Review: The Quest for the Missing Girl

One of the greatest problems with Japanese comics today is the  lack of graphic novels. I don’t mean the phrase in a pretentious, “everything-should-be-serious” sort of way, but I’ve found that many recent manga appear almost reluctant to tell a story. Characters have been reduced to types and plot has been marginalized, turning the medium into what can at best be called TV on paper. It’s not that these TV-books are bad, mind you, it’s just that I don’t always want that. Sometimes I want to read a comic with a plot that begins and ends, relatable characters with complex motivations, and maybe even some meaning beneath the surface. A novel told in graphics, if you will. As uncommon as they are, the Japanese graphic novel is not impossible to find. There are many dependable and unique artists with plenty of work in translation who tell stories worth immersing oneself in. One of these artists is Jiro Taniguchi. Best known on these shores for quiet, restrained comics such as A Distant Neighborhood and The Walking Man, both of which are excellent and worth reading, Taniguchi has also done a number of genre stories with an emphasis on action and conflict. The Quest for the Missing Girl is one of these stories.

Twelve years ago, a mountaineer named Shiga declined an offer from his best friend, Sakamoto, to join an expedition to climb a mountain in the Himalayas. Sakamoto died on that expedition, and Shiga, feeling guilt over his friend’s death, has rarely left the mountains since, but vowed that if Sakamoto’s wife and daughter were ever in danger, he would return to the city and protect them. When Sakamoto’s teenage daughter, Megumi, goes missing, Shiga leaves the mountains for Tokyo to find for her. However, Shiga soon discovers that life in the city is more complex than it once was, and the teenage Megumi may not be as innocent as the young girl Shiga knew.

Despite being very different from many of Taniguchi’s other translated work, Quest was actually originally serialized around the same time as titles such as A Distant Neighborhood, and features many familiar themes. In fact, like in A Distant Neighborhood, a central theme of the story is of youth viewed through adult eyes. This theme was presented quite literally in Neighborhood, with the middle-aged protagonist time-traveling back to high school, experiencing his past with new insight. In Quest, the theme is more metaphorical, shown through Shiga’s investigation in Shibuya, the biggest shopping district in Tokyo. The area is crawling with teens, mostly delinquents, going to nightclubs, shopping with “borrowed” money, being “bad”. On the surface, these teenagers are liberated and completely independent of adult authority, perhaps even to a worrisome extent, but in reality these people are confused, lonely, and afraid to look for help. That’s how life is for a teen, and for better or worse, that will never change. This message is conveyed through a number of interesting characters, such as Yoshio, a man whose observations on youth culture inform much of the story, and Maki, a Shibuya frequenter who was Megumi’s best friend and may have unintentionally caused her disappearance. However, one of the most important characters in this story is the missing girl herself. While Megumi makes few actual appearances, her presence is felt throughout the entire narrative. Her personality, the choices she made, and her connections to the other characters are central to the unfolding events. Without the missing girl, there would be no quest.

As much as these reflections on adolescence are intriguing, the most memorable element of the story is its protagonist. While Shiga’s search for Megumi may be the stuff of pulp, his single-minded determination to atone for his guilt over his friends death is genuinely moving, real stuff. As the story progresses, we’re really given a sense of why Sakamoto was such an important person to Shiga, and why Shiga wants to help the people around him. Shiga isn’t superhuman, but a man deticated to being part of something larger than himself. Taniguchi does a fantastic job examining his character over the course of the story, particularly in the gripping final chapter. Many thrillers, both good and bad, build to a climactic metting between the hero and villain, either a conversation, a fight, or both. The important thing is that the two meet, and only one walks away. And while there is a hero and a villain, rather than have them confront each other, Taniguchi crafts a tale of Man Vs. Himself, a tense spectacle of pure motivation. We see Shiga for who he truly is, his hopes, his regrets, his desperation, made physical in beautifully drawn and downright architecturally designed pages as thrilling as the fiercest of battles. Unfortunately, this leaves little room to truly develop the villain as more than a cardboard cutout, but that hardly matters, as the comic already features some extremely powerful graphic storytelling.

Of course, Quest could have easily been a straight-forward exercise in genre, which, in a way, it is. However, Jiro Taniguchi is above that sort of thing. Taniguchi has been a working cartoonist for a good 30 years now, and over those years has refined his style, becoming a genuine auteur of the medium. Taniguchi’s style is very dynamic and realistic, dating him as a member of the Gekiga movement (Gekiga= Dramatic Pictures; a bit like the term “graphic novel”), but at the same time the art has a certain warmth, a “cartoonish” quality, reminiscent of early Osamu Tezuka. These different styles become one under Taniguchi’s penmanship, creating a mood of somber nostalgia. At the same time, the work is never boring; Taniguchi can really draw a fight scene. Often, a scene with two characters sitting and talking in a café will be a tense and exciting read, and action sequences have a hint of brooding and restraint. The world presented in Taniguchi’s work is both consistent and unexpected, and always worth reading.

In conclusion, The Quest for the Missing Girl is an excellent addition to the Taniguchi canon. The comic features many of Taniguchi’s trademark nostalgic themes and styles, but is unique for its portrayal of modern-day urban life. As I alluded to earlier, a handful of characters are poorly fleshed out, but most of the central characters are extremely well-written. The final chapter is especially well-executed, and is easily one of Taniguchi’s finest sequences. For those who found A Distant Neighborhood too culturally specific, The Quest for the Missing Girl is a great introduction to this extremely productive artist’s works.

Review: Omega the Unknown

In the last fifteen years or so, comic books have undergone a bit of a renaissance. We’ve seen Art Speigelman get the Pulitzer, book stores sell manga, and an explosion of talented artists working and finding success in a variety of genres. However, the once prominent super hero genre is slowly dying a painful death. Sure, movie adaptions are box office juggernauts, but how many can say they bothered to give any Iron Man comics even a try after seeing the movie? Nobody, that’s who. See, current cape comics are not written for normal people. These comics are made exclusively for the man-children who grew up with only these heroes for friends, and now continue to follow their lives, just in a kind of creepy way. For every great comic like Runaways, we get 10 things like the recent Redhood and the Outlaws, which has become controversial for its portrayal of female-empowering Teen Titans character Starfire as a bikini-clad nymphomaniac. And indeed, like other modern cape capers, Omega the Unknown is mainly for teens and adults who grew up on capes, and inappropriate for young children. But unlike comics like Outlaws, Omega is a genuine super hero story, a charming, thoughtful tribute to the comics we all grew up with.

Loosely based on an obscure ‘70s Marvel comic of the same name, Omega the Unknown is novelist Jonathan Lethem’s first and only foray into the medium, with art by indie cartoonist Farel Dalrymple. The story centers on Titus Alexander Island, a neurotic fifteen-year-old prodigy who lives with his parents in isolation from the rest of the world. When his family decides to pack up and move to New York, a fatal car crash kills Alexander’s parents and changes everything. Before blacking out, Alex sees something very strange. Impossible even. He wakes up in a hospital in New York a few days later with bizarre Ω-shaped burn marks on his hands. He is then attacked by a group of robots, but is protected by a mysterious caped figure, the titular Omega. While Alexander is trying to adjust to the city and understand the strange events surrounding him, a super hero named The Mink® commercializes his name at the expense of whatever morals he once had. Meanwhile, Omega continues to pursue the robots the attacked Alexander while working at a street vendor in front of Alexander’s school.

As you can tell from the above paragraph, the Omega the Unknown is a very complicated comic. In fact, the above paragraph barely even touches on the 2nd issue of this 10 issue series. In the hands of a less competent writer, Omega would be a confusing, pretentious mess. However, Lethem (and his collaborator on the book, Karl Rusnak) is far from incompetent, and handles the convoluted story with charm and grace. The author smartly takes cues from the book’s title, and leaves much of the plot in Omega the Unknown unexplained. This can sometimes be infuriating to read, but it’s never actually confusing. Unlike many mysterious sci-fi or cape stories, we aren’t being tricked into a poorly planned Swiss cheese of plot holes, as Omega is a story that knows exactly what is happening and why. But rather than explain how everything works to us in boring chunks of text, we are shown what happens, with small hints and visual nods to the reasons for what we see. I imagine that were I to read Steve Gerber’s original, I would discover that many moments in that story are the basis for much of the action in the new Omega, but nonetheless I am certain the surreal vision in this story would remain wildly original. For the first time in ages, I have a superhero comic that doesn’t make me roll my eyes or fall asleep, but allows me to revel in the magic and fantastical nature of the genre.

But as fantastical as it may be, the world presented in Omega is one firmly rooted in reality. Even as spandex-wearing vigilantes are fighting evil alien robots, the real focus of the book is the people, people who live in a real world and sometimes see the worst of it. The adolescent characters in this comic aren’t a whitewashed group of nice-guys a la Archie, and the New York we see is no shining metropolis like the ones seen in most contemporary cape comics. Alexander and his friends are some of the most realistic young adults to appear in a superhero story since Peter Parker first learned of power and responsibility. They’re a diverse, slightly awkward group of individuals who don’t try to be fit any heroic Objectivist expectations, and sometimes make mistakes. A particularly memorable example of the comic’s realism is a subplot involving a chubby kid with glasses named Hugh who is routinely roughed up by a group of bullies led by a punk calling himself Roofie. One day, Alex tries to intervene, and Roofie gives Hugh a gun, leading to a moment neither can ever turn back from. Later, in a moment of unreality called the Nowh-area®, Alex sees Hugh again, and they have a conversation that moved this reviewer to tears. What makes this part of the story such an emotional read is that Hugh and Roofie are not shown as good or evil. Sure, what Roofie did was awful, but there are strong implications that he was a victim of peer pressure. Hugh easily could have been portrayed like many other geeks in popular culture, saints who are simply bullied because they are smart and unique, but he isn’t. He has a tragic flaw. He made the unfortunate choice to accept his unpleasant surroundings, and suffered as a result. It’s a human tragedy within a super-powered adventure that the main characters, and the people reading about them, can learn from.

The story and characters of Omega the Unknown may have stuck with me long after reading, but in any story told in comics, words only tell half the story. The comic also serves as a great showcase for Farel Dalrymple’s incredible artwork. While far from a household name, Dalrymple has proven his awesome talent for visual storytelling in this work. Using a sketchy, almost grimy, but overall mundane style, he captures the feeling of being in New York for the first time, that combination of bewilderment and exhaustion as you try to understand how people accept the place as normal, placing the colorfully dressed supermen on the same level as loudmouthed Brooklynites. Dalrymple is fully aware of how strange and surreal the story being told is, but chooses to ignore it in the telling, letting the reader discover exactly how messed up and bizarre everything really is on his or her own, thus allowing us to savour the oddness longer. Dalrymple also shows great skill at conveying the characters emotion on the page. In one scene, Omega is trapped alone in a giant maze. As he wanders through the maze, the panels get smaller and smaller, while the gutter space (gutters = the empty space between one panel and the next) increases. Through this panelling technique, we are forced to empathize with Omega’s growing desperation and isolation. Dalrymple’s name may never become a household one, but work like this makes his name one that will be fondly remembered by those who can appreciate the craft of cartooning.

Also notable is the work of colorist Paul Hornschemeier. I don’t normally notice color in comics all that much, but Omega has a great color scheme. See, many colorists today rely heavily on computer effects, adding energy blasts, heavy shading, and dark, almost monochrome colors not suggested by the original artwork. This style of coloring renders an artist’s unique traits unrecognizable and standard, turns dynamic sequences into muddy, static ones, and encourages new artists to turn in lazier work. Luckily, Paul Hornschemeier is not your average colorist. Using a palette of bright, eye-popping colors, Hornschemeier actually enhances Dalrymple’s artwork, adding a dynamic, exciting element to an otherwise slow-moving story. One could even say that despite the comic’s less traditional style, Omega the Unknown is one of the most traditional-looking cape comics to come out in years. There is little pretension or grayscale here. The comic simply does what it does and hopes you can appreciate it.

As much as I have enjoyed Omega the Unknown, I can understand that it’s not for everyone. While the mainstream loses its subtlety more and more each day, Omega is a story that dares to refrain from hitting readers over the head with a two-ton plot twist, and maybe even let us figure out some of the nuances on our own time. The unfortunate side effect of this is that readers weaned on Dragon Ball and Crossover Events will may find the comic confusing, or worse, pretentious. However, before condemning Omega into the cursed realm of Not My Thing, I would like you to consider this: Is being smart really the same as being pretentious? Does entertainment really need to be disposable? If you answered yes to both these questions, feel free to return to the episode of Glee you paused to read this, because you have every right to stay in your comfort zone. However, there is a whole world of stories that can (to paraphrase a better critic) excite both your mind and imagination, and if you’re looking for a place to start, I cannot begin to recommend Omega the Unknown enough.

October MMF: The Museum of Terror Volumes 1 and 2 - Tomié

Even in an allegedly enlightened and feminist modern world, people hold “beautiful” women as examples of purity, completely untainted by the world, living as nurturing icons of goodness. Be it in American Barbie dolls or Japanese moé pillows, there is still a market for a nonexistent ideal of good in both physical and mental behavior. However, many people agree that the idea of perfection is just that: an idea, and an unattainable one at that. But what if the ideal woman was real? What if there were a woman who naturally possessed both the perfect body and the perfect soul? In his debut work Tomié, manga-ka Junji Ito answers the question as anyone working in the horror genre would: If there was a perfect woman, she’d be pure evil.

It begins as a simple tale of comeuppance theater. Tomié is a very cute sixteen-year-old girl who was killed in mysterious circumstances, her body found cut to pieces. However, a few days after “death”, she’s back at school as if nothing happened. Eventually, we discover the truth behind Tomié’s murder, and she gets her revenge. The end. It’s after this opening story that things get really interesting. See, Tomié isn’t merely attractive. “She” is a supernatural force that drives normal people to obsess over her to the point of insanity. She cannot become ugly, so any time an imperfection (such as a lost limb) appears, her beautiful form regenerates in grotesque detail. She travels around Japan, fickly toying with and ruining the lives of once honest men and women, finding a new way to exploit the most base desires of humanity in every chapter.

Tomié, like all of Ito’s work, showcases storytelling that straddles the line between humor and horror, too bizarre to take completely seriously, yet too nauseatingly human to ignore or make light of. In one story, Tomié herself does not appear, but instead a box full of her silky, still growing hair, which after being found is cultivated and worn by plain school girls who want to look pretty, and then die when the hair shoots out of every pore of their skin. In another, pieces of Tomié’s flesh are dumped at the bottom of a waterfall, growing underwater, as suicides among young men mysteriously increase. Quite obviously, this is the stuff of B-movies. The events that transpire are almost always conceptually implausible, making little to no sense when thought about. And yet, Ito manages to craft the stories with such skill that they make emotional sense, told with such a straight face that one cannot even doubt the author’s sincerity. Unlike artists such as the great Kazuo Umezu (an artist to whom Ito is frequently compared) there is little hyperbole in even the most bizarre stories. Drawn in a moody, realistic style, and paced with slow deliberation, the mood of Tomié is that of building dread. It isn’t quite at the level of madness depicted in the later Uzumaki: Spiral Into Terror, a comic about evil spirals, but it deserves credit for some genuinely rewarding and unlikely chills.

 From reading a description, one may be left with the impression that Tomié is a “femme fatale” or “bad girl” type character, a glamorized (and sexualized) depiction of a beautiful, man-hungry woman who ruins the lives of good men, simply taken to the furthest extreme possible. While this is a valid interpretation, and may even be what the author intended, I would argue that Tomié transcends the concept of femme fatale.  To demonstrate, I would like to compare Tomié to a character from Koshun Takami’s controversial Lord-of-the-Flies-meets-Kill-Bill franchise Battle Royale, Mitsuko Souma. Mitsuko uses her sultry body (as well as her trademark scythe) to win “the game,” only to die near the end. For most of the story, Mitsuko is portrayed as either being sexy, evil, or both, but in a later chapter Takami attempts to humanize her with an almost comedically dark flashback sequence. It does not work. Instead of making us think of Mitsuko as a real human being, the ideal of beauty is actually enforced. The reader is manipulated by the horridness of her past into thinking, “If only Mitsuko had never been tainted by those bad men, she’d still be pure. If only she’d met some good people to restore her faith in beauty and goodness, like me.” Unlike Battle Royale,Tomié never falls into this trap. For better or for worse, the very idea of humanizing Tomié has been thrown out the window, because Tomié is not sympathetic, not human, and certainly not a femme fatale. Instead, she is a force of nature, one that destroys lives by toying with the weak, lustful, obsessive side of human nature. We are meant to sympathize not with her, but the people around her and I think that is for the better.

I realize now that I have given the impression that Tomié somehow transcends the format of short horror stories, growing organically from simple vignettes of comeuppance theater into something far more meaningful. It doesn’t. While much of Ito’s manga does edge into unknown territory (or should I say, terror-tory), Tomié stays within the boundaries of genre work. Tomié  is simply a series of self-contained stories with the same central character and themes. Many of the stories are excellent, some are just OK. Having seen what Ito has done in later work such as Uzumaki, this is almost disappointing. There is so much complexity to Tomié and the world she inhabits that is never quite delved into for the sake of format. We never, for example, see Tomié at a moment of true weakness, or in fact, at any level of nuance beyond pure evil. Yet even though Tomié could have been much more, what there is remains impressive. Taking a fascinating premise, Ito crafts stories that follow a deceptively simple template that once repeated enough becomes secondary to the author’s vast imagination. Sometimes we laugh, like in Moromi, the chapter where ground up bits of Tomié are stirred into saké by madmen, sometimes we cry, like in the surprisingly poignant Little Finger; but with the stories in Tomié, and all of Ito’s comics, we also scream. 

Review: Peepo Choo

*WARNING! Coarse language in this review! Probably some spoilers too!*

The Insult Humor genre is a staple of cartoons. Gross, immature, irreverent parodies of real life date back at least to Mad Magazine, a periodical I and at least one of my readers have fond memories of reading every month, and the tradition can be found continuing in web comics such as Penny Arcade and animated series like South Park. One of the most unarguably impressive modern additions to this classic staple of the medium of caricature is Peepo Choo, american artist Felipe Smith's bitter three-volume "fuck you" to Japan, America, and everything in between.

The manga is basically about people who put trust in the idea that a better place for them conveniently exists on the other side of the world, somewhere over the rainbow if you will, and what happens when they go there (hint: it ain't pretty). Milton is a self-proclaimed otaku living in Chicago, who watches an anime called Peepo Choo from a magical fairy land called Japan where everyone cosplays and buys Peepo merch in Akihabara. Well, lucky for Milton, the owner of his local comic shop (one of those shitty ones with "Game" in the store name) has business with Yakuza, so he's just won a free trip to JAPAN!!! Accompanied by Jody, an employee at said comic store who hates comics and went along in hopes of losing his virginity (he also has the single best line in the first volume), Milton makes a harsh discovery upon landing in Tokyo - Japan is no different from America! No-one cosplaying in the streets! Drunken salarymen! The Peepo-Speak he learned in preparation for the trip wasn't normal Japanese! And after meeting a real otaku, Miki, and her jaded English-speaking friend Reiko, Milton learned the cruelest truth of all: Peepo Choo was never popular in Japan! Running parallel to Milton's horrible wake up call a young Yakuza calling himself Rockstar raises hell on the streets in imitation of an obscure american TV show.
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Smith uses his story as a launch pad for violent criticisms of everything popular culture, generally expressed in the most insulting way possible. Gone is the lie of the relatable, friendly misfits we've come to know and love though franchises as varied as Glee or Densha Otoko. Gone is the "cool" Japan fed to us by jerks like Stu "DJ Milky" Levy and Danny Choo. Redeeming qualities are all but absent in this world of cruel fact. Want to live the dream in Akihabara and meet all the cool cosplayers? Too bad, because Japan and America are exactly the same when it comes to treatment of geeks! Want to make friends by learning another language? Too bad, because all the american boys think you're a slut! Wanna get the sexy asian girl and be rid of your virginity at last? Too bad, because no-one takes gaijin seriously in Japan! The brilliance of Peepo Choo is that rather than settle for mere righteous anger (not that there isn't plenty), Felipe Smith actually turns the bitter material into successful comedy, frequently pointing out the absurdity of our own delusions. A good example of this humor is in the second volume, where we are shown how Peepo Choo became popular in america. At Wizard World Chicago, the bombastic CEO of a manga/anime company called Japa-Tastic (basically Tokyopop) convinces a crowd of confused teenagers to buy lots of copies of the manga through waxing poetic on Japan, a country where a nerd’s “wildest dreams were a reality.” He then goes offstage, takes off his gaudy costume and reveals himself as the greedy corporate super villain he really is, gloating about how easy it is to fool otaku. MUAHAHAHA! Get it? It’s funny because it’s true. These nods to brutal reality within a thoroughly unreal story is one of the many things make Choo so great.

One of the other things that makes Peepo Choo work is the art. While Smith’s style is incredibly crude, it effectively manages the difficult feat of telling us everything we need to know about the story in the most humorously exaggerated manner possible, with liberal application of dynamic panel structures, bold speed lines, and even some mild surrealism. In the world of Peepo Choo, no-one is ever happy, sad, or mad; they are ecstatic, depressed, or enraged. But it’s not just posturing - Smith uses his over-the-top style to add to a well-thought out story with interesting characters, rather than distracting from their absence.

However, sometimes Peepo Choo goes too far. As great a comic as it is, it’s riddled with problems like a yakuza riddled with bullets. It’s not that I mind shock value, mind you. I did not mind that Rockstar was killing people, or that Jody’s immature fantasies were almost always illustrated. Stuff like that did bring both shock and value to the story in interesting ways, not to mention surrealism. But I draw the line at pointless shock value. This side of the story manifests itself in the yakuza subplot, especially in the first volume. The most blatant example is Gill, the man-mountain of an assassin who also happens to own the comic store in Chicago. Though carrying a lot of the plot twists, it seems Smith never found the time to give Gill a real personality, aside from his habit of getting aroused by graphic violence. There’s some attempt to fix this in the third and final volume, but by then, it’s too late. The damage has already been done, and roughly a third of the whole series has been dedicated to useless “look at what I can show” posturing.


Despite the manga’s angry exterior, Peepo Choo is definitely a story told with the characters in mind. Though the first two volumes do a very good job hiding it, the third volume brings a lot of character-focused, maybe even coming-of-age storytelling that I could connect with and relate to from my own experiences. I have never been to Japan, but learned the easy way about the reality of what japanese comics really are from the convenience of knowing smart people and reading smart writing on my favorite topic. However, Milton never got that. He got a crappy comics store where he met people who knew about as much accurate information about Japan as a nine year old knows about sex, and was dumped into a world he thought he understood but in fact ever knew a thing about. But in the end, he does make friends, and despite his disillusionment still manages to work up the courage to cosplay and be an otaku, not because of any country, but because of who he is and what he wants to do.
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Review: Mobile Police Patlabor OVA

I love big robots. Giant Robot Anime is simply the best anime for watching with friends, with its high production standards, techno-drool mecha, and plain cool robot fights. But the my favourite part of the giant robot genre will always be the characters. Many can be bland blank-slate heroguys,  but for every Amuro Ray there is a Char the Red Comet. The reasons behind piloting the big robot are interesting, with range from military obsession (Char, Moblie Suit Gundam) to serious psychological turmoil (Shinji, Neon Genesis Evangelion). In Mobile Police Patlabor, a stellar 7-episode Original Video Anime from Mamoru Oshii (Ghost in the Shell, Urusei Yatsura) and HEADGEAR, piloting robots is just a job, and the people take center stage.

In a near future where big robots called "Labors" are used by the government for public convenience, Labors are sometimes stolen and used for crime. To prevent such crime, a new police force armed with "Patrol" Labors (Pat-labors) is formed. However, within the show the Labors make few appearances; the focus is the new recruits: Noa Izumi, a tomboyish girl (note her character design; while not as convention killing as Motoko in Ghost in the Shell, she looks fairly un-girly) obsessed with Labors to the point that in the opening credits she sings a love song to her "Alphonse", Asuma Shinohara, who joined the group as a confused attempt to rebel against his family's Labor-producing company, the gentle giant Hiromi Yamazaki, the easily angered Isao Ohta, and the badass American chick Kanuka Clancy.
 
The show tends heavily towards humor, an not-quite-sophisticated mix of character comedy, political satire (emphasis on political- this is an Oshii production after all), and madness a la Rumiko Takahashi. And this is not to belittle the big robot action; while big fight scenes are rare, the ones that do appear are capital E epic. The mecha designs by Yutaka Izubuchi are super cool, and their movements are remarkably human. Benefiting from the lack of time constraints and spread-thin budgets of TV anime, Patlabor's animation is first rate, with fluid motion, bold camera angles, and nary a motionless sequence. This adds up to explosive humor and kinetic fight scenes unlike just about anything that predates it.

Despite this, there is a major flaw to Patlabor, though it is not the fault of the show itself. It was amateur hour at Central Park Media when they localized Patlabor, with a flat out ugly cover design, and a monotone train wreck of a dub. Were they even trying? Sources say no. The show is fine subbed though, and the DVD menu looks pretty good for the time it was released.

When Patlabor was originally released in Japan, it was popular enough to spawn two critically acclaimed movies (three, counting a side story movie), a TV series, and a two more OVA's, according to Wikipedia. However, it did not do so well here. It never really had a chance, due to the botched dub and lack of the hyper violence needed to do well here at the time. Despite this, the entire series is available on DVD, found easily online, and often seen at used and rental stores. If you see this OVA, buy it quick. You will not regret it.

Review: Brave Story

Time for a change of pace. Normally, I use this blog as a place to discuss Contemporary Japanese comics and animation. But today I will discuss something totally different. A Contemporary Japanese... BOOK! With words! Perhaps that is not all that different in reality, but in any case, let's begin breaking down Brave Story, an epic 814-page YA novel by Miyuki Miyabe.

The book centers on 5th Grader Wataru Mitani, whose parents are getting a divorce. Upset by this, Wataru wishes to change his fate, and (already 200 pages in) discovers Vision, a land "created by the imaginations of people in the real world", where he becomes a Traveler to reach the appropriately named Tower of Destiny to meet the Wonderful Wizard, er, I mean, Goddess, who will grant him one wish. Along the way, he makes new friends, such as the strong willed lizard man Kee Keema, as well as enemies, such as Mitsuru, who had been friends with our heroguy back in the real world before going to Vision. As Wataru's journey becomes more dire, he is forced to question his own beliefs, and learn to be brave. Will he reach the Tower of destiny? And if he does, what will he ask of the Goddess?

If you (like me) purchase the book because of the unique-looking cover art, just so you know, you have been duped! As you can tell from the above description, Brave Story is not titled Original Story for a reason, with obvious influences from all corners of contemporary culture, particularly ones that the YA demographic apparently like. However, lack of originality regardless, the book is very well written. Miyabe's previous novels are not YA fiction, but mostly crime and mystery novels, including the novel that served as the rough basis for Satoshi Kon's dark thriller Perfect Blue. Possibly because of this fact, the scenes in the real world are crisply realized, giving Wataru's story much more emotional resonance. In fact, a fresh take on an oft-told story is not at all unwelcome! It's a fun read for an audience that doesn't necessarily always want originality, with good emotional resonance for those who do.

However, there is one problem with the book which, unlike the whole originality thing, cannot be overlooked. You see, this book is too darn long. And when I say long, I don't refer to the page length, which at 814 pages, makes the book a genuine brick(apparently it was originally published in Japan as two volumes). By long, I mean the book MEANDERS. One could easily cut at least 100 pages from the book taking out unnecessary or even redundant descriptions and details, such as a scene early in the book, in which two whole pages are dedicated to a history of Wataru's allowance(?), and several completely pointless wrinkles to the plot, such as Vision appearing different for everyone, despite that never mattering. While I am sympathetic to the fact that the book, like everything else Kadokawa Shoten publishes, was first serialized, that is no excuse for all this excess content.

And yet, despite these flaws, Brave Story is a spectacularly involving read. I finished all 814 of those pages in just two weeks, due to the fact that I was glued to the pages at all times. It made walking around a little awkward. I would suggest it to just about anyone I know, provided they had the patience. Also, it has a moral! I like stories with morals...

Obligatory American Comic Review: Axe Cop

Have any of you ever met a six year old? They are awesome. They view the world completely objectively, and are prone to saying brilliant things that us non-six year olds have been formally trained not to say, or perhaps even think of.  At least, that's the impression I get of Maichai Nicholle, the young author of the brilliant web comic, Axe Cop.

At this point, I would normally give you an idea of the plot, but I don't really need a whole paragraph for that. Cop finds axe on ground. Calls himself Axe Cop. Chaos ensues. This ingeniously simple story comes courtesy of 6-year old (former 5-year old, now 7) Malicahai Nicholle, and his cool cartoonist (and 30-year old) brother Ethan "Eef" Nicholle, two geniuses who I have great respect for. But what is it that makes Axe Cop such a rewarding story?

One of the things that makes Axe Cop a rewarding read (outside of the latent internet-meme worthy awesomeness) is the perfect realization of the childhood psyche. Thanks to the purity of Malichai's writing and the care put into the artwork by Eef, Axe Cop is a treasure trove of childhood. Costumed heroes, silly bad guys, shocking (when taken seriously) violence, and poop jokes litter a four-color world of storybook unreality. This is a universe where anything can happen, but nothing is ever really a surprise, because we used to all know this story.

But here's the funny thing. Axe Cop is actually well written. While the early stories are definitely a bit crude, Malichai actually seems to be a good writer, turning all kinds of cool into a cohesive story. Many people have expressed concern over the fact that, well, kids grow up. However, I wouldn't mind seeing Grown Up Malichai's Axe Cop, as I long ago stopped simply viewing Axe Cop as a comic that's cool because a kid wrote it. I view it as watching the evolution of a new writer basically from the ground up, an experience that few may ever have again.

Review: Shoulder-a-Coffin Kuro Vols. 1 & 2

 Recently, I posted an article on this blog defending moe. Allow me to explain my position better. I do not defend series like Dragon Crisis. I do not defend pictures of pint-sized cat girls lifting their skirts. I defend stuff like this.

 Shoulder-a-Coffin Kuro tells the surprisingly bittersweet story of Kuro, a somewhat tomboyish traveller under some kind of a curse carrying a coffin though storybook countries and villages toward an unknown destination. She is accompanied by Sen, a talking bat who may also be a victim of the curse, and Nijuku (29) and Sanju (30), two innocent young girls with odd abilities invented (they are apparently genetic mutations) by a professor who was brutally killed. Many stories center around Kuro and friends going to a village and maybe helping someone out, but many stories are just... traveling.

 First of all, this is probably one of the best, most unique 4-koma (4-panel comics) that I've encountered in a long time. Most mangaka use the 4-koma system for gag manga with a punch line every fourth panel, not to mention the fact that these days, nearly every 4-koma involves the life of charming high school girls in a school club, a la Azumanga Daioh. Not Kiyuduki, however, who uses the format to create an ongoing story that reveals its fairy-tale plotline at a refreshingly patient pace. And it's not as if the format is superfluous- the 4-koma strips give the comic a rhythm like a renaissance folk song. Also, the kinetic artwork manages to look fantastic even when crammed into those tiny boxes that are 4-koma panels.

 Now let's look at Nijuku and Sanju. At first glance they appear to be a somewhat disturbing example of moe perversion (Those cat ears! The tails!), the type of thing that DOES count as child pornography and should be eliminated. And yet, this is not the case. While Nikuju and Sanju start as fairly blank-slate characters, they grow to have, yes, ACTUAL personalities! The protective feelings they are intended to create is of the parental sort, if that makes any sense, a type of desire I believe to be perfectly fine and, most importantly, platonic. And they fit into the story just fine, which may have been my largest concern.

 Sadly, like so many good titles written for a specific demographic, Shoulder-a-Coffin Kuro does not sell very well, and has been put on hiatus by Yen Press. I'm not sure weather or not this means it is actually cancelled (american manga publishers have been known to be fairly dubious on this topic), but since they probably still have the license, I urge every reader to go seek out this title, because, as it says in this recent article by retailer and blogger Christopher Butcher, the only way we can logically expect any publisher to publish any manga title is if people buy it. Anyway, even if publication never resumes for Kuro, it's a worthwhile look for anyone who enjoys good stories and good storytellers.

Review: Neon Genesis Evangelion-Part 6-End of Evangeliion

 I have waited a long time to write this review. To be honest, I've been putting it off, despite the fact that End of Evangelion is probably my favorite anime ever. You see, to me Evangelion represents a very delicate time in my life, a year where I didn't really know who I was anymore. I tried lying to myself, but then I found Evangelion and began to face my reality.



 End of Evangelion opens with what is likely one of the most controversial anime scenes of all time. What happens in this scene could be chalked up to an attempt at being edgy, however this is not the case at all. This scene not only represents a powerful metaphor for the idolization of anime heroines by needy fans, but is an important character moment for Shinji. This is the moment he finally goes completely insular, a last moment of regrettable decisions before deciding to stop making decisions. This is when the world begins to end.



At this point, the plot will stop making sense to the casual viewer. This would normally strike me as bad storytelling, but there is a plot there, and the events of the film work perfectly well on a primal level. Shinji stopped caring, and the world ended. Everyone died. This mood of absolute terror is amplified by the top-notch designs, namely of the eerily pleased appearance of the mass produced Evas, creepy religious iconography, and disturbingly human movements of the Eva Units, provided by Production IG, who would later collaborate with GAINAX again for FLCL.



The second half of the movie abandons the complex plot completely for a long, surreal conversation between Shinji and Rei (or maybe it was Yui) about the fate of humanity. Unlike the confusing slog that was the TV ending, these moments are incredibly involving, perhaps because there is a story to connect this conversation to. Certain things that the characters say are very enlightening, not only to the story, but to reality in general, as if the camera suddenly shifted from the movie to the theater (which, in fact, actually happens at one point).



In the final shots of the movie, two survivors remain standing by a red sea. One briefly tries to kill the other, but cannot bring himself to. The other says, "I feel terrible." However, is this ending truly tragic? Both characters were assumed to be either dead or traumatized beyond comprehension, but here they are,  two fully functional human beings, accepting reality and possibly moving on. That is the message of Evangelion.

Review: Two By Furuya

Genkaku Picasso Volume 2

"Hold still and let me draw you!"

Everything I said about the last volume continues to be true in this one. The series could be a lot better, but Usamaru Furuya's natural knack for bizarre imagery (remember, this guy got his start in Garo) continues to shine through in fascinating ways.

The definite highlight from an artistic perspective is probably "Vision 5: Ota's Girlfriend." Suigura's childhood friend Ota has been bragging about his girlfriend, and Suigura is getting jealous. As Hikari's arm is starting to rot again, so once again dives into the psychological world of his sketch book to help out Suigura...'s childhood friend Ota?!? Ota's mental turmoil is a wonder to look at, literally a twisting Rubik's Cube of photos, texts, and blog posts. The other stories in the volume (there are only three, but they're long ones) are less psychedelic, but are well done, gripping entertainment, and cover such topical issues as self-hating nerds, gender identity, and disillusionment.

The artwork is impressive; for example, the otherwise paint-by-numbers "Vision 7: Hishida's Holy War" was given that extra emotional oomph by the expressive foreshadowing and a quirky pop-up book sequence. Also, in "Vision 6: Kotone and Arengurion" and "Vision 8: Borise World and Moe", Furuya shows an amazing skill at aping the artwork of others to create an interesting affect: he can even ape the apers (AKA doujinshi artists)!

However, the big draw for shilling out another ten bucks would likely be Hikari himself and his gloriously wimpish personality. He may be helping others, but all he REALLY wants to do is to sit back, chew his nails, and draw some good-looking muscles. On top of that, Furuya has smartly made it plausible that none of Hikari's adventures happened, and that he's just rationalizing his anti-social behavior that now rampant through his life, which is not an easy task to pull off. I suspect that in the final chapter, the one in need of help will be him.

Short Cuts Volume 1

a highlight.


 For the most part, fanservice-heavy comedy does not work. The underlying problem is that nearly every single one of these seems to think that nudity itself is bloody hilarious, while really, it is completely unrealistic to think shoving boobies in a flat protagonist's face will make anyone really laugh. Short Cuts solves this problem by using the rampant sexuality as an excuse to be absolutely demented.

Reminiscent of modern American cartoons like Family Guy and South Park in tone, Short Cuts is a series of brief gags (or "cuts", as the comic calls them) with minimal continuity, and a focus on superficial "ko-gal" teenage girls, the men who long for them, and the ruin of society in general.

Short Cuts is not great; the globs of FS and occasional cultural in-joke make things very hit-and-miss. But, when things get funny, they get hilarious. This is definitely aided by the rapid-fire nature of the "cuts", which keep the jokes from getting stale. Also, Furuya's formidable skill at graphic narrative shines through at many moments, particularly in one brilliant gag about stalkers. On the other hand, I found the interview with the author more interesting than the book itself. I hope I can find the second and final volume of this out of print series soon, because I can't wait for more.

Review FOLLOW UP: Oreimo and Fractale revisited

Okay, I am starting to get sick of writing about anime. This is not because I am sick of anime itself, but I am primarily a manga fan, so it can grow tiresome chatting about a secondary interest, even it is one I could rant about for hours. So, aside from my ongoing review/analysis of Evangelion, this will be my penultimate post on anime for a while, with the final being some thoughts on the winter streaming season later this month.
Oreimo

She sure looks happy about something.

Once upon a time there was a little otaku. This otaku was also a blogger, and was really bored. He was on vacation in New Jersey, of all places, where the gods of destiny had dumped a ton of snow outside, leaving the poor little otaku with nothing to do but fart around Anime News Network, looking for something, no, anything to do. Then he noticed something in the videos section with the little "new" logo on it. And that was how he found Oreimo.

He loved it. It was funny, the characters were cool, and it reminded him of The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, a really fun show. Minutes after finishing the twelfth and final (for now) episode, the little otaku rushed to his blog to write a detailed and glowing review of whatever that show's name was again, never looking back in the month's that followed except for one update saying that he may have exaggerated a bit. Then, bored again, the little otaku decided to watch the show again. Oops.

Not only was Oreimo, a horrible, disgusting show, it was also stupid. The main character, after all, is a little sister who plays sister complex ero-games (self-explanatory, I think). EEEEEWWWWWWWWWW! However, it was entertaining, so the little otaku placed it under his mental file of brain-melters. Here is another example of a brain-melter:

The little otaku thinks you get the idea.

Fractale Episodes 2 and 3

Flying machines? In anime? That is soooooo new!


After a brief fansubber scare, Fractale is back, and better than ever. In my previous review, I was mainly positive, but noted the criminal robbery of Castle in the Sky and other classic Miyazaki films. This has yet to change, but it should be noted that it now reminds me of another show, and in this case, it's a good sign.

The show in question would be Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water, a show that Hideaki "Evangelion" Anno made before he got depressed and stuff. At the beginning Nadia is a straight forward and fun tribute to Miyazaki (There are aero-planes! AERO-PLANES.), who Anno once worked with, but as the show progresses, Anno begins to flex his creative muscles and show of his unique directorial skills. More on this show another time.

Anyway, the same happens with Fractale. Not only does the show begin to display director Yamakan's unique love of eye-catching bizarre antics, but something deeper, within the Fractale system, a communist technology religion, to put it bluntly. It seems that ripping of The Master made Yamakan feel quite self-important, and through that began to tell a really cool story, and then killed everyone. I mean, the mysterious girl may be the villain! This has a lot of potential, and I can't wait to see where it goes.

Review: Neon Genesis Evangelion-part 5 and a half: TV ending and Death & ReBirth

This is a bit of an odd post this time 'round, as I actually wasn't planning on talking about this part of the series. However, I am an hour and a half away from seeing You May (Not) Advance at my local cinema, so I figured to get in the mood, I'd rant about Eva on my blog. So, here we are.

First, some history. Both the TV ending and D&R (not to mention the director's cut episodes) are basically a product of Studio GAINAX running out of money halfway through production, making it necessary to replace the epic conclusion Anno had in mind with a new, funky ending made entirely out of reused footage. However, as you can imagine with the most popular anime of all time, the fans REALLY wanted to see the real ending, and as we all know, anime fans always get what they want. And so, the outlandish masterpiece End of Evangelion was produced, made with such care and patience that they needed to produce a clip show recap, Death & ReBirth, to keep the fickle public interested. Anyway, they exist, so therefore I better say some stuff about them.

TV ENDING (Episodes 25-26)
Quickly cut animation sprinkled with philosophy and random words flashing past the screen. If you love Evangelion as much as I do, you are likely to be drooling at the moment. I know I am. Joking aside, this is really great. Though it's annoying how this whole thing lacks any context with the rest of the series (Uh, is instrumentality happening? Did it already happen? Why were the big robots important again?), it can very much be said that this is what made this show unique, if not what made it great. Lots of vibrant imagery and characterization is at play here. However, I take issue with one thing.
It is the happy ending. Part of the reason this is here in the first place is the TV ending's fundamentally different portrayal of The Instrumentality Project of unifying all the souls (Movie = be alone, TV = be with others) but that does not change the fact that a happy end contradicts the very nature of Evangelion's narrative. The whole moral of this story was that life can be harrowing, life can be terrible, but life is still necessary. Seeing everyone smiling while stating "CONGRATULATIONS!" just cheapens everything. And why is the last shot of Penpen? I mean, we all love Penpen, but he does not deserve those final moments! I feel terrible... :)

Death & ReBirth
OK this is a clip show recap, and some work-in-progress footage of End of Evangelion. That's is, guys. The editing's good, I guess. Cover art's nice. Death and rebirth is a major theme in Evangelion, so that's there. But really, since I am not a Japanese otaku in 1996 waiting patiently for EoE, there is nothing here. Don't fall for Manga Entertainment's cruel trap of advertising this as part one of two in the conclusion of Evangelion. Ignore this.

Review: Fractale Episode 1

    
Thank god for streaming. Without it, I would not get the immense joy of watching Fractale, a new show directed by Yutaka "Yamakan" Yamamoto (The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya) and from a concept by famous otaku  scholar Hiroki Azuma, ONE HOUR after it aired in Japan. I've became curious about the show after reading this article in witch the director spoke out against the moe symptom that has infected all otaku products lately. It shocked me that the director of Haruhi would be the one to be saying these things about moe, seeing as Haruhi was basically the moe show that worked. Needless to say, I was intrigued by the idea of a show that "will target non-anime fans and one-time fans who have shifted away from the genre," and I was not disappointed. This is good, nostalgic fun with a nice hint of the demented bent I can expect from a Yamakan production.


 This show does absolutely nothing new. Not an ounce of originality. It is a rehash of many things we have seen before. But these things are things that have not been seen for a very long time, so I welcome this show like a friend who has been on vacation for months. This show contains no moe, no pushy-in-more-ways-than-one breast shots, no "sexy" helium voices. Here's what the show does contain: A youthful, wide eyed hero. A mysterious heroine. A unique setting. A leisurely storytelling pace. Incompetent, bumbling, but still plenty dangerous initial villains. Miyazaki-inspired (okay, rip-off) aircrafts. And a hint of that WTF that only Japan is capable of crafting. Now if this is not enough to make you immensely curious, then there is nothing I can do to make you watch this show. However, unless your heart broke the moment I said no moe, then you are probably immensely curious about this show. However, this show needs more than that. Only moe gets produced with a list of guidelines and nothing more. And sadly, this show may be like that. Because what I just described basically IS the plot at this point. And really, why watch this when I could just watch Castle in the Sky, which this show dubiously resembles. There are two reasons.

First of all, the fanservice in the first episode was handled carefully and tastefully. At this point, fanservice (which, if you don't know what this means by now, I will just say that it fairly obvious when most of the fans to service are male) is a necessary evil of anime (and manga), and it was refreshing to see one that left things to the imagination, something that I think/hope otaku still have, and did not shove panties at the screen every ten seconds. After all, when you are creating something that fans can probably already find mountains of doujin based on the minute it is publicly available, is stuff like fanservice that needed?

Secondly, the weird sci fi setting. The world of Fractale at first looks like the bajillionth calm countryside to  grace an anime like this, but in reality, it is much more sinister. Other than the protagonist and a handful of other charaters, everyone is hooked to the Fractale system, the "twenty second century god", which makes life more convenient, and allows everyday life to be handled by bizarre avatars called "Doppels". It's like if The Matrix was also based on Castle in the Sky as well as Ghost in the Shell.

Anyway, the first episode was actually kinda light, so I can't say the quality will hold up, but as you can see by my feverish praise, I'm happy with what I see. And I haven't even mentioned the rad opener.


UPDATE: The Fractale simulcast has been shockingly put on hold by Funimation after a bunch of illegal torrents and streams of the first episode were put out by some @$$#*!#$.

Fractale is currently streaming via Funimation

Review: Neon Genesis Evangelion-part 5-directors' cut episodes 21 thru 24

(note: Though it is unlikely to specifically matter within this review, I am specifically discussing the director's cut versions of these episodes because they feature much more content than the cheaply-made TV broadcast version. I suggest you skip them in your viewing as well.)

In the last set of episodes, we watched as Shinji's world fell apart, and now the world crumbles around him. Shinji's closest friends lose themselves in a sea of depression, and those who dare to be stable are met with death.

Episode 21"The Birth of Nerv/He Was Aware That He Was Still A Child" is an extensive flashback of Gendo's backstory, and features lots of cryptic info on the MYSTERY of the series. This episode is actually my favorite of the entire TV series, giving Gendo and many other characters the element of pathos that defines their roles for the final act of the story. We see Gendo in his prime, friendly and happily married, and watch as he falls apart, morphing into the monster of a man who calmly traumatizes his own son. We soon realize the Gendo is what Shinji might become. At the end of the episode, someone dies and someone else falls apart, and the very idea of Eva being a normal robot show falls apart. Now the series progresses to show Rei die bravely in combat, replaced by an emotionless doll calling herself "the third one", Ristuko revealed to be psychotic, and Asuka literally get mentally defiled. Truly great merchandise fodder.

At this point, Shinji is, of course a wreck. It is only natural he find someone to turn to. By the way, that sound you hear is a million fangirls squealing. In Episode 24 "The Final Messenger/The Beginning and the End, or "Knockin' on Heaven's Door"", Shinji meets Kaworu, the new pilot of unit 3. Kaworu tries reaching out to Shinji, and pretty soon the two boys are very much in love. But this is not BL. This is so BL it is not even funny. Kaworu is the one bright light left in Shinji's crumbling world, and their love for each other is perhaps the one optimistic thing left in Eva at this point. However, Kaworu is actually the last angel (not exactly true, but I won't bore you with details), and Shinji is sent to stop him. One would think that would be traumatizing enough, but in this show, NOTHING is traumatizing enough! Standing in front of the giant Adam, now revealed not to be Adam, but another giant beast (remember that embryo thing on Gendo's hand? THAT was Adam), Kaworu is left with a choice: Destroy the world, or kill himself. He decides the latter option, and in fact, has Shinji kill him. For five minutes there is no animation but a single shot of the Eva clutching Kaworu's body. Then a brief shot of Kaworu's silhouetted head falling to the ground. And with that, the story enters its final phase.

Review: Summer Wars

 This is a review of the new anime film Summer Wars, but before I get to the real "review" part of things, I must describe my experience of the act of watching the film itself. In a push to get the movie an Oscar nomination, Funimation has decided to release the film in a larger number of theaters than normal for one week and two week screenings. I went to a screening at the IFC Center in New York, and it was amazing. It was in a larger theater than I'd expected, and though it was not exactly a full house, it was quite full. This impressed me, as the last non-Hayao Miyazaki anime at a movie theater I'd been to was an art-house screening of Tales from Earthsea that two other people went to. Very impressive. The review will now begin.

There are two people currently considered the Masters of Anime, Hayao Miyazaki and Satoshi Kon. Satoshi Kon recently passed away while working on his planned final movie "Dream Machine", and while Miyazaki is alive and working, he is technically retired and his post-Mononoke and work is a bit epilouge-y. Obviously, the new generation of anime fandom needs a new genius. And we have one in director Mamoru Hosoda, whose new film Summer Wars is a masterpiece.

There are many ways I could describe Summer Wars. I think Wikipedia describes it best as a "Japanese animated science fiction romance film". There are elements of bang-zoom action and blush-swoon slice of life, combined to create an engaging, somewhat surreal movie that Scott Pilgrim wishes it was. The movie tells two stories: one, a charming hand animated coming-of-age story about Kenji, and his visit to his friend Natsuki's family, the other, an computer generated action-packed adventure with a nice moral about the danger of over reliance on the internet, jammed with the amazing visuals I have come to expect from a Studio Madhouse production. The two stories often intersect in fascinating (and necessary) ways, creating an adventure full of heart that everyone can get something out of, be you a fan of the restrained thoughtfulness of a Miyazaki film, an admirer of the wild visual flair and psychology of Kon, or a family looking for something fun to watch.


Aside from the film itself, I was really impressed by the dub. Funimation has once again done a sublime job with the dub, with strong performances and natural dialogue. I am not even curious to see this in original Japanese.


If this film does get the Oscar nomination as I hope, there is a good chance it will get a wider theatrical release. The film certainly deserves it, for being both a crowd-pleaser and intellectually enjoyable. Good luck, Summer Wars, I hope you get that nomination.

Review: Oreimo

 It is a well known fact that two of the most popular otaku genres (discounting old classics like the giant robot) are Moe (pronounced mo-eh), and self-parody. Self-parody is popular for obvious reasons, namely the fact that we otaku love talking about ourselves. Moe (AKA cute young girls doing stuff that is cute) is a bit more complex, and I do not feel like delving into that can of worms at the moment. Nice examples of self-parody series include Genshiken and Welcome to the NHK. Examples of Moe that did not make me retch are Azumanga Daioh! and The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya. The anime I am about to tell you about today is an amalgamation of the two, a "Genshiken Daioh!", a "Welcome to the Melancholy of Haruhi". It is titled "Ore no Imooto ga Konna ni Kawaii Wake ga Nai", or in English, "My Little Sister can't be this Cute". Let's call it "Oreimo" for short.
  One day, average Japanese teenager Kyousuke Kousaka discovers an ero-game lying around the house. Later that day, his younger sister (do you hear that sound? It is fan boys drooling) Kirino kicks him out of bed, asking for advice. She lead him to her bedroom, and reveals to him her...rather large collection of ero-games (the joke is they're all little-sister games), expensive merchandise, and magical girl anime. Kyousuke never knew it, but Kirino is a major otaku! And so, despite his lack of interest in the otaku community, Kyousuke takes it upon himself to help his sister figure out how to live with her niche hobby.
 I found Oreimo to be very similar in mood to Haruhi, which, like Oreimo, is based on a light novel. The world is bright and cheery, laughter is infectious, the cute girls are cute, and Kyou-kun is the exact same character, not that there's any problem with that. At the same time, the show gives a true to life depiction of the otaku lifestyle (with the exception of some oddities) up there with Genshiken. Surprisingly, the two styles do not clash, nor do they neuter each other. The only place where it felt even slightly mismatched was in Kirino's obsession with gal-games,and that was taken seriously enough within the story (not to say it isn't played for laughs sometimes) to not affect my enjoyment of the series. Perhaps it even raises a good (if unintentional) point about otaku culture's often confused sense of sexuality. Why ARE little sisters so popular? Is there some deeper meaning to the perseverance of gender swap and harem shows? Who cares?
 Anyway, I found Oreimo to be a fun, smart, rollicking good time, though the people reading my blog (i.e. my family) may disagree. I'd make a closing statment, but I have a feeling it would change, just like the end credits did every episode. OK, done!
Oreimo is currently streaming HERE on Anime News Network

Update: I was right! My opinion about the show DID change. Not Genshiken. Not Hrauhi. This is nothing but crass entertainment. But you know what? I was entertained, so I'm okay. But you should avoid this. It is the Two and a Half Men of anime

Review: Neon Genesis Evangelion-Part 4-episodes 16 thru 20

It happened a year ago, but it haunts me still. The day when I completely lost it over something impossibly minor, for just a moment. Things like this seem to happen in sets, so it happened again, until I could not look at myself the same way.  Eventually it was forgotten, but I didn't forget. Then I found Evangelion.
In the beginning, it was like a refuge. The pilots (even Rei) were at times almost disturbingly real; they were like my friends in real life. I watched as they got braver and braver, coming out of their shells, just as I wanted to. My synch rate with Eva grew, I guess. Maybe to 400% (heh heh). To me, their adventures were as real as reality. And then it was just that. Real.

In episode 16, Shinji, like I, lost control, just for a moment. Before this, he was happy. Proud of his Synch Rate. Behaving brashly in battle. Then he lost control. Nerv watches in horror as Shinji/Eva tears the angel to shreds, as the world of Evangelion darkens for the first for the first time. Then begins the horror.

The fourth child appears on the scene, and his Eva goes out of control, possessed by an Angel. Shinji refuses to fight the eva/angel due to the child his age within, and allows the angel to beat him near death. Gendo does not like this, however, and deploys the dummy plug. Shinji sits there inside the giant that he was moments ago controlling as it beats a friend to death.This is not a scene showing how Gendo is jerk. This is a powerful metaphor of the fear and self-torture that I went through myself. Shinji does not learn who the fourth child is until after the fight, and the fourth child does not die. While some may consider this a cop-out, I personally found this aspect of the story a very brave decision on Anno and Studio GAINAX's part, despite some clunkiness in the story this leads to. It's easy to get shock value from an OMG I KILLED MY FRIEND plot, and indeed, the manga version does just that to a resounding effect, but is inaccurate to the reality of human emotion. The Absolute Terror, as it were, of moments like these, is the moment directly afterwards, not only the what have I done, but the realization of the impact the event has. No-one will forget. You can never run away. But of course you try.

This of course leads to episode 19, "Introjection/A Man's Battle", beginning directly after the previous episode's events, with Shinji attempting to destroy Nerv. This fails. Shinji is dishonorably discharged from Nerv personnel, a fate that Shinji happily accepts. However, the new angel shows up and of course Nerv fails to defeat it, and interestingly, the Eva does not work without Shinji. After a brief encounter with Kaji (who, I may add, is the one sane character on the show), Shinji bravely returns to combat. Then it happens again. I won't say how or why, but what happens next completely destroys Shinji. He goes completely insular, quite literally so in episode 20, losing himself and others in a wave of paranoia and fear. I know that wave. Perhaps it was not that extreme, but I felt as if what was happening to Shinji was what happened to me. This recognition of depression helped me get over my own brief depression, and I'm sure it helped Director Hideaki Anno get over the depression that he, quite famously, went though over the course of the series. This is the beginning of the grandest moment of the series, and not even the hero's lowest point. Am I the only one who gets this?

Review: Neon Genesis Evangelion-Part 3-episodes 12 thru 15

So, the mold has been set. Shinji and crew will ride those amazing Evas into grand adventures. A bold new era has begun...nope. Beginning now is the grim second half of the saga. Actually, that's not totally true, as nothing all that tragic has happened yet. But one can sense a major shift in the story. Episode 12 "The Value of Miracles/ She said, "Don't make others suffer for your personal hatred."" reveals Misato's dark childhood for the first time, completely changing our perception of the character. The battle with the eighth angel, Sandalphon, could have been incredibly silly, but ends up being surprisingly tense. These children could die, it's no joke. The Eva units are not involved in the angel attack in Episode 13, and 14 and 15 do not feature the angels at all. Episode 14, "Seele, Throne of Souls/Weaving a Story" serves as an end of part one, with clip show in the first half detailing what has happened so far, the first surreal scene of the series, and a couple of teaser shots of what's to come. And yet, it somehow doesn't feel truly final until episode 15, "Lies and Silence/Those women longed for the touch of others' lips, and thus invited their kisses." (I cannot stand these bulky english titles). The episode focuses on Misato and Kaji's relationship, though Shinji and Asuka share a scene as well, in what may be the final funny scene of NGE (I won't spoil it, it's priceless). At the end of the episode, Kaji is revealed to be a spy, and Misato holds a gun to his head, warning him of the danger he is in. Kaji opens a door to a room that Misato has never seen. Within the dark room is a giant white figure tied to a giant red cross and impaled with a giant spear. Kaji says the creaure is Adam. The first angel. The cause of the Second Impact. At this moment, chapter one is over. No more fun and games. No more monster-of-the-week. No more Penpen. Only instrumentality.

Review: Genkaku Picasso Volume 1 (and Death Note)

Let me make it no secret: I hate Death Note. You can tell me otherwise, but it will not change the fact that the series is absolutely horrible.

Wait, let me revise that.
Let me make it no secret: I love Death Note. You can tell me otherwise, but it will not change the fact that the series is absolutely wonderful.
OK, it's complicated, that there Death Note. I don't particularly mind this, as it's neat to have something this  challenging in Shonen Jump. But wouldn't it be nice for a unique and challenging SJ title to come about where I was 100% certain what my feelings about the series are? Thank you, Usamaru Furuya, for Genkaku Picasso and for answering my fervent prayers.
Genkaku Picasso follows the adventures of Hikari "Picasso" Hamura, an introverted teenage art-prodigy, has been given the odd task of helping people with their troubles with the help of his dead best friend Chiaki (who is now a teeny tiny angel), and his trusty sketchbook and 2B pencil. This is not exactly original (nor is Naruto- take note, manga newbies), but do not expect cliche. For unlike Ohba/Obata, new artists who jumped (no pun intended) straight into determined avoidance of SJ tropes, Furuya is a seasoned professional who got his start in the classic alternative magazine Garo, and uses familiar settings to create an imaginative, intelligent, and enjoyable read. The psychological issues dealt with may be stock, and the story familiar, but the execution most certainly isn't. Populated with surreal imagery that the protagonist needs to interact with just to understand, the artwork emboldens the story in ways that Takeshi Obata could only dream of. One character, Akane (and her sister Kana), parallels THAT character from Death Note, yet rather than being a misogynist cliche, we get a living, breathing, character. The one big problem is a repetitive and annoying running joke where Picasso always gets things wrong, reaching it's peak in "Vision 3: Manba and Kotone", where we go from "That perv!" to "What a nice guy, let's help him!" with little thought, but in the end that's not such a big deal, as the following chapter, "Kana's Maria", very much makes up for the previous' woes.
 Some readers (not that I have any) may be wondering why I have spent so much of this review discussing Death Note, but those who have read Death Note will certainly understand why. Both series have similar ambitions, but Furuya-sensei obviously thinks of his readers in higher regards. Whether challenging us or pandering to us, Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata treat the readers like sheep, objects that don't know anything about quality but know how to dole out money, Usamamaru Furuya treats his readers with respect and balances that fine line between disposable and original that even the best of artists struggle to achieve.  Thank you, Usamaru Furuya, for Genkaku Picasso and for helping me finally confirm: I hate Death Note. Or, well, Death Note after the third volume... oh, now I'm back to square one.

Review: Neon Genesis Evangelion-Part 2-episodes 7 thru 11

This batch of episodes remind me of old Marvel comics. We see these teenagers have exciting sci-fi adventures, but in the end (OMG) they are normal teenagers with normal teenage problems and authentic situations as well as super-powered fun.

Episode Seven, A Human Work, serves as a bit of an epilogue to the first 6 episodes, which as I mentioned before, form a complete story. Shinji and Misato (who gets a much needed character spotlight in this episode) are faced with the challenge to stop the malfunctioning Jet Alone, a nuclear-powered robot created by a rival organization, from going critical and blowing up and stuff. Everything about Jet Alone is cliched; even it's creator looks bland. This plays interestingly in contrast with the organic look of the Evas and Yoshiyuki Sadamoto's unique and iconic character designs. This episode also gives Misato a lot to do, and nice to finally see what really makes this character (who has so far been mostly a fanservice-bot) tick.

Starting with the next episode, the second phase of the series begins with the introduction of the last two main characters, Misato's ex-lover Kaji, and Second Child Asuka Langly Soryu, a red-headed German transfer student (she's in Shinji's class) whose self assured (and somewhat bratty) behavior is the complete opposite of Rei. It is at this point that Shinji really begins to come out of his shell. He and Asuka learn to work together and form an (uneasy) friendship, something that the Shinji we met in episode 1 could never do. A bit of an unofficial love triangle (or even square, if you count the obvious subtext with Misato) between Shinji, Rei, and Asuka begins to form. With Rei, Shinji has a kindred spirit, someone who understands his tortured past. But with Asuka, Shinji can forget that tortured past and enjoy life. There are also some big hints of the later story, that viewers may want to write down, because they will not be repeated.

I noted in my last review my fierce dislike of the English Dub. I would like to make a revision. I have a fierce dislike of the first six episodes of the English Dub. The VA's love of the series really shines through in these episodes, and Spike Spencer's performance as Shinji is downright impressive. However, I'll take Megumi Ogata over Spike Spencer any day, and really feel that the original Japanese actors' performances are so iconic that the dub is unnecessary.

Lastly I would like to mention that Asuka made "Baka" (Idiot) the most commonly used phase in my household for a good long time. Hasshin!