J-MELO: Music Show Review

Title: J-MELO
Presenters: May J & Shanti
Director: Harada Nobuyuki
Year: 2005 –

We’re going off the beaten track this week as I have decided to go through with an old idea of mine and review J-MELO, a music program that airs on the NHK World channel. It features a mix of interviews, live sessions and music videos, and aims to promote Japanese music to the rest of the world.

The show’s unusual opening is an underwhelming CG affair, where a boat floats past a skyscraper-cityscape, where a golden star bounces into the ship’s pool, which retracts Thunderbirds style to unleash a pair of disembodied fluorescent pink lips, which themselves unleash a rotating love heart which shoots onto the mountain and makes a crotchet sprout out of the mountaintop. The ‘J-MELO’ logo then appears on-screen. The best kind of openings always have absolutely no relation to the show itself.

The show is currently presented by May J and Shanti, who I originally assumed were poppelganger clones, but I have since discovered that cannot be the case, as I dislike them unequally. Every week they appear in new outfits which seem to have been decided by committee, the difference being that the committee in charge of May J’s outfit seem to be slightly insane. This crazy-chic look is complimented perfectly by the fixed ‘forever and ever and ever’ smiles of the two, whose generic, forced enthusiasm for everything that comes up is about as sincere as a trout in the face

Luckily this inane faux-enthusiasm can be counter-balanced with the correct features or guests. I’ll draw examples from the most recent 2 shows to be aired. The first was a show completely focused on the jazz quintet Soil & ‘Pimp’ Sessions. It featured a number of live sessions performed in front a live audience in the studio, and was interspersed with interviews with the band, conducted by the cheer-duo May J & Shanti, as well as clips from various performances of theirs from around the world.

A 30-minute explosion of exposure is a surprisingly powerful thing, especially if the viewer has the ability to pause and has a notebook at hand. Thus I now not only know that I enjoy the energetic jazz of Soil & ‘Pimp’ Sessions, but I also know that my favourite member is the smiley drummer, who goes by the name Midorin. When I woke up this morning I was unaware of the existence of Soil & ‘Pimp’ Sessions, and I had no idea that at the end of the day I would have an opinion of their drummer. The rest of the group are made up of Shacho; a shouty/bouncy vocalist who does little singing but plenty of shouting into a megaphone, and also some miscellaneous percussion, Motoharu; a saxophonist who looks as though he should be in a 90s-punk outfit rather than a jazz ensemble, Akita Goldman; quiet and funky on the double-bass, Tabu zombie; decked out in a strange hat and a jumpsuit, he cuts an odd figure on the trumpet, and Josei; the only band member to actually look the jazz part, on the piano.

Having an entire episode dedicated to your performance is quite the exposé, and in hindsight anything else wouldn’t really do the band justice. Soil & ‘Pimp’ Sessions are quite eclectic, playing a mix of energetic and upbeat tracks, as well as more traditional piano-driven numbers. I felt that, having been given an episode to fill, they definitely shone and I will certainly be keeping my eye out for their releases in the future.

The second episode I caught was a less focused effort, and rather than showcasing one band in particular, it instead looked at ‘Autumn Releases’. It began with a montage featuring clips from a number of artists, and the diverse nature of the beast was a disorientatingly free offering. It began with some j-rock/visual kei from Sid, moving quickly on to some mellow rock from Nico Touches the Walls, then onto a piano track from Sambomaster, and then a pop love ballad from Nana Nishino. The unrelated goodness continued with quick bursts of grizzly hard rock from Rize, a piano and strings pop number from Ai Taketawa, onto a very old-school style melodramatic croon from Kenichi Mikawa, back onto mellow rock from Bump of Chicken, then to mawkish J-pop from Yui Makino, middle-of-the-road pop from Naotaro Moriyama, lovey hip-hop from Home Made Kazoku, straight to techno/dance-pop from Morning Musume, a classical number from Norimasa Fujisawa, finishing on some cheese-pop from Unicorn.

There was an odd duality to this mixed montage, it was refreshing to see such incongruous songs lined up together, as though the producers trusted the viewers to be open minded, but at the same time there was a feeling that the show was attempting to be as inoffensive as possible, and appeal to absolutely everyone. The latter idea was confirmed as they came out of the montage with Shanti addressing May J with: “Wow, so much variety there” before turning to-camera and declaring, in an un-expressably sinister way: “Something for everyone”. It must be a nightmare editing a show which is presented by pod-people, being drawn into a hypnotic trance at every turn.

It is hard to boil down my feelings for the show concisely, for as much as I take pop-shots at missuses May J & Shanti, I am actually in the thrall of their soothing mesmerism. The interviews they conduct can seem stilted and awkward, due to the fact that both the interviewers and the interviewees are often don’t have native-speaker fluency in English, but I feel this is more endearing, as they are willing to make the effort, and while I am a big fan of subtitles, I know that other, less subtitle-enthusiastic, individuals would appreciate this effort. Even the nasty habits of May J and Shanti, such as replying, as one, like satanic twins; ‘Mmmm’ to any information from the guests or shouting the name of the act in a mawkish fashion after they are done, can really detract from the enjoyment of the groups. The problem with this system is that it relies heavily upon your enjoyment of the act, and if you don’t enjoy their music then you’ll probably not enjoy the episode. The safety-net for this, then, is to often have a scattergun approach to billing acts, usually showcasing many various types of music in one half hour.

An enjoyable show for those interested in music, though I imagine it would be more enjoyable if the interest is specifically in Japanese music. Remember, though, an open mind is usually a good thing. I’ll allow Shanti (my favourite of the mesmeric/satanic twins) to sum up the program herself:

Shanti: (turning to camera) Something for everyone!

A Wind Named Amnesia: Film Review

Title: A Wind Named Amnesia (Kaze no Na wa Amunejia)
Writer: Hideyuki Kikuchi
Director: Kazuo Yamazaki
Year: 1990

If there is a person misanthropic enough to be following all of these reviews, they might have noticed a trend in mine. I tend to be drawn by tales that are of a post-apocalypse setting. A Wind Named Amnesia fits this bill, and while I wasn’t disappointed, neither did I have my mind blown.

The film is set in the distant future, or at the very least in what must have counted for that in 1990. It is strange watching a film which is set in a dystopian future, but a future which is set roughly 10 years ago. Our first experience of the film is a quick gritty gambol around the ruins of San Francisco, 1999. Groups of barbaric humans roam the streets, or flee in terror from a pilotless guardian, a robotic mini-mecha style machine that hunts down humans and kills them. The inhabitants of San Francisco, and indeed the entire world, have been reduced to the state of primitive man by a wind which blew through the planet in 1990, wiping out the memory of almost everyone.

The story follows Wataru, who manages to overcome the amnesia and re-learn the ways of the world, thanks to the help of a wheelchair-bound child named Johnny. Wataru first encounters Johnny when he stumbles upon the destroyed remains of an experimental government facility while searching for food. Johnny has escaped the amnesia because of the experiments conducted on him in the facility, experiments to increase his memory. Through extensive teaching, Wataru is able to speak again, and is eventually able to function in a way we would deem ‘normal’. It is Johnny who gives him the name ‘Wataru’, explained as meaning ‘one who travels around’.

The retelling of his back-story takes place as he explains it to Sophia, a stranger who helped him defeat the guardian in San Francisco, an enigmatic platinum-haired woman who has retained her memories and doesn’t wear shoes, in what I would describe as a dangerously impractical affectation, especially given the volatile state of the world. It doesn’t take long for them to agree to travel together, and so begins the hypothetical examination of what a world full of reasonless, animalistic primitive humans would amount to.

On their travels they encounter a crude society which is ruled and driven by a blind fear of their god, named the Smasher-Devourer, whose raw and unsystematic fury can only be sated, so they believe, through a ‘marriage’ to a new wife. It is such a ‘wife’, Sue, that Wataru and Sophia chance across, being pursued by a ragged ensemble due to her fleeing the night before her wedding day. She is eventually saved by the ironically named Little John, a hulking, bearded behemoth of a man, who fights off the others. Bearing in mind these individuals are still in a primitive, pre-language state, it is through the use of Sophia’s unexplained lay-on-hands ability that their names are gleaned. She also discovers that this ‘marriage’ is essentially human sacrifice, to a humungous crane that has been, for lack of a better word, pimped to include weaponry, specifically mechanical limbs of the grabby and crushy varieties. And lasers.

They also come across a, seemingly, utopian super-city in the desert, controlled and protected by a giant, central supercomputer. What initially appears to be a safe haven, whose inhabitants have escaped the amnesia, is, in reality, merely an empty shell. The city’s two inhabitants, whose names may have their origin in satire, are Lisa and Simpson, who seem to be hollow puppets, manipulated by the supercomputer to simulate the previous life of the city, and so they spend their days role-playing the lives of the former inhabitants.

Wataru is also forced to have an iconic and symbolic showdown with the guardian he defeated in San Francisco, which has repaired itself and made weapon-based improvements, and then chased him across most of America.

The events which are observed by Wataru and Sophia are meant to portray, and in some ways answer, the question that is often brought up in the film, which seems to be: “What is the true nature of man?” Quite an ambitious query to set yourself up for, and one that, for me at least, the film doesn’t really deal with adequately, settling for an open-ended conclusion.

But while I was being disappointed with the paucity of the films reply to its own questions, I was also being distracted by my nagging “oh, whose voice is that?” style half-remembrances of the cast. It didn’t take long for me to place Wataru as Kazuki Yao, one of my personal favourite seiyuu, whose standout roles for me where in One Piece (Jango, Bon Clay, Franky) and also in Tenjho Tenge (Bunshichi Tawara). I was embarrassed to have not placed Kappei Yamaguchi as Johnny, as he is a hugely prolific voice actor, and another one of my favourites.

Despite not really answering the questions it set up for itself, A Wind Named Amnesia is an interesting and engaging thought experiment, which is what I want from a post-apocalyptic offering. It is comfortingly vicious and bloody in places, and features some, arguably, justified dramatic nudity and a sex(ual) scene which I’m sure would have pleased my younger self (he was very interested in the artistic use of nudity. ARTISTIC).

Good film.

Ocean Waves: Film Review

Title: Ocean Waves (aka I Can Hear the Sea - Umi ga Kikoeru)

Writer: Saeko Himuro

Director: Tomomi Mochizuki

Year: 1993

It is difficult to review a Ghibli piece, as the very mention of the studio’s name trips the switch on my superlative gland and a slew of unadulterated praise is liable to gush forth. So in reviewing Ocean Waves, I will attempt to exercise some restraint.

Set in, by my estimation, late 80’s/early 90’s Kochi, the story revolves around Taku Morisaki, although it would perhaps be more accurate to say that it focuses on his schooldays, and the relationships he develops therein.

Taku is portrayed as a hard-working boy, and something of an idealist, for example he takes a stand and questions his school’s decision to cancel a school trip due to overall poor grades of the students. It is during this protest that he meets Yutaka Matsuno, the mature and composed class representative-type who, and despite not being in the same class as each other, they form a lasting friendship.

When Yutaka, in his role as class rep, is called upon to give mid-term transfer student Rikako Muto a tour of the school, he later turns to Taku in order to awkwardly fumble around the issue of what I’m sure would be translated to ‘love’.

Rikako Muto is a student from Tokyo, cursed to join the far-flung school in Kochi because of the marital difficulty of her parents. Despite, or perhaps because of, her outstanding abilities both academically and in sports, and her physical beauty, she becomes a distant figure in school, kept apart by suspicion, admiration and awe. It is only Yutaka, partly because he is a genuinely nice guy, and partly because of his feelings, that talks to her. It is through this that she becomes aware of Taku, as Yutaka clams up and tensely leaps on any topic of conversation, and so blathers about his friend.

A process of nervously tiptoeing around the issue and misunderstandings ensue.

That sentence is pretty much all I can manage without explicitly going into the details of how the film pans out, which I want to err away from as the subtlety with which the film plays out is far more tasteful than any words I can currently summon. The film plays heavily upon the obligatory ‘will they? / won’t they?’ dichotomy that forms the base of almost all stories of schooldays romance, or a romance story of any kind, truth be told. I’m actually at a loss to explain quite why this example of it is so gripping, where the vast majority, for me at least, can rapidly become laborious.

It may be that it takes place over such a short time, just over an hour’s worth really, where stories of this kind often play out in a series, which usually has around 26 episodes which are themselves around 20 minutes in length, with the pre-requisite nerve-stretching cliff-hanger at the end of every episode to ensure you watch the next. After around 20 episodes where a contrived peak in the story pits the characters in a quandary, it is fairly easy to become jaded with the process. After all, there’re only so many times you can go wide-eyed and make an ‘ungh!’ noise.

The characters in the piece are older than is usual for Ghibli, which, in my experience at least, tends to opt for young children as their heroes and heroines (or is 'hero' now unisex?). The art is typical Ghibli, which essentially means if you like the way Ghibli looks you’ll like the look of this and vice versa. A notable difference with this piece is its occasional habit of giving its characters quite mean eyes, the usual overblown roundness that is present in Ghibli, and anime in general, can quickly give way to a piercing angry glare that is very effective because of the judiciousness of its use.

Ocean Waves is done as a retrospective, with the main character narrating the story, which allows for the long-term narrative of the piece to feel natural and fluid, as the film covers a time from Junior High (middle school? I’m lost) through Senior High (I went to comp) and into college (I went to Uni). At times the film places a thick white border around the scenes it is portraying, making certain occasions seem like a hugely idealised portrayal of schooldays and childhood in general. That portrayal is a key point of the film. Despite focusing on the stories of two characters specifically, the film does pan out and give us glimpses of other characters’ stories developing, or coming to an end. Rikako doesn’t take part in cultural fairs and other group activities, but we are shown bursts of those who do, similarly Taku and Rikako have an unusual time whilst on holiday with the class in Hawaii (I went to North Wales), but we are shown the rest of the class having a ‘normal’ childhood.

I am using this phrase far too much in this review but here is goes: despite this, the film still portrays their experiences as a ‘normal’ childhood experience, they go to school, they do their work, they have fun with and fall out with their friends, and they ineffectually begin to learn what it is to like someone. They do undergo some fairly strange occurrences during this, but something strange is bound to have happened to most of us when we were children, even if it isn’t specifically flying to Tokyo on a whim.

The music is fairly minimalist, and, by now, fairly old fashioned, but it suits the setting well, and is masterful in setting the scene. The main recurring theme is a soft contemplative piano piece, though chirpy digital pipes and such also feature elsewhere. The film also isn’t afraid to drop the music completely and set the scene with some ambient noise, such as with the noise of children playing baseball, or through Japan’s favourite backing track: the buzzing of cicadas.

Stories about being in school are very popular, perhaps particularly so in Japan, and it is likely due to them tapping into a shared experience. It used to be easier to do this in stories, as when there were fewer television programs and no internet there were a larger number of things in people’s shared consciousness, which you could simply offer up for a Pavlovian “oh yeah, I remember that”. Peter Kay did it with Bullseye, Russell Howard does it with Thundercats, and Ocean Waves does it with, arguably, one of the last big bastions of shared experience: going to school. Although there is a flash of a Mazinkaiser parody flashed up on a TV in Ocean Waves, which may be an attempt to situate the film in a place in time, though it may very well cause a stirring of nostalgia for certain, presumably Japanese, viewers. I was just amused that the parody was named 'Gokaizer', as I enjoyed imagining a giant robotic Gok Wan terrorising the countryside in a bolshie, camp way. Probably not what they had in mind, especially bearing in mind this originally aired in 1993.

Nostalgia is the word I’ve tried to keep in check until the end, as if you don’t go for it in a big way, then Ocean Waves may not be for you. I wouldn’t say it is overwhelmingly sentimental in its portrayal, but that diagnosis is merely my opinion, and I sat there thinking “oh yeah, I remember that”. I would argue that it is, by and large, a fairly true, if idealised, representation of schooldays, or at the very least, a type of schooldays. Essentially, if you don’t have very fond memories of school, this film probably wont strike a chord with you.

I really enjoyed it though, but for me Ghibli would have to drop the ball fairly hard for me to have not enjoyed an offering. They did Nausicaa and Howl’s Moving Castle, Princess Mononoke and Spirited Away, remember? Oh yeah, I remember that.

Cencoroll: Film Review

Title: Cencoroll

Writer: Atsuya Uki

Director: Atsuya Uki

Year: 2009

It is unusual nowadays that any high-budget or television production is the work and vision of one man, and the closest anime is likely to come to this is Cencoroll. This half-hour long film is more or less the achievement of Atsuya Uki, who is said to have largely wrote, designed, directed and animated the film by himself.

As it only last half an hour, it is a punchy self-contained story rather than a sprawling epic, and the film benefits a lot from the restraints that are upon it. Since it has only a short amount of time in which to tell its tale, the narrative moves quickly, but it manages to not feel rushed, perhaps due to the steady and measured pace of the characters. The story follows schoolboy Amamiya Tetsu, who is in charge/owns/controls/has as a pet a strange white monster named Cenco (pronounced Senko). Within a quick burst we are introduced to Yuki, a schoolgirl who, to Tetsu's annoyance, discovers Cenco and insists on making her presence felt. The other main player in the tale is a nameless youth, a boy who is presumably around the same age as the other two, who controls the two other white monsters that inhabit the story, one a giant dimension hopping blob, the other an octopus-thing that can go invisible. Now I am overly aware that as I write this it sounds like a plot synopsis for a piece that is a vapid shounen monster-battler, but in reality this film has more in common with Alice in Wonderland than it does any monster-battling type show (Pokemon, Digimon, Monster Rancher etc etc). Due to the films length, it is difficult to decide what exactly to include in an explanation of the plot, as very little actually happens, and it is the way in which is happens that is the truly engrossing aspect.

Unsurprisingly, since it is primarily the work of one man, the look of the film is fairly unique, but perhaps more notably, it is of an amazing quality. The cityscapes that frame most of the film are strikingly realistic, the smoothness of the urban surfaces setting the scene perfectly. The characters are all oddly offbeat, but not in a way which would require the damning adjectives 'kooky' or 'zany'. There is a rich vein of deadpan running throughout the piece, which works particularly well given the ludicrous occurences within it, such as the existence of huge monsters that do grim battle with one another. That is perhaps the main triumph of the film, a potent mix of both understatement and grotesque exaggeration, with the contrast between the two providing what I'm sure would be described on the BBFC notes as sustained surrealism throughout. A subtle and sure comedic vision helps with this thin-ice conceit, such as in one scene where Yuki's friend absent-mindedly ponders whether she is late because she has a cold, only to cut to the top of a skyscraper where a stoic Yuki is being restrained in the tentacles of the octopus monster. A close up of her face conveys mild annoyance, as though the character herself finds the situation ludicrous, rather than terrifying. The sort of reaction you would expect if a terrorist organisation kidnapped Jimmy Carr. Trusting, of course, Jimmy to stay in his onstage persona, which he could do I reckon. He is a consummate professional. I digress.

Most of the characters have an attitude of mild annoyance, occasionally veering into grumpiness or detached misanthropy. I am unsure whether this only appeals to me because of my own personal tendencies to be a cynical miseryguts, but it is certainly a refreshing thing to witness. Which is perhaps ironic. With the abundance of excitable cheese-wielders that exist within anime, it is somewhat cathartic to watch a genuinely Brooker-esque character work his way through a city fighting with monsters, without the compulsory pro-friendship/following-your-dreams/cheer-up-Charlie messages tacked on the end. The film is good like that, not being overly patronising, or perhaps I have merely become desensitised by too much shounen (silly Gilder, it's for kids). There're no explanatory segments where the workings of the unfamiliar reality are explicitly and limply laid out so any dunderheads watching wont feel left out. The story ploughs on at its own pace, and you, the plucky viewer, are left to keep up and work out the rules as it progresses. That is one of the ways it maintains its unexpected Alice in Wonderland-style surrealism, the abilities of the monsters are a complete unknown; fluid and unexpected, whereas other offerings seek to explain and pin down the powers within it (DBZ's scouter, Pokemon's pokedex) sometimes literally having a character explain, rather than actively showing it.

Another departure from the shounen monster-battlers is the fact that the monsters aren't either incredibly cute, if they are goodies, or terrifyingly fearsome, if they are baddies. In Cencoroll the monsters are ugly, bulbous creatures with lethargic fat eyes and strange teeth jutting out of their pudgy faces. I could have mistakenly thought the screen had turned off and I was being shown a reflection of my own vacant face staring at the screen (self-depracation!). Cenco's transformation ability is fluid and slightly disgusting, and a number of his transformations would be considered cheesy were it not for the dryness of the rest of the film. During battle he becomes a giant staplegun, as well a huge pair of scissors, and his favoured form while attempting to blend in inconspicuously is a mix between a panda a cardboard box and a toy car.

The music, composed by Ryo (from Supercell) is judiciously used, and each piece is fit perfectly to the action occuring onscreen. It is an eclectic offering, with calm, quiet ambience of a talk-heavy scene giving way to urgent haunting choral female vocals that are piercing above insistent drums that manage to perfectly explain that this does not augur well. The soundtrack is equally as adept at portraying the gentleless between the excitement as it is at accompanying the unflinching and unexpected viciousness that occasionally bursts into the story.

Without actually explaining the scene, the film is brought to an end with a twisted conclusion, it is a stange ending that is fairly nihilistic and hopeless but somehow clothes itself in the guise of happy resolution. A short scene after the credits have run leaves the story open ended, which suggests that the creator has further plans for the story, which delights me, as the film is a short masterful offering with a story I am eager to see deleveloped further. Whether this takes the form of another short film, or whether a series arises from this is at this point unknown, but to not explore the tale further would be a grave idiocy, and a travesty of epic proportions. A wonderful film, I implore you; watch it.

Roots Search: Film Review

Title: Roots Search: Shokushin Buttai X
Writer: Michiru Shimada
Director: Hisashi Sugai
Year: 1986

Since the beginning of this review blog, I have seen a fair amount of anime, and the quantity I saw beforehand is greater still. In all this time, there aren’t many releases, be they series, film, OVA, manga or live action, that I would dismiss as being of no value whatsoever. There is a large amount of throwaway ecchi rubbish, but if a shows aim is to be throwaway ecchi rubbish, actually slamming it for being so seems redundant, as they are easily avoidable. What we have with Roots Search, however, is a 45 minute release which has pretentions of an intelligent philosophical debate, but fails to live up to any of what we could generously describe as its ‘promise’.

Before I explain why I think the film is a resounding brainsore, I will qualify my criticisms by acceding that 45 minutes is perhaps too short a time to have really gone into the ideas Roots Search proposes in a more challenging way, but I feel the film also fails to compromise successfully and instead makes a hash of everything.

I am no expert when it comes to sci-fi horror, but if horror scenes appear clunky and not at all frightening to someone who isn’t a horror enthusiast, then they are hardly fit for purpose. Bearing in mind that this film is over 20 years old, it is possible that these scenes would’ve appeared less obvious to an audience not used to the epic CGstravaganzas that abound today. Still, the premise isn’t, and wasn’t, a new one, and while I’m sure Roots Search was dismissed by some as an Alien rip-off, it seems a bit unfair that one film should have monopoly on the idea of ‘horror in space’. Roots Search is ‘horror in space’, but the reason that no one can hear them scream is not due to the vacuum of space, but due to the awfulness of the production. It is almost as awful as my analogy for how awful it is.

The horror scenes revolve around the psychic alien creature locating the characters’ guilty pasts and forcing them to relive or face up to them through the use of ‘horrifying’ apparitions. Like A Christmas Carol, except in space, with a lot more blood, and significantly less Yorkshire pudding. The uninspired set up for these scenes are further let down by the spectacularly awful visuals. When I say visuals I am not referring only to the poor quality of the animation, which is more or less forgivable bearing in mind the age of the production, and also that it was likely made on a shoestring budget, something which is also suggested by the oddly short running time. I am referring to the poor ideas behind the design of these scenes; the beginning of the alien’s intervention is always announced by a screen-filling shot of the aliens face (sideways mouth aaargh!), which is then replaced with the face of an individual from the character’s past, which is replaced with the alien, which is replaced by the individual, alien, person, alien, person, eeeeeh! All of this underpinned with the synthy whooshing and whooping of an angry child assaulting a Moog. Sorry, that’s probably not how they were made. It is also conceivable that it was a Yamaha. I can’t tell whether this was passé when it first came out, but by today such a scene is to be considered excruciating cheese, and at a planning meeting a suggestion for such a scene would be met with the relocating of the tantrum-throwing Moog-child into the personal space of the gibberling who had suggested such a thing.

The film is further burdened with ugly character design, which is perhaps a harsh claim that can’t really be substantiated because it is based solely on my taste, rather than an opinion formed (hopefully) rationally. Nevertheless, ugly character design. Have it. Scott, a blonde-haired fop, is modelled on a carrot that has been inflated, and heroic Johnny-come-lately Buzz is a bastardised version of an archetypal old-school anime hero. The female lead, Moira, is tousled and clueless, plodding around with her big puppy eyes and overlong sleeves, plugging away in the ‘helpless damsel’ tradition, looking for all the world like a gender-stereotyping analyst’s wet dream.

Heteronormativity is further pandered to in a scene where, being confronted with a significant amount of gore, Moira buries her face in Scott’s overlarge manly/carrot chest, as he nobly holds her and declares “That’s too gory for a young woman to have to see”. Which to me is a strange line, as it is embedded with the assumption that there is a level of gore that a young woman should have to see, though I imagine the level is ‘not very much gore’, or possible, ‘hardly any gore at all’. A second assumption is also there through contrast, which is that the level of gore is perfectly suitable for viewing by young men. Such as carrot chested Scott and lantern-jawed Buzz.

Gore is an important commodity in Roots Search, as it is used as a substitute for horror. Japanese horror, though this is generalising slightly, is known for its understatement and horror-through-mood approach, which contrasts with the mainstream American ‘holy shit isn’t this stabby man scary?!?!’ approach, which makes Roots Search’s approach even stranger. Not scared by the monster-apparition that’s chasing a crew member? No worries, we are about to impale him with a dozen girders. Through his face. The horror.

The pacing of the piece seems rushed, which is again to be expected and is likely evidence of an epic idea squashed into too short a slot, which still doesn’t excuse some of the blunders. Early on in the piece, the alien declares: “I will kill you all within two hours”, which is an oddly time-conscious outburst from a monster, and suggests an intelligence which is absent from the horrors he decides to visit. Further dialogue sillies come roughly a quarter of an hour into the piece, as Moira suddenly changes the topic of conversation apropos of nothing to discuss the reason of human existence. This conversation needs to occur in order to set up the alien’s story, but it is a grinding shift of focus from the rest of the piece up until that point. Harsh contrasts can be an effective dramatic technique, but in this instance it comes across as half-arsed and clunky. Characters also have a tendency to say each others names too often, which is slightly annoying and needless in such a short piece. Whether this is to engender empathy from the viewer or just a consequence of poor writing is unclear, though it fails to make me sympathise with Moira, Scott, Norman, Marcus or Buzz.

There’s no epilepsy warning at the beginning of the piece, but I’d suggest there should be, as the creators of the film certainly subscribe to the idea that there is nothing quite as terrifying as viciously flashing backgrounds. Gone are the days when TV and films were allowed to literally send viewers into fits. Far be it from me to trivialise epilepsy but seizures may be the only way of disguising Roots Search’s many faults.

The film is capped off wonderfully with a dated awful synth-based thoughtless soundtrack, which is coming from someone who is an avid supporter of synth-based offerings. There are better ways of creating mood than simply thrusting both hands onto the keyboard when the monster appears suddenly on screen.

Towards the end of the film, a character is aggressively blinded, and if I were the sort of person who would make light of blindness, I would suggest that it would be preferable to having seen the film. But I won’t do that, obviously.

When the film started I thought that it would be an underground favourite with people who might watch it ironically and find brilliance in its awfulness, like finding a rich seam of gold whilst excavating the cavity of Nick Griffin’s melty eye, but alas, it is just a melty eye. I mean, a bad film. Naughty film! Rub its nose in it!

Casshern Sins: Anime Review

Title: Casshern Sins (Kyashān Sins)

Author: Yasuko Kobayashi

Director: Shigeyasu Yamauchi

Year: 2008

Upon starting Casshern Sins I was no stranger to the Casshern franchise, having seen both the live action adaptation Casshern (amazing) and the OVA Casshan: Robot Hunter (seizures). Casshern Sins is described as a remake of the original 1973 series Neo-Human Casshern, but from what I have discovered of that series, it is more of a re-imagining than a straight remake, differing in style, themes, premise and plot. The series essentially seems to be saying: forget that story, this one's better.

Set in a world which would fall squarely in the post-apocalyptic category, the story follows an amnesiac Casshern as he wanders aimlessly around the planet encountering characters who are more than eager to fill him in on his past deeds.

Amnesia can be a useful storytelling device when used correctly, and it is certainly used well in the early stages of this series. By having a character who has no knowledge or understanding of the world around them, supporting characters can explain the situation without this exposition feeling forced or contrived, therefore letting the audience in without being overly simplistic or patronising. This is especially useful in Casshern Sins, as the world is unrecognisable from our own; a huge open expanse of sand and detritus where a mass of desperate, struggling robots suffer from The Ruin, which in my understanding, seems to warrant the capitals.

It becomes apparent that before The Ruin, the humans and robots of the world, mostly robots, enjoyed eternal life, thanks to an individual named Luna, who is more ostentatiously known as The Sun That Is Called Moon, presumably for her life giving abilities. Early on, Casshern is confronted by individuals who claim that he killed Luna, and is thus responsible for the returned mortality of the robots. Though The Ruin manifests itself in a rust-based wasting disease rather than mortality as we would understand it. Their hatred for him is further set in concrete as he has become immortal and near enough invulnerable thanks to this 'sin'.

The ruin (horobi) is really hammered home in the first half of the series, which is essentially a long sequence of tangential episodes, linked tenuously by the appearance of Casshern and several other recurring characters, though the vast majority of prime characters in these tangential episodes never appear again. The pace of Casshern Sins is incredibly measured, which is a welcome departure from the hasty fervor of other series, though in these seemingly-unrelated episodes it can sometimes feel that the series is playing for time, rather than simply taking its time. Each one of these episodes certainly has a point to make, but it never seems to overly affect any of the main characters and it isn't the catalyst for any developemnt, which can make the series feel disjointed. There is also a tendency for characters to get into trouble only for Casshern to simply appear out of nowhere at the last second and save them. This is the worst kind of thoughtless and cliched deus ex machina, especially when used unjudiciously. Despite this however, the series does eventually find its feet spectacularly, and a consistent and gripping narrative does form.

One technique used to knit the series together is the sequence which occurs just before the opening titles, which is a broken sequence revealing tiny segments of the scene where Casshern kills Luna. These pieces beautifully illustrate Casshern regaining his memory and/or coming to terms with his actions, and also help to focus the series even during tangents.

Even through the opening episodes, however, there is a unique style and an overhauled design which could easily keep viewers enthralled. Rather than the fairly common design that was present in Casshan: Robot Hunter, or the grittiness that was present in the film adaptation, Casshern Sins errs on the side of the abstract and the surreal, though darkness is still heavily prevalent, as in the film, but Ruin is the order of the day after all. Despite this darkness however, the design of Casshern's suit is more cartoony than ever before, which is an outstandingly effective contrast to the destruction and ruin around him, as he stands in his skintight shocking-white costume, further emphasising his immortality/invulnerability in a world that is broken.

Though the design may have altered, it is still recognisable from its earlier incarnations, with the ludicrous helmet and the booster-jets on his hips still in place. The fighting style also remains constant, with overblown acrobatics and speed-of-light movements looking more like a dance of death than a battle. It is perhaps necessary to choreograph the battles in this way, as few characters in the series are anywhere near a match for Casshern, and he spends a vast amount of time pirouetting through swathes of robots to the accompaniment of subsequent explosions. Which is no bad thing. Anyone seeking nostalgia through the classic Casshern attacks such as the karate chop which splits an enemy cleanly down the middle, the tearing off of heads and also the impaling of enemies with his arm, will be more than satisfied. Although thankfully Casshern is no longer able to shoot a beam out of his helmet. There are limits to suspension of disbelief.

The soundtrack comprises of a set of masterful tracks by Kaoru Wada, and there isn't a moment I can recall where the soundtrack missed a step. There are a set of tracks which form the spine of the series, with other pieces used perfectly at opportune moments, such as to signal a change of mood or to support a point being made. The huge range of the soundtrack, from old school booming orchestral tracks to haunting wind-based pieces to a tastefully used vocal ballad, really flesh out the series, where every choice and placement of track is inspired, the music never becomes arbitrary. Disappointingly, for me at least, there is no place in the show for either version of the original theme Tatakae! Casshern, though given its epic-cheese nature it isn't really in the correct tone for the new-and-improved serious style. Luckily I can have them on repeat of my own free will. Isao Sasaki is my hero.

It is strange that in a series where the vast majority of characters are robots, its main focus of debate seems to be life and death, specifically the point of life, or what it means to be alive. Though perhaps by removing this debate from the realms of humanity as we understand it, and also setting up immortality as possible, the series is able to make more pointed observations on the nature of 'being alive'. A light-hearted fighty shounen romp this is not, and while the battle sequences are spectacular in and of themselves, I wouldn't suggest watching Casshern Sins purely on those grounds. The series aims to distance itself from thoughtless beat-em-ups, and though at times its arguments and conclusions can seem vague and muddled, I feel it succeeds in being an unusually human document on the aims of life.

If you seek mindless violence I would advise you to look elsewhere. However, if you want fuel for the robots in your brain, an incredibly sleek and stylish fuel in fact, I'd certainly recommend Casshern Sins. Bear in mind, however, that patience is a virtue.

Beck: Mongolian Chop Squad: Anime Review

Title: Beck: Mongolian Chop Squad
Genre: Shonen
Studio: Madhouse
Episodes: 26
Released: October '04 – March '05



Tanaka Yukio, sometimes called “Koyuki” by his friends, doesn't really have a passion for anything in life. He gets through the days as normal as any other middle school pupil along with his two childhood friends Tanabe (the pervert) and Ishiguro Izumi (that hot one from every Anime ever). After saving a weird-looking dog (called Beck) from some kids he meets its owner Minami Ryūsuke, a talented rock musician. Ryūsuke soon convinces Koyuki to learn the guitar (giving him a favoured guitar from his own collection) and the rest is there to be found out by you.

It's not often that a series revolving around music crops up in my watch list, but Beck is one hell of an exception. Rather than focusing on the entire band itself it tends to point the camera at Koyuki, who is undoubtedly the main character, even with all the other members of the band. Coming in second in that regard is Ryūsuke, whose times in the spotlight, while few and far between in comparison with Koyuki, are pretty important. The rest of the band serve their own purposes in regards to their interaction with Koyuki (apart from the bassist, he just seems to smile and nod from the sidelines). Their drummer is a good friend of his in school and is a constant source of good company, and the vocalist is pretty much his human shield by the time he gets to high school.
The plot is pretty straightforward apart from Ryūsuke's confusing little side-story in New York and a topic never outstays its welcome; if an obstruction turns up it's resolved relatively quickly again. Well...for the band it does. Anything regarding Koyuki is dragged out to span most of the series and some of it can get annoying. While he is slowly merging with the music scene it's good to see that he's just another average guy who's trying hard to pursue what he likes. He's not an immediate super celebrity in the entertainment industry and at the same time he's not some genius who's magically able to keep up with school on top of his music. He's bullied for quite a while through middle school and it's not surprising when it starts up again (although for a far shorter period) in high school.
He is counterbalanced, however, by one of the love interests Minami Maho, a crazy girl with no qualms over breaking people's windows and spending the night in Koyuki's house. Considering she's a love interest the series still goes along with the classic annoyance of her and the main character giving each other mixed signals. She often turns up with her friends, all of whom are a-grade cunts, and one of them (you'll god damn know when you see him...he's an idol) is the twattiest of all cunts around the globe, earning him the title of King Twunt (did ya see what I did there? Didja?). Now it's all too easy to see how Koyuki's self confidence might plummet somewhat when the girl he likes turns up with a popular super idol as a casual acquaintance, but he hardly does himself any favours when doing easily misinterpreted things with other girls, although to be honest it's not really his fault, he just needs to recognise when he needs to explain himself and apologise.
The art is pretty good, although it doesn't really jump out at you, and there's some brilliant examples of copyright dodging to be found dotted around the place.
Apart from the musical aspect of the series there isn't much originality to Beck, but don't turn it away from the light. There's a reason things are overused, it's just that they've been used so much it's predictable. While Beck is still relatively predictable, it has little quirks and twists that make the entire experience enjoyable and fun to witness (like Koyuki's teacher's pet bird, “Page”).
No matter who you are or what you like, chances are you won't regret watching this series.