Vexille: Film Review

Title: Vexille (Bekushiru: 2077 Nihon Sakoku)
Director: Fumihiko Sori
Writer: Fumihiko Sori
Year: 2007

Being an ardent fan of tales where the future is portrayed as a nightmarish place, I was almost instantly enamoured of Vexille. By my reckoning, the more dystopian stories that exist, the less likely they are to come about. It is in times of hardship that incredibly cheerful productions are written and produced, as is shown by comedy being so successful in the recession. Already, I digress.

Vexille is set in the year 2077, in a world where robotics technology has began advancing at such a rate that the UN have banned further research on the subject, which in turn leads Japan to pursue a policy of complete isolation. This isolation includes the construction of an enormous series of signal towers around Japan, which release a scrambling signal and effectively remove Japan from sight. By 2077 Japan have been socially removed from world affairs for 10 years, and yet the Japanese Daiwa Corporation have absolute monopoly over the world’s robotics market, supplying the American technology police agency, SWORD, with all of their equipment. Suspicions about Japanese development of robotics, which, if it were taking place, would be in contravention of international law, are raised as SWORD are tipped off to a clandestine meeting between a number of politicians and a Daiwa representative.

Now, when it is discovered that the Japanese have indeed been developing new technology, the characters seem genuinely surprised, as though an entire country would have hidden itself away from the world in order to develop prettier flowers to give to orphans. Oh no, no, no, no.

The story follows the titular Vexille, a ludicrously buoyant-haired female member of SWORD, who is on a mission to infiltrate Japan in order to send out a scrambler signal to scramble the original scrambler signal so that the signal that scrambles satellites is then scrambled so that the previously scrambled satellites can see Japan clearly.

The film is a CG wonderpiece, that is occasionally effervescent in its glimmering shimmering hoo-hah, or at least it would be if it wasn’t set largely in a gritty hellscape populated by technologically-tortured refugees. What is particularly surprising about this situation is the flawless hair of every single character. I have trouble taming my mop on a good day, and yet it seems as though every Satoshi, Daisuke and Takashi are able to maintain their pristine visual kei headdresses even when eking out a living in an impoverished shanty town. It seems petty to niggle over unrealistically preened hairstyles when a far more significant suspension of disbelief is required to deal with the vast amount of koolwank that the action scenes are teeming with.

As I have just coined the term, I will attempt to define ‘koolwank’. This is where a scene included ludicrously superlative actions whose aim is to make the viewer go: “OMG kool!” and then have a wank. Examples of this from Vexille include a scene where the wing of a plane explodes through a wall of a mansion, forcing Vexille (clad in a futuristic battle-suit reminiscent of Master Chief) to dive to the floor in a blind panic, where a completely un-armoured Daiwa employee coolly ducks his head, reappears after the wing has passed, grabs hold of a handle on the wing as he does so and makes good his escape. Koolwank!

Despite all the koolwank, Vexille does occasionally fall back on the age-old Gundam technique of having skitterish robots that are far too prone to exploding after being grazed by a few bullets. Very unsatisfying.

As well as the pseudo-Master Chiefian suits, Vexille seems to have drawn heavily on other sci-fi sources for design inspiration. A number of unmanned robots roll around looking like the bastard son of Star Wars’ destroyer droids and the clean white turrets of Portal, the drop ships' mechanism is reminiscent of Starship Troopers, and archetypal sand buggy design leaves me unable to point out exactly what it is derivative of. Similarly, giant worm creatures, named Jags, as fresh and unique as they appeared to me, certainly seem to be a novel take on the sand worms of Dune fame rather than a completely original creation. Some sound-bytes feel as though they are cheeky nods to other sources, with one particular scene having a sound so similar to the ‘checkpoint cleared' ambient synth notification of the Gears of War franchise that it cannot possibly be coincidence. On occasion, these similarities make Vexille feel like a ‘Sci-Fi Greatest Hits’ medley, although I would argue that the film has just enough individuality to shine through on its own merits.

The setting and the premise of the film is admirably bleak and hopeless, but they strive all the way through to ruin this by offering hope, which is anathema to my misanthropic tastes. There is almost enough gruelling suffering throughout to satisfy my need for bleakness, but the powerfully corny addendum that closes the film leaves me with the taste of sick in my throat and the whiff of cheddar in my nostrils, but if survivors are what you like in a film then its likely you wont share my mild eye-rolling disgruntlement.

Despite all my sneering, my only real gripe with this film are the occasions where characters decide to mourn the suffering/loss of compatriots in the only way they know, which is to fall to their knees and scream the name of the suffering character-in-question and hold the scream out as long as they possibly can. Rather than the heart-rending tragedy this is meant to convey, instead it merely fills me with embarrassment for the actor stood in a studio repeatedly screaming. There are better ways to convey grief, i.e. quietly.

Apart from this aural terrorising, the acting and the ambient noise is solid, on top of which the soundtrack is utterly fantastic. The backing tracks are an eclectic mix of (according to Wikipedia) “electronic, techno, urumee melam and trance”, with featured artists including Asian Dub Foundation, Basement Jaxx, Boom Boom Satellites, Carl Craig, Dead Can Dance, DJ Shadow M.I.A, Mink and The Prodigy, with the music being ‘handled’ by Paul Oakenfold, whether that refers to editing, mixing or arranging it is uncertain. Though I am not a fan of these genres of music, the tracks are incredibly apt, and usually have a gritty or rocky backbone usually associated with more hardcore varieties of the genres.

All in all Vexille was an enjoyable piece, with certain characters being far more empathetic than is the norm for a feature length production, especially in an action-oriented film. Moreover it is a fascinating hypothetical thought-experiment in the tradition of the best of classic sci-fi works, although if that sounds too high brow or artsy then take solace in the fact that there are plenty of scenes where you will go “OMG kool!” And then you can go and have a wank.

Bakemonogatari: Anime Review

Title: Bakemonogatari
Author: Nishio Ishin
Studio: Shaft
Released: July 3, 2009
Genre: Supernatural, Romance, Comedy




















The Plot

Koyomi Araragi is a third year high school student who, after being made a vampire for a short time, is finally recovering. Unfortunately for him, he is soon thrust back into the unnatural when he catches fellow classmate and loner Hitage Senjogahara after she falls down the stairs and is amazed to find she weighs next to nothing...literally. After being threatened Araragi soon volunteers to take her to the same person who helped him overcome his vampirism, the homeless middle aged man Meme Oshino.

What's Good

The series' primary focus is on conversations between different characters. It is delightful to see some of these interplays and I find it enjoyable to see the different characters interact with Araragi and each other. The attitude of main character, Araragi, is also entertaining as he can go from calm and laid back to distressed and comically panicked in a split second. The series' new spin on the traditional supernatural monsters and main character saving the day formula is certainly interesting, especially since his first port of call after encountering people afflicted by the supernatural is to approach the expert, Meme.
The artwork is frankly gorgeous and I find the colouring of the art especially appealing, but that is an aspect you need to be shown rather than told.
The music for the opening and ending is also fantastic and are some of my favourites of this season.

What's bad

With the series focusing primarily on conversation, its habit of flashing up various words every now and again and the Author's well-known love for wordplay it is understandable that the inability to understand some parts of conversation and text can be frustrating, but this is a rather a gripe at my own inability to understand the language, although I do wonder how many Japanese people themselves are able to follow some of the wordplay. As well as being a conversation-heavy show the show can be rather slow-paced and this can become tiresome, especially if your interests are more action-oriented.

Conclusion

Bakemonogatari is a good series if you can look past the insanity of various flashing cards with words like 'red' and 'black' on them (a habit that Shaft is notorious for and it is certainly used just as often in their previous production “Zetsubou Sensei”) and losing out on some of the word play and satire. Even missing that the series is still fun to watch, though the slow pace can be off-putting and despite watching several episodes I'm still working my way slowly through the series.

Paprika: Film Review

Title: Paprika

Directed by: Satoshi Kon

Written by: Yasutaka Tsutsui

Year: 2006

It may be difficult for me to give an account of the work of Satoshi Kon without lapsing into hyperbole and hero-worship, but it will be good exercise for my objective muscles so lets have a go.

The basic outline of Paprika may seem deceptively simple; a medical institute have developed a machine, the DC mini, which allows dreams to be seen on a monitor and recorded, and also enables people to interface with the dream, literally placing themselves into the patient’s dreamscape. The inventor of the device, Kohsaku Tokita, imagines the wonders of being able to share in a friend’s dream, and also understands the medical and therapeutic breakthroughs the new technology could enable. Anyone familiar with Kon’s often dark plots will be able to pre-empt that all will not go as planned.

At the very beginning of the film several copies of the DC mini have gone missing, and very soon all psychedelia breaks loose. Madness is infecting the members of the institute where the DC mini was created, as the missing technology is being used to broadcast the dream of a mentally unstable patient into the minds of others, which is visualised using the, now iconic, parade; a noisy and frenetic convoy of insanity thinly disguised as jubilation.

The titular Paprika, then, is the dream-exploring alter ego of Atsuko Chiba, a psychologist working in the aforementioned institute, who attempts to provide therapy more effectively by experiencing the patient’s dreams alongside them. Needless to say, when the chaotic dream begins to leak out, it is Paprika who is best placed to combat the situation.

The film was marketed in the Western world with the tagline: “This is your brain on anime”, a parody of the 1987/88 anti-drugs campaign, likely due to the, for some, confusing nature of the film (I refrain from the phrase head-fuck), and the heavy use of frenetic psychedelic imagery. This is perhaps a strange choice, as the ‘drugs’ of the original campaign are depicted as damaging, thus you would expect the ‘anime’, placed in the same category, to also be damaging, although to be fair they were likely playing on the retro feel of the reference, hoping to gain publicity from that alone. This criticism of the tagline may seem slightly unnecessary, and of little consequence to the actual film, which is a fair point, however if I am to portray a positive and a negative side to the film, that is how far I have to grope for aspects I am dissatisfied with.

The film plays heavily on the line between dreams and the real world, for want of better terminology, constantly blurring the distinction between the two, and falling back on the old pull back and reveal technique. Overuse of the pull back and reveal would usually suggest a lack of innovation, and at times Paprika skates frighteningly close to being a parody of the “and then I woke up” story that you are forbidden to write as a child. However, Paprika manages to utilise this technique sparingly, and to great effect, perhaps aided by the slick visuals, with the change from dream to reality playing out in one scene as a layer of scenery is sucked into a vacuum, revealing the real world behind.

The film is wonderfully crafted with almost infinite examples of a deft artistic touch and, strangely for a writer and director that has such a long history of serious and dark subject matter, exquisite comedic timing. It is perhaps unsurprising that Paprika has some genuinely humorous moments, although actually laughing aloud may simply be evidence of my increasingly twisted humour, as a film which is so heavily invested in psychosis has its fair share of genuinely insane dialogue. In the examples where manic senseless dialogue occurs, the film wavers between the instant humour that can be derived from absolutely nonsense utterances, and the inevitable horror to follow, as these verbal explosions are precursors to complete mental breakdown. The example I have chosen to illustrate this is from the very first instance where it occurs, where a Doctor involved with the DC mini’s use exclaims:

“This whole festival was put together by thirty third-graders with lots of chutzpah and panda!”

before proceeding to jump of out of the nth floor window.

The characters are all fantastically designed, where the somewhat surprising difference of style between certain characters should jar, but in fact it stands up well, and effectively emphasizes the difference between them. It is likely that this occurs due to the film relying heavily on a suspension of disbelief, where if you are willing to accept that a dream can be entered and manipulated through the use of technology, accepting that a certain character is ludicrously overweight is less of an obstacle. But oh! How overweight. It wouldn’t be presumptuous to suggest that Mr Kon was really trying to make a point when designing Tokita, a man not only obscenely obese, but also strangely out of proportion with the rest of the characters, in the same way as toys often are (Spiderman and Mr Sinister were never meant to battle, and were a constant source of annoyance to me as a child).

The foul design of Tokita, whose bloated neck floats out further than his jaw, is counterbalanced by the slick power-dressing of Atsuko, and further by the casual indie-chic of Paprika. It is, however, in the backgrounds where the meticulous detail can be discovered. In particular, the parade scene is so detailed and busy that there a million and one pop culture references that may be being made, where brief bursts of recognition (there’s the Statue of Liberty!) are counterbalanced by the interminable frenzied march. There can be no doubt that these references are being made however, as Paprika briefly appears as Son Goku astride a cloud, from whichever incarnation of Journey to the West you would recognise that character from, and later appearing as Tinkerbell, although it is just as likely she is merely a archetypal fairy-character. More direct references to Kon’s other works are made, for the sort of fanboys who would enjoy that sort of thing (i.e. ME), where a cinema complex at the end features posters of Millenium Actress, Perfect Blue and Tokyo Godfathers. Similarly I had to wonder whether Paprika skipping ephemerally through the cityscape over the opening credits was an homage to the sort of skipping done in the climactic scenes of Perfect Blue, where if it isn’t it hints to a skipping-based obsession held by Satoshi Kon.

Alongside the psychedelic imagery that the film is most-likely known for, there are examples, with one butterfly scene in particular in mind, of deeply disturbing shudder-inducing visceral horror. The film really should feel busier than it does, as a piece including horror, psycho-thriller, psychedelia and occasional comedy shouldn’t be able to fuse comfortably, but Paprika seems to have achieved this fusion.

I was able to follow the story fairly comfortably on this viewing, though I have seen the film before. As this was a second (or perhaps third) viewing, I decided to view the film with the English dub, for as any pretentious anime purist/elitist knows, first viewings are in Japanese with subtitles if this option is available. Now I have no abiding memory of the Japanese voice acting, which would suggest that it was good, and by viewing the cast list, Hayashibara Megumi in the lead role, I can’t imagine that it was anything less than a stellar performance (this is criticism at its cutting edge). The English dub, however, is another matter completely.

It would seem unfair and reductive to criticise the voice acting by declaring that Paprika’s voice was annoying, but it was. Looking back on my notes I have actually written that her voice “makes me angry”. Apologies to Cindy Robinson, who will never work again now that she has suffered the death knoll of Animated Opinions' criticism. On the other hand, she also voiced Atsuko, and the voice she assumed for this role caused no irritation. It is simply possible that the ultra-cutesy style with which Paprika speaks works comfortably in Japanese, where there is a heavily trodden tradition of the cute, but English-language archetypal cutesy voiced characters merely cause irritation, and seem false and vacuous. On a, very tenuously, related note, one American-accented extra pronounces paella “pie-ay-ah”, which is a new one on me, and simply will not do. Unless of course my understood pronunciation of “pie-ell-ah” is incorrect, in which case: sorry America.

My final gripe, then, is the occasional example of blatantly expository dialogue. It would be interesting to see whether this is present in the original Japanese, but having too much information explicitly stated somewhat dulls the film, and patronises the audience, especially when the audience is as clever as I am. One example has Atsuko suggest that an elderly injured Doctor stay in hospital, as the meeting to cancel the project involving the DC mini needs to involve every member to be passed, with the Doctor himself then stating something along the lines of: “If I stay here, the meeting can’t go ahead!” which I greeted with a slow shake of my head and mild chagrin.

It is necessary to have it known that I have perhaps overcompensated with the negatives on this film, as I was afeard that I would drown the production under the flood of my enjoyment. The film is a thought-provoking, gripping and dark story, animated and depicted ingeniously, and backed with the experimental electronica of Hirasawa Susumu. Paprika is a continuation of the collaboration between Kon and Hirasawa that has been so successful in the past, and there are a number of standout tracks in the Paprika soundtrack, in particular ‘The Girl in Byakkoya’ and ‘Parade’, though to be fair the entire film is wonderfully scored.

Boiled down, what can be expected of Paprika is what can be expected from any other Satoshi Kon piece, enjoyment for your ears, popping of your eyes and an initial boggling of your mind, followed by its expansion.

I''s: Manga Review

Title: I''s
Author: Masazaku Katsura
Genre: Romance, Drama
Volumes: 15
Released: 1997 – 1999 (Western release March '05)



Seto Ichitaka is your average 16-year-old high-school student. As you might have guessed, just like in any other romance Manga, he is in love with the beautiful Yoshizuki Iori and is too shy to express his feelings when he's around her. In fact, when he is around her his attitude changes completely, and he comes across as cold and uncaring towards her. As you can guess, this hardly helps him spark up the most basic of interactions, let alone a relationship as girlfriend and boyfriend.
I''s follows Ichitaka's struggle to get together with Iori somehow, regardless of all the obstacles blocking his progress (including a childhood friend who's just returned from America), and his confessions never really seem to go as planned.

Okay so you have all seen the age-old method of getting a donkey to move by dangling a carrot in front of it with a stick, or using a similar method to get a hamster to run in a wheel. It's in constant use in many cartoons and I had no problem laughing at the situation when I was twelve. Hah! Stupid donkey, silly little hamster.
Yeah well right now I feel like an ass and my wheel is turning faster than the “bangin' alloys” on some boy racer's shitty little yellow Saxo at two in the morning.

Seriously, this series is chock full of situations that will pull you back, forth, left, right and straight into that lamp post you didn't see because you were too busy reading it. Yes, yes it's got most of the clichés you would expect to find in a romance Manga: the childhood friend, the lecherous classmate, an innocent and perfectly kind love interest, and a pretty decent but annoyingly shy main character who would get drunk after Rum Truffle (and then proceed to make an idiot out of himself in front of the girl he loves). Karaoke, hot springs and class trips also make an entrance in this series so don't be surprised when you see the same situation pop up here as you did in the other tens of romance Manga you might have read.
Don't expect the characters themselves to be different from the norm, either. They're your standard romance characters, with their standard features, personalities and reactions, although the lecherous classmate, Teratani Yasumasa, can say some enlightening things every now and again.
To be honest, there's a lot to I''s that would leave it with no individuality if that was all it had, but for all the cliché scenes like hot springs and class trips that creep in it presents new and fantastically different situations within these scenes that makes the cliché itself look more tried-and-tested than overused, and while the characters fulfil your usual run-of-the-mill romance/drama Manga roles, watching them adapt to these new situations is just as fun as it all being completely original, and there's less danger of screwing up something that's common as muck than trying something completely new.

Now where drama/romance is concerned, in my personal experience the most important thing the writer needs to develop in the reader is hope. If the reader doesn't care about the outcome of the romance then what's the point of reading? Hoping the character doesn't screw up on his first date, hoping she can accept his quirks. Hoping he isn't a complete fuckwit who speaks before he thinks. All of this rides on hope and without it the relationship is dull and uninteresting. There are, of course, points where a lack of hope can be made up using curiosity; while the reader may not care about him getting with one character over another, he may still be curious as to finding out the end result. Trying to invoke curiosity in a romance Manga is hard, though, as many series suffer due to the reader immediately being able to tell that the main character will indeed end up with his main love interest regardless of the badly done “Oh gosh, she fell on him and they accidentally kissed and she walked in. O...M...G!” scenarios that are launched at you from some horrible cannon made of mediocrity.
This series inspires both hope and curiosity, which to be honest is a first for me where romance Manga is concerned, as it's always either been one or the other, and having both in its arsenal makes this series more than worthy of attention than most, if not all other series of the same genre. This series has become one of my favourite where romance Manga is concerned, and believe me when I say I've read my fair share of those.

Mirai Nikki: Manga Review

Title: Mirai Nikki
Author: Sakae Esuno
Volumes: 8 Volumes (ongoing)
Released: January 26, 2006




















The Plot

Amano Yukiteru is an antisocial boy whose only two interests seem to be writing in his diary on his cell phone and visiting his imaginary friend Deus Ex Machina, the lord of time and space. One day Yukiteru goes home and visits his imaginary friend only to be told that his cell phone has been gifted with the ability to tell the future. Yukiteru soon learns to enjoy his new toy and everything is going smoothly until the diary's latest entry foretells his own death.

After narrowly dodging his own death Yukiteru is soon stunned to find out that there are other people with future telling cellphone diaries and he has unwittingly become a player in the Battle Royale to decide who is going to be Deus' sucessor.

What's Good

For starters the characters in Mirai Nikki are nothing if not entertaining and watching how different characters take to their new powers is certainly something interesting to see. The way the different diaries work is a nice touch, especially with some of the more unusual ones such as the audio diary for the blind player and the 'escape' diary which allows its owner to find any possible way out of a situation. The story moves at a nice pace without dragged its feet much, and the build-up towards parts of the series is as intense as you would expect from a thriller. The characters' back stories are also exciting, especially those that are even now shrouded in mystery.

What's bad

Some of the scenes are a bit unrealistic; such as feats of strength and accuracy that aren't exactly believable at times. Some parts are a bit idealistic in the way that things seem to go smoothly at just the right moment, though this can also be reversed in respect of that things also go phenomenally bad at just the wrong moment, a minor flaw that has been pointed out is that the characters are able to foretell up to 90 days into the future and yet most characters don't seem to bother doing much more than checking their diary right after or just before a momentous event, though it has also been pointed out that the future changes so often that it becomes pointless to bother. This brings up the flaw of how quickly things can change in the Manga, which could be seen as confusing sometimes.

Conclusion

While it has its good points and bad points I feel that Mirai Nikki is definitely a must see . While it may not be for everyone I have thoroughly enjoyed the plot (thus far) and the characters, and while some of it may be unbelievable and convenient in places I personally loved every second of it. After all, even if it is sometimes unbelievable it doesn't suffer from it. In fact in places the unbelievable feats may leave you cheering for more. If you're looking for a good psychological thriller then look no further, if not then I definitely recommend you give it a try regardless. Who knows, you just might like it.

Fine, Totally Fine: Film Review

Title: Fine, Totally Fine (Zenzen Daijobu)

Director: Yosuke Fujita

Year: 2008

Screenplay: Yosuke Fujita

It is time for another venture into the world of live action Japanese cinema.

I wasn’t really sure what to expect when I decided to watch Fine, Totally Fine, I was more interested in just having something to review, although I seem to have stumbled upon something quite marvellous.

The story follows three characters who are suffering from varying degrees and varieties of haplessness. Teuro Tohyama is an almost-thirty horror-fanatic who works away his days on various manual labour jobs and covering in his ennui-suffering father’s second-hand bookshop, dreaming of the day when his vast research into scare-mongering can be put to use in order to revolutionise the ‘Haunted House’ industry. His long suffering colleague-in-horror Hisanobu Komori is nowhere near as out-and-out awkward as Teuro, but suffers heavily from being “the nice guy”. Despite being considered easily the nicest person in the hospital where he works as a clerk, he often is too easy on his employees, where he is required to be more of an iron fist authority figure. In this way he comes into contact with Akari Kinoshita, who turns up for her interview to work in the hospital with torn clothes, covered in mud and with a bloodied nose, due to being assaulted by tourists for dropping their camera whilst attempting to take their photo. It might seem slightly reductive to declare “and hilarity ensues”, but this is certainly the case.

The film is a strange piece that is difficult to categorise satisfactorily, which may frustrate you if categorisation is your thing. It is undoubtedly described elsewhere as ‘zany’ or ‘kooky’, but having a visceral dislike of such vulgar words, I will refrain. The film is, at heart, a comedy, although its softly mellow tone and measured pace locates it far from the forcibly false laugh-a-minute grotesques that usually pass for a comedy film. Having said this, the film manages unusual changes of tone and pace, which wouldn’t usually sit well together, yet Fine, Totally Fine manages to combine eclectic techniques without feeling disjointed or cluttered.

Certain scenes play out at delightfully tedium-goading length, with no cheesy reprieve to distract from the understated and drawn-out deadpan. These scenes are all the funnier for it, with one such example having Teuro state blankly in disbelief as his father is on television playing a song on a ukulele declaring his love of rice. At other times the film dabbles masterfully with surrealism, having a huge bubblegum ball noiselessly flatten an obnoxious child, in what I can only assume is a knowing homage to The Prisoner. Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of the film is that it is able to seamlessly incorporate ludicrously silly yelps and yells into the film without detracting from the low key nature of the rest of the storytelling. Also included is some amazingly acted cringe-inducing gracelessness, the physical equivalent of The Office or Curb Your Enthusiasm. One such scene has Akari wrestling cack-handedly with a cardboard box, in an attempt to tape it shut.

Though there are some examples of scenes drawn out to a trying degree (which may not be everyone’s cup of tea, though they certainly are mine), the vast majority of the scenes do not outlive their welcome, with strange events often cutting to a new scene with fantastic comedy timing. The leisurely tempo of the film is helped along by the ponderous pace of the backing track. The key track is a soft and whimsical example of chilled out picking on the classical guitar, and the soundtrack also features what may very well be a pastiche to the hugely famous theme for the Gallery.

The minimalistic tone and slow pace of the film doesn’t restrict the acting to strictly po faced seriousness, and there is certainly a rich seam of purposefully dopey acting in places. I was able to pick up a number of dodgy puns, even with my own spurious understanding of Japanese, my particular favourite involved the term “warui” (can be pronounced wah-ree), which translated directly to “bad” but can be used to apologise, in the phrase “warui Antoinette”. That said I am known for having something of a penchant for hideous puns.

There is also a plethora of completely strange lines, such as during the recording of an awful home movie (within the actual film) where a woman declares, to camera: “I once ate a cat, I will always bear that sin”. Although some glib pseudo-words-of-wisdom also appear, such as when an old friend is beseeching Teuro’s father to be more like his son, declaring: “Life’s more fun when you’re an idiot”.

Certain characterisations are taken to a glorious breaking point, as in attempting to portray a man as incredibly rich, a short sequence shows a pristinely groomed snowflake-white cat with pink bows on her head tentatively nibbling on a steak.

What I am perhaps failing to convey is quite how funny the film is. I was fully expecting to dislike the film, in fact I chose it with the hope of providing a review which wasn’t rampant hyperbole and prove that I am capable of disliking films. What Fine, Totally Fine has proven is that just like books, films should not be judged by their covers. I am something of a comedy elitist, and it is rare for a film to poke me in my funny bone quite as solidly as this one has. I found myself genuinely and regularly guffawing inelegantly at the screen, incredulous at the seemingly effortless way in which the film was able to snake-charm laughs from next to nothing.

Other sources have criticised Fine, Totally Fine for being anticlimactic, but readers familiar with my preference of conclusion will know that a generic Hollywood culmination is not to be appreciated. It is also possible that some would declare that the film is, in places, pretentious, though this is also nothing to be concerned about, as usually ‘pretentious’ is used incorrectly in order to slam any creative endeavour that veers from the norm. Which is an incredibly pretentious thing to say.

Fine, Totally Fine is a genuinely funny and heartening journey, following a series of skewed and awkward, yet also legitimately human, characters through their everyday attempts to function in the world around them. To conclude, it is excellent and it is bloody funny.

Double Arts: Manga Review

Title: Double Arts
Author: KOMI Naoshi
Volumes: 3 Volumes (Discontinued)
Released: Mar 24, 2008

The Plot

The world has been ravaged by the mysterious disease 'Troy', the only people resistant to it are the 'Sisters' who are able to absorb the toxins caused by the disease at the cost of their lifespan.

The story begins with one of these Sisters, Elraine, who on leaving her latest patient soon collapses, suffering the final stages of the disease. Before she hits the ground, a mysterious boy catches her and her symptoms cease, however if the boy stops touching her she immediately relapses. Just who is this boy? Elraine is elated to discover she has found what the 'Sisters' have been searching for: a person immune to Troy.

Elraine is now faced with the responsibility of bringing the mysterious boy, Kiri Luchile, to the Sisters main headquarters and avoid the order of assassins targeting the Sisters, while making sure to hold Kiri's hand at all times to keep her death at bay.

What's Good

The idea of the two main characters having to do everything (including fighting), while maintaining contact with each other is an interesting and amusing concept, something I thoroughly enjoyed exploring with the series. The series also has a nice balance of action, drama and romance. I also feel it is necessary to compliment how well-handled the ending of the series was considering its discontinuation and the pressure to wrap everything up in the last few chapters. Despite this a somewhat conclusive and touching ending was produced.

What's bad

The biggest problem with this series is the amount of plot and foreshadowing that is lurking around due to the cancellation of the series. While it was wrapped up nicely for its premature ending, there is so much that is left hanging and it's disappointing to be left in the lurch like that. The series' main male lead, Kiri, is also accused by some of being an ever so slight 'Mary Sue' (A Mary Sue is a character who has too many positive characteristics, and too few genuine flaws to be believable or interesting) due to his ridiculous abilities, though this is balanced out a little by some character flaws.

Conclusion

This series has some very good concepts and an interesting plot despite its downsides, but as shown by it being cancelled there is just something about the series that levels it out, making a sort of indifferent attitude towards it compared to other shonen Manga. While it is always going to be a personal favourite of mine I do find myself struggling to find either good or bad things to say about it, and perhaps this is the problem: while it shows promise and isn't a bad series overall, there just seems to be something missing to give it that extra push it needs to attract readers. Despite this I would still recommend reading it, because while it's never going to be the next big thing, there isn't actually anything drastically bad about it.

Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind: Film Review

Title: Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (Kaze no Tani no Naushika)
Year: 1984 (English Language Re-Dub 2005)
Directed by: Hayao Miyazaki
Written by: Hayao Miyazaki

Original sci-fi epics are thin on the ground these days, with new takes on old stories littering our screens such as Battlestar Galactica, Flash Gordon, I am Legend and Doctor Who. It is fitting, then, to analyse a genuine oldie, rather than a rehash, and therefore I have opted to revisit a Miyazaki masterpiece, Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind.

When Nausicaä first made its way to English speaking shores, the respectful American market decided to release it exactly as is: knowing that a film is a work of art, and therefore deserves to be released as close to the authors vision as is possible. No, my mistake. Instead the footage was butchered into a new form and released as Warriors of the Wind. In contrast to the current trend of updating oldies, Nausicaä was released properly in 2005, with an English dub that is simply a direct adaptation of the Japanese release. In some ways, this wait may have proven fortuitous, as the calibre of voice actors they were able to bring in was likely higher than it would have been back in the day. I am, however, getting ahead of myself.

The story follows Nausicaä, the young Princess of the Valley of the Wind, a small kingdom near the edges of the gargantuan, oppressive and poisonous Toxic Jungle. Nausicaä is an unusual princess, inasmuch as she is constantly in danger throughout the film, due to her own adventurousness and explorative exploits. The heroine of the film is not a throne-dwelling non-entity, but a fantastical old-school monarch-figure, leading the metaphorical battle from the metaphorical front line.

The Toxic Jungle is the focal point of the film, as the poisonous spores released from the plant-life within are, to humans, fatal, and so human life is coloured by a constant struggle against these deadly flora. Similarly, the Toxic Jungle is home to ‘ohmu’, which are essentially super-sized insects, and anyone who has seen enlarged pictures of creepy-crawlies will know quite how disgusting that is.

Of the three nations in the Nausicaä mythos, only the people of the Valley of the Wind appreciate the need of co-existence with the Toxic Jungle, with all others attempting to discover ways to obliterate it completely.

In all aspects of Nausicaä, the design is detailed and varied, which makes the world feel huge and complete. The jungle scenes are overgrown and otherworldly, which really adds to the ominous nature of any time spent there, as the characters traipse around in strange masks, so as to survive in the inhospitable air. In stark contrast to the threatening jungle, the Valley of the Wind is a peaceful sylvan idyll, looking almost too much like the wet dream of an overexcited member of the Green Party.
Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind exists in an unusual marriage between swords & sorcery and hard sci-fi. The majority of the characters are decked out in something resembling tunics or ponchos, unless of course they are antagonistic, in which they are likely clad in a variety of plate-mail. Weapons range from daggers and swords to rifles that fire flares, also incorporating tanks, flamethrowers and mid-air dogfights, all-in-all it is a quite diverse mix which should be unsettling, but the unique magic of the world ensures that it is all included naturally.

Contrast is a huge part of the film, with even the look of the technologies used by the various nations creating dichotomies between them. The nation of Tolmekia uses obscenely colossal airships, hulking and grey, and whilst landing they gouge huge scars into beautifully green patchwork fields. The Valley of the Wind, conversely, is as lo-fi as it is possible to be whilst still utilising ‘technology’, the blades of their windmills are an organic brown, and even the blades of their swords are a translucent non-metal, which is little surprise really, the environmentally-friendly credentials of the Valley of the Wind are of paramount importance to the story.

The action in the film is tastefully done, with enough down time between bursts of hyperactivity so as not to render actual story meaningless. As I have discovered is usual of Japanese stories, a potent no-holds-barred vein even runs through yarns aimed at children, and so the pre-dominance of blood and death should be taken as read. The main criticism I have of the film is that Nausicaä is almost too brilliant, as she is loved by all, genuinely courageous, adept with nature, technology and at battle she is near-invincible, despite her small frame and her un-utilitarian mini-skirt. Honourable mention must go to her boots, which are outstanding. Having the young princess decimate a group of armour-clad adults using only a primitive croquet mallet is slightly jarring, no matter how distraught she may be. Adrenaline can certainly lend people unusual strength, battle prowess is another thing altogether. Fans of the overpowered old man character will quickly warm to Lord Yupa (voiced by Patrick Stewart), who is an inhumanly calm master swordsman.

It is good to see such a copious amount of characters bedecked in voluminous quantities of facial hair, I feel these are usually missing in the slick world of anime and manga character design, where smooth baby-faced androgyny is the norm. Lord Yupa is probably the most amazing exponent of the ludicrous facial hair, with a bushy grey goatee that obscures his mouth, also offset by the youthful brown Mohican he hides underneath his hat.

The film does occasionally hit a blip when it comes to the dialogue. As I mentioned briefly earlier, the cast are filled with a plethora of veritable movie talent, including Patrick Stewart, Shia LeBeouf, Uma Thurman and Luke Skywalker. The voice acting is fantastic, which, in my opinion, is still a slight novelty in English dub, which is blighted by its notoriously dreadful history. There are a number of lines in the script, however, which no actor could improve. There is a repetition of dialogue along the lines of “Look at those red eyes, he’s blind with rage”, playing slightly too heavy-handedly on the idea that the stampeding ‘ohmu’ literally cannot see because they are so furious.

Playing further on the idea of tortured puns, I wrinkled my nose slightly at the line: “Join our enterprise”, which I feel may have been crowbarred into the script due to the presence of Captain Jean-Luc in the cast. It is fully possible that I am simply too attuned to the world of awful nods to the audience to comment credibly. Despite my criticisms, there are some delightful turns of phrase dotted throughout the film, such as the oddly phrased, and for me, hugely amusing insult: “You act like a scared little fox-squirrel”. Slightly more direct, and a phrase I will be using myself, is the outburst: “Silence old hag, we’ll have none of your raving”.

The music, as you would expect of anything Ghibli, is utterly wonderful, and is scored by the magnificent Joe Hisaishi. My two favourite tracks from the film are ‘Stampede of the Ohmu’, which is one of the first numbers in the film, and is best described as portentous terror-cheese-synth. It is brilliantly led into by a sequence of silence, bursting into the actual track as an immense ohmu explodes from the dense jungle. The second track is a chirpy track entitled ‘Mehve (Seagull)’, which I have been unable to detect in the actual film, though it is present on the OST (Blog Trivia: and also on my phone, as my text tone).

The main message of the film seems to be one of the need to co-exist with nature, and to have more respect for the environment, lest we reduce the planet to an uninhabitable mud-rock. I’m sure there are a number of people who would disagree with the pro-Green points the film is attempting to make, though the message is surely more valid today than it was at its first inception. I would certainly hate to live in the world as portrayed in Nausicaä, although I’m sure I would enjoy the flying sequences.

Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind certainly agrees with my firmly held belief that you cannot go wrong with Ghibli. Hayao Miyazaki’s studio is often described as the Japanese Disney, which he apparently is not pleased with, which I don’t blame him for, after all, aside from a number of fantastic classics, Disney has been responsible for a huge catalogue of awfulness. In comparison, (what I’ve seen of*) Ghibli has never been less than masterful, and Nausicaä is an example that has truly stood the test of time.

*Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind
Spirited Away
Only Tomorrow
Grave of the Fireflies
Howl’s Moving Castle
Whisper of the Heart
Princess Mononoke
Tales from Earthsea

Rec: Manga Review

Title: Rec
Author: Hanamizawa Q-Tarou
Volumes: 9
Released: Q4 2002 – Ongoing



Matsumaru Fumihiko is your everyday salary man who dreams of a position in the marketing department of his company. After being stood up by his beautiful co-worker he goes to throw away his cinema tickets when Onda Aka interrupts his tantrum, saying it would be a waste to throw away the tickets and that she would like to watch the film with him. During the film Matsumaru can't help but notice Aka is mouthing along to the film, and is told upon questioning that she is a voice actress, and dreams to one day be the voice over for Audrey Hepburn. At the end of the day, they walk home and go their separate ways.
While getting ready for bed, Matsumaru notices smoke and sirens. Noticing that there is a fire nearby he rushes out to watch, because apparently everyone loves an emergency and watching people die horribly in fires is a great source of entertainment. Lo and behold, Aka is there sitting outside with the few items she was able to save from the inferno that is currently burning in, surprise!, her apartment.
With nowhere to sleep, Matsumaru recommends that she stays at his own apartment, at least until she's sorted everything out. They then proceed to go to his place, get undressed, and have sex. After waking up, Matsumaru realises Aka is missing and finds a note from her saying “I have to go, goodbye.”
After getting to work, it turns out that a proposal Matsumaru made to the company for a commercial (while he was drunk, no less) has been accepted, and he's the one to sort everything out. When introduced to the voice actress chosen for the commercial, he's in for a big surprise (I say surprise...), as Aka is the one who was chosen!
The Manga follows three main points, those being her progression in Voice Acting, his progression in Marketing (I say progression, he just seems to stay in the same place but does lots of things) and the relationship between Matsumaru and Aka.

Yet again I have begun reading a Manga series after watching its animated comrade, in this case, however, I can't say I'd recommend watching or reading one before the other to prevent disappointment or amplify excitement. The Anime consists of nine episodes, each one around ten or twelve minutes long.
Now normally with such a short amount of time to each episode I had expected the series to be a big confusing mish-mash of stuff that would make the series seem rushed and half-arsed, but it turns out that was completely the wrong assumption. Rather than cramming as much as they could into a small container, small, important bits from the Manga were selected and moulded together to make a finely crafted piece of art. It even had a good ending that left the door ajar, so it was final enough to satisfy the viewer, yet if another series was to be made there would be nothing stopping them. Had I read the Manga before watching the Anime, I have no doubt that my satisfaction in the latter would be just as fulfilling.

As you would expect, the Manga goes far deeper into the story than the Anime, but without confusing the reader with horrible intricacies and plot twists. At the same time it goes against any romance cliché, without there being the stereotypical characters you'd expect in romance stories. Aka is not tsundere, shy, lively, sporty, cool or mysterious. There isn't really any category you can place her in other than 'human'. The same goes for Matsumaru, he's just your average salary man; kind-natured, hard working and slightly lecherous.
That's one thing I like about slice-of-life series: characters are realistic, and while they portray the average human being, they have personalities, skills and traits that make them individuals without having to rely on the characters in other genres than seem to have been generated using some kind of Character Creation Wizard.
The story itself isn't so far-fetched either. Okay, so there are unlikely conveniences here and there to help the story progress, but a deus ex machina here and there never hurt anybody. What I like is how real the story is. There are no epic backgrounds filled with death that cause a shitty little “oh hey the main character is depressed because a repressed memory was brought to the surface now watch her struggle for a bit before her friends help her get over the ditch” story arcs. The most adventure you get is when they go to an island in the south to shoot a commercial, and there aren't really any surreal scenarios with a level of depth and confusion that rivals The Mask's pocket.
Now while I am harping on about the realism of the series, it isn't without its quirks. One character, a prestigious Anime director and director of an Anime Aka stars in, is one of the quirkiest characters I've seen in slice-of-life productions, and the mascot for the actual commercials itself is a weird fusion between a cat, a tree, and sweets.

At the moment, Rec is a fantastic read, and I doubt it could disappoint a single human being. If it does, then I will need to be presented with proof that the person is actually capable of sentient thought.

Tony Takitani: Film Review

Title: Tony Takitani

Director: Jun Ichikawa

Year: 2005

Based on the short story written by: Haruki Murakami.

The usual focus of reviews on this site is anime and manga, but with flagrant disregard for form I have decided to take a leave from this, by providing my take on the film Tony Takitani. There’s no real need to justify this choice, the products of the of Far Eastern cinema (Japan and South Korea especially) are within our broad scope, if only tangentially.

I first became aware of, and enthralled by, the work of Haruki Murakami when I picked up the novel Dance Dance Dance in an airport, and ever since, I have been systematically acquiring his other works. Alongside his novels, Murakami also releases collections of short stories, and it is within the collection entitled Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman that I first read Tony Takitani. It is the story of a man who, as a child, spends most of his time alone, as his mother died shortly after childbirth, his father was a gigging trombonist, and Tony was often left alone by other children, due to his American / English / foreign name, which summoned up negative connotations in post-war Japan. He continues to distance himself from others well into his adult life, until he eventually encounters a woman for whom he departs from his socially distant attitude. It is a short story, then, that is a soft melancholic microcosm of an existence that can, at times, be incredibly lonely.

I am generally worried when I discover film adaptations of written works, as for every Lord of the Rings quality adaption, there are a hundred million Legend of the Seeker abominations. Rumours of a feature length Atlas Shrugged starring Angelina Jolie cause my body to malfunction and spurt acid into my cranium. Huge novels are not suited to make the leap to film, which is why Lord of the Rings takes place over three, and they have such gargantuan running times and an overwhelming amount of deleted scenes. A short story, then, is perhaps more suited to this sort of reimagining, and films bearing the wreaths of film festivals, as Tony Takitani does, have a special attraction to a certain kind of viewer, for instance, me. The cover was festooned with more quality reviews and quotes than I was able to shake my cynical stick at, and I was also able to pick it up for a stupidly low price. Go me.

The film is one of the most true adaptations I have ever come across, which I, personally, feel is a hugely important thing, especially when the original piece is of such high quality. It captures the mood of the short story fantastically, which is an extremely difficult thing when dealing with two mediums that are so far removed from each other. It must be nearly impossible to successfully and honestly recreate the same bleak sense of loneliness which came originally from only the written word, this time having to factor in every visual and audio factor, from angle to duration of shots, from the soundtrack to the lack of one. The makers must have understood that completely, and have done a masterful job.

Colour is of huge importance to the film, and the scope of colours in the film are largely drawn from a lacklustre pastel pallet, which with a few tweaks up the brightness scale could render the scheme overly bright and cheerful, but instead it is kept relatively dull. This helps to project the clean cut and sterile nature of the existence of Tony Takitani, meaning that though he wants for nothing in purely material terms, the colours are a constant reminder of his extended malaise.

The film is minimalistic, with dialogue chosen frugally and implemented beautifully, again reinforcing the social non-entity that Tony had developed into. Scenes play out at great length, with very little physical activity to lend the scenes a focus of action, as the life of Tony Takitani is one of profound emptiness. These drawn out scenes are decorated magnificently by frequent narration, which lends the film the feel of the short story, as it has the intimacy of a story literally being told, rather than merely having you experience the tale passively. The idea of having the story specifically being ‘told’ occurs repeatedly in the film, as often the flow of the narrator's monologue will leak out into the scene as it unfolds, where a character will continue the gist of the narration, despite physically being set in the story. I felt this was a powerful technique, as the story then felt as though it was being bequeathed from the characters themselves, as an insight into a life that would otherwise never have been experienced.

The soundtrack is wonderfully apt, with a simple recurring piano piece as its backbone. Perhaps more important, though, is the occasional lack of backing track. These breaks in the music are used to great effect, leaving certain scenes bare and bleak, again returning to one of the running themes of the story.

An iconic scene features Tony lying motionless on the floor of an empty room, and it is incredible that a scene where literally nothing is happening can be so moving. I am not a huge fan of seemingly “that’s so true” revelations in any medium, but it is likely that a proportion of everyone’s life is spent lying on the floor of an empty room, even if only metaphorically. If you would disagree with the last statement, you should probably give the film a miss, as the twice removed sensation of lying on a bed watching a film where a man is lying on the floor of an empty room would probably be considered by you a waste of valuable time, where you could be doing something pro-active, like fishing or bashing your head repeatedly against a wall. I don’t begrudge you your fishing, you can at least have the decency not to begrudge me my pastel-bleak ennui, thank you very much.

The entire film is tinged with an artistic soft touch, suggesting and trusting the viewer to make of it what they will, rather than bluntly presenting you with the conclusions you are intended to make, as modern yarns are wont to do. It is refreshing to have such a film, where the ending is not the crashing crescendo of manufactured and measured elation, but a fade out that suggests a continuation of life, as life does go on (unless, of course, you are dead), heedless of the lack of a Hollywood happy ending. The film ends in such a way as to suggest that the stage curtain has not been closed, that the story continues on without the audience. For what are any of our lives if not an experimental artsy film playing out in a theatre devoid of an audience? A string of self-referential blog entries containing hugely pretentious metaphors as their conclusion? Fuck you, then.

Tony Takitani is a delightfully unconventional film, which I would recommend to anyone with a brain and a haunting cello number playing the soundtrack to their lives. The film is probably best served dampened with the tears of the lonely, preferably in the midst of a particularly enjoyable bout of disheartening gloom.