeat the photography motif by showing us the world through Fu’s lens.

It’s about doing a lot of little things that add up to something beautiful. Tamayura still belongs to a genre that I’ll never be fond of and it was an ultimately forgettable experience for me, but it’s a solid endeavour on Hal Film Maker’s part that showed me how Junichi Sato works his magic and reminded me of what makes his magic magical in the first place.

~ ETERNAL
つづく

©2012 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

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Post tags: Aria, Hal Film Maker, Junichi Sato, Tamayura

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Note: This is the second half of an article that wound up being too long for one post. You can read the first half here.

Picking up from where I left off, Kyon and Yuki’s nighttime stroll is one of my favourite scenes in The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya, and it succeeds at doing something that most scenes can’t—building an atmosphere.

This is a terribly subjective statement, but I have to ask: isn’t the lighting beautiful? I don’t believe headlights work like this but I’m not complaining. Of course there’s the standard blinding lens flare effects that I adore (as a matter of fact, I’m subscribed to the lens_flare tag on Danbooru), but the real beauty is in the colour of the light as it hits the characters. It highlights the purple in Nagato’s hair and the orange-brown of her jacket. The white contrasts sharply with the almost unrealistically black background. Best of all, the effects are motivated by passing cars on the street so it happens intermittently with no set frequency. Such a brilliant way to add visual interest to the uninteresting event of two people walking down the street.

That said, it’s really the atmosphere of this scene that shines through for me, not the fact that it uses a unique lighting source. Look at some of these caps: low key, high contrast is the theme. You can feel Kyon squinting at the light from the cars and the convenience store window; the puffs of vapour in their breath make your room feel cold. The subtleties of their expressions are animated beautifully, and the camera follows Nagato long enough to hint at what she might be feeling. When she asks Kyon to come to her apartment, they’re framed in two different shots. I’m not big on reading symbolism into style, but you can feel the distance between them—the girl building up her courage to take a leap of faith, and the boy left in shock. Note the lack of eye contact too.

The scene ends an instant later with the passing of two cars, repeating the visual motif of uncomfortably bright light that recurs throughout.

It’s perfect. Often times I describe shows I like simply by saying that they create an unforgettable feeling. After all, what makes me claim that Makoto Shinkai’s films are better than other romance movies, or that Honey and Clover is better than other josei manga adaptations? It’s the atmosphere of a scene—or indeed an entire series—that creates these subjective memories, and atmosphere is built through a series of seemingly irrelevant stylistic techniques. The contrast in lighting, the focus on expression changes, and the lack of closeups in this scene culminate into an effect of complete immersion in which you can feel both the physical details of the world and the emotional state of the characters. The staff at KyoAni transformed an important conversation into a vivid experience that happens to contain a bit of key characterization.

(Additionally, if I recall correctly, the upcoming scene in Nagato’s apartment marks the introduction of Erik Satie’s Gymnopédies as her musical leitmotif. I don’t believe the staff had a specific reason for selecting this series of compositions to represent alt-universe Yuki but its sombre tone and slow tempo are reflective of her character, so much so that it’s possible to hear the piece without realizing that it wasn’t composed with the film in mind).

At last, this brings us to the prelude to the grand finale: Kyon’s denial of the alternate universe. It’s a key thematic point in the film and it’s brought up over the course of two important scenes: the moment he presses the button and the moment he confronts Nagato. The first scene lasts only a few seconds but it’s a profound few seconds. In essence, the scene aims to show the viewer that finding the way home is not the triumphant victory Kyon believes it to be. Among the clutter of words hears as he enters the surreal state of flux is the phrase “I won’t forgive you”, originally spoken by alt-universe Ryoko as she warns Kyon to never hurt Yuki (and what did he do by pressing the button?). The camera then cuts to the silhouette of a train rushing against a white backdrop with the words “I envy you” penetrating the noise—a clear reference to alt-universe Koizumi’s memorable line. Finally, the train passes and reveals Nagato’s chair (shown above), but it only remains on-screen for a split second. It vanishes instantly and lets its significance sink in.

In less than a minute, this scene reminds us what Kyon is leaving behind by hastily choosing to return to his world. It’s even more effective after seeing the trembling Yuki struggle to take back the symbolic club application form. Kyon avoids eye contact with her in that scene, as if winking at the viewer and reminding us that the conclusion couldn’t possibly occur with a full hour left to go.

(Another aside: note the series of awkwardly angled extreme close-ups used in the revelation of real-world Nagato as the main “villain”. It comes out of nowhere since the viewer naturally expects the pattern from the previous books to continue with Haruhi as primary troublemaker).

The film reaches its climax at the 2 hour mark. Parallelism strikes back: the distance between Kyon and alt-Nagato is emphasized by placing them in separate shots as well as by the pole in the foreground, just like in their previous conversation when they were going to her apartment. The fisheye traffic mirror shot makes her look disturbingly alone. As Kyon’s voiceover continues, explaining how the real Nagato developed emotions and wanted, like all good aliens, to become human, we’re treated to a series of flashbacks accompanied by heart-tugging music. Haruhi’s party hats become a symbol for the emotions that Yuki was grasping for.

I deeply apologize—either to you or to myself—for not catching the Hyperion reference as I have yet to read the series, but I imagine that the first Suzumiya Haruhi novel’s ties to Hyperion have something to do with Yuki.

At any rate, the shot with the spotlights feels like it was ripped straight from an Akiyuki Shinbou show. It’s a minimalistic but evocative way of visualizing the dichotomy between the two worlds presented in the film. Kyon talking to his reflection is a similarly clever move; what better way is there to emphasize the duality of the cast? After all, the entire purpose of the scene is to underscore the significance of Kyon’s decision and force him to make the decision again—this time, with full understanding of the consequences.

This leads us to the ending. In contrast with the scenes discussed in this post, the film’s climax takes a more abstract approach reminiscent of Studio SHAFT’s productions. Unrealistic, stylized CG snowflakes and a black background harken back to the night in her apartment while at the same time foreshadowing the true conclusion that will also take place under the snowfall. Don’t forget the wordplay in Yuki’s name, which means snow in Japanese.

The parallels and symbols shine through. Gymnopedies returns when Kyon confronts alt-Yuki, ever a reminder of her role as an innocent victim wrapped up in a messy web of time travel. More importantly, she grasps for him, just the time in her apartment—her last chance to stop him from leaving, except this time for good. The bookmark pops up as he hardens his resolve. It’s a one-way trip through the turnstile, which in itself is a symbol of final farewells.

He walks away.

The city lights are left blurry while the falling snow is perfectly in focus. Rewatch it in full 1080p. It’s beautiful.

Fast forward a bit. In the real world, snow begins to fall as alt-Yuki’s musical leitmotif enters softly in the background for the last time. The piece has always been slow and subdued, revealing its emotive qualities through repetition. It’s simple on the outside and easy to perform but its effect on the listener is complex. The song calls to mind the now-vanished alt-universe Yuki, but one is left to wonder if it can be applied to real-world Yuki as well. They are, after all, two sides of the same person. You could almost call it a thematic motif in the way it leads you to juxtapose human Yuki against the alien one.

The visuals do an equally impressive job at highlighting the change in the protagonists’ relationship and in Yuki’s character. In contrast with the alternate universe, this shot comes up—quite different from the awkward, forced distance that the pair was forced into in their previous scenes. The only scene that showed the first hints of a connection between them was the one with the car headlights, and even then there was an air of awkwardness and emotional repression on Yuki’s part. She didn’t show a single genuine smile until Kyon agreed to stay over. Compared to the present, even when they’re framed separately, the shots are closer, more intimate. This Yuki might not be smiling but there’s something genuine about her eye contact. In some small yet crucial way, she changed.

The scene fades as she says “thank you”.

- – -

I prefaced this post by saying that Disappearance doesn’t have a spectacular storyline because, frankly, it doesn’t. The Haruhi Suzumiya franchise is fantastic, but I’ve already written about that. Disappearance is the same as Tanigawa’s other novels, for better or worse. What truly makes this movie shine is the way the staff capitalize on every sentence of action, every adjective, every motif in the original work. The film is 160 minutes and the book is 192 pages; I think those numbers speak for themselves.

Perhaps the best part of all is that it’s a reminder of the amount of artistic and creative skill needed to make good anime. Long-time fans can complain about the over-commercialized industry and a lack of good source material nowadays, but this film proves that a fun, quirky, if not simplistic teen novel can become a cinematic epic with the right amount of talent and skill. We once gave KyoAni a 12/10 on the troll scale, but if I could rate this 12/10 on MAL, I would.

Bravo.

~ ETERNAL
つづく

©2012 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

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Post tags: Analysis, KyoAni, Kyoto Animation, Nagaru Tanigawa, Ryuuta Nakagami, Suzumiya Haruhi no Shoushitsu, Tatsuya Ishihara, The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya, The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, Yasuhiro Takemoto

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Nagaru Tanigawa’s Suzumiya Haruhi franchise needs no introduction and it won’t get one. The same goes for KyoAni’s movie adaptation of the fourth book, Disappearance; it hasn’t received nearly universal acclaim for nothing. Instead of informing you that the film is good, as you’ve no doubt already discovered for yourself, I’d rather dig into it and attempt to figure out why it’s good. Fasten your seatbelts—we’re heading into closed space and it might be a rough ride.

Note: This post is longer than it should be so I split it into two—the second half can be found here.

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The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya does not possess a groundbreaking plot. Much like the novels before it, the film presents a bizarre sci-fi upset that turns Kyon’s world upside down and gives the characters plenty of opportunities to live out their quirks in as entertaining a fashion as possible. There’s a bit of mystery—followed by a vague, pseudo-logical explanation like all time travel fiction—and the conclusion is a heartwarming reminder of what makes the mismatched SOS Brigade special to begin with. Altogether, it’s a perfect page-turner, exactly what you’d expect from a lighthearted fantasy/sci-fi/school-life/comedy/everything-under-the-sun light novel.

The fact that the source material is interesting but ultimately less remarkable than, say, the Evangelion TV series that the recent movies are based off of makes it even more impressive that Disappearance is such a spectacular film.

Now, I admit that my power level is low—I still cannot decipher the moon runes that comprise the Japanese animator wikis, and I have yet to figure out specifically what the cinematographer position in anime entails, but I know enough to realize that this movie’s brilliance lies in its visuals. Skimming through the staff list on ANN, it seems to be entirely a Kyoto Animation project: Yasuhiro Takemoto took the role of director (the guy who replaced Yamakan early in Lucky Star’s run) with the well-known Tatsuya Ishihara acting as chief director, and Ryuuta Nakagami joined as cinematographer, who had previously worked on most of the studio’s popular shows. It’s no surprise that this wound up being a recipe for success. If their 2006 Kanon adaptation looks better than half of the shows airing today, I can see how they could work wonders with a film’s budget.

Anyway, the point of this preface is to explain that Disappearance does not necessarily owe its success to the book. I’m as much of a Haruhi fan as the next blogger in my generation, but movies like this can appeal to non-fans who only have a passing interest in the plot. A good adaptation would have been like the Gurren Lagann films: they make a solid impression and people move on. Lucky for us, this is a superb adaptation, and it looks like KyoAni came back from Endless Eight with a vengeance.

Crazy old Ryoko.

Let’s get into the specifics. The direction draws attention to itself right from the opening shot, which is about twice as long as you’d expect from your average “just-woke-up” mask shot. The camera follow’s Kyon’s amusing attempt at shutting off his alarm, complete with some nice focus effects that simulate the fogginess of his mind. This is to be expected of a movie compared to a TV series, of course, but it sends the right message.

Moving on, you might remember the dutch angle spam from the scene in which Kyon realizes that Haruhi vanished from his present world. Yes, we know that canted angles are supposed to be jarring and put the viewer on edge, but I’ve never quite seen it work this effectively. It stands out here because it’s more than one shot: it’s a lot of shots, and a lot of consecutive shots. It’s hard to not share Kyon’s psychological dizziness when you view the scene. It’s such a textbook example that it feels useless to point it out but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s impressive.

Perhaps a more memorable scene is Kyon’s confrontation with the alternate universe Nagato. Rewatch it if you’d like: it starts at around 38:00 in the video file. Aside from the subtle yet oh-so-tempting bits of classic KyoAni fanservice, the scene does a spectacular job of shaking the viewer awake (figuratively, since I doubt it’s possible to fall asleep during a movie like this).

I can attempt to describe the scene with my underwhelming first-year film vocabulary, but frankly, it speaks for itself. The shaky handheld camera provides the perfect lack of stability needed to make it feel as though Kyon is shouting rather than simply speaking loudly. The focus effects are beautiful too; the camera shifts out of focus several times, distorting the image to emphasize Nagato’s fear. There are some shots that cleverly hide the action (the monitor reflection is particularly creative), forcing the viewer’s imagination to use Kyon’s enraged voice to fill in the blanks. It’s like showing the spatter of blood on the wall rather than the actual decapitation. Generally speaking, the most jarring and disturbing image a viewer can be faced with is one that doesn’t make sense, and the scene accomplishes this by deliberately limiting our view. It’s the kind of scene where you find yourself unconsciously craning your neck and flinching at every sudden movement.

(On an unrelated note, I thought the scene with Kyon walking home was pretty cool—the camera begins like this and zooms out to this, which surprised me when I first saw it. Nice to see that the director bothered to make even dull scenes like this interesting).

Before moving on, a note on parallelism: it may be hard to believe, but these two screencaps are completely different. The former is from when Kyon first enters the club room in the real world while the latter is from when he enters it in the alternate universe. The thematic implications are interesting: at first he was probably dreading facing another day of Haruhi’s antics, but he was running around school in search of those very antics the second time. Same event, completely different meanings.

The first-person perspective here makes me realize how short Yuki is. They probably just did it to score points with the fanboys, but it’s a pleasant shot either way. The soft lighting at the top of the frame is a nice touch and it adds contrast to what would otherwise be a boring background.

The next bit of the film is dedicated to plot development so I’ll jump ahead to Haruhi’s appearance. A bit of context: minutes prior to this, Kyon hears from Taniguchi that Haruhi is attending a private school nearby and he rushes outside with an energetic piece of orchestrated music as his backdrop. The music vanishes when he arrives and the atmosphere grows tense—was Taniguchi right? Will this Haruhi be the same as the original one?

The scene begins as she accidentally walks in front of the camera. Her flowing hair blocks the shot just long enough for her identity to sink in. Then, the ribbon. The BGM returns on cue at this closeup; the moment we realize for certain that Haruhi is back from her Vanishment. The soft, sustained tone in the song is the perfect parallel to Kyon’s moment of realization—it sounds as if it’s floating, like a literal “suspension” of disbelief. It’s the moment that you second-guess yourself and wonder if the sight before your eyes is too good to be true.

As soon as the scene changes from a moment of disbelief to a moment of relief, the music ends. Note that the shots continue to flicker in and out of focus—I suppose it adds more interest to an otherwise simple scene, making it stand out as it should. The scene builds up to the final, proud reveal of the new Haruhi, sullen as her expression may be (although I still think they stuck this in to distract us).

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Well, would you look at the time! We’re only just beginning and I’m already ~1500 words in. Take a breather, drink some water, and click here if you’d like to read the second half.

~ ETERNAL
つづく

©2012 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

© eternal for Memories of Eternity, 2011. | Permalink | 6 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: Analysis, KyoAni, Kyoto Animation, Nagaru Tanigawa, Ryuuta Nakagami, Suzumiya Haruhi no Shoushitsu, Tatsuya Ishihara, The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya, The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, Yasuhiro Takemoto

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