Shikabane Hime (Corpse Princess) Season 2

Shikabane: human spirits whose regrets in life cause them to return as vengeful monsters.
Shikabane Hime: young (usually hot,) undead women employed to seek and destroy shikabane.

A few months ago, I reviewed the first season of this supernatural/horror/drama/fan-service extravaganza by GAINAX with great delight. The cliff-hanger ending of episode twelve gave me plenty of motivation and desire for more.

To recap, there are monsters, and there are strike teams of monks and undead teenage girls who fight off said monsters. Ouri, an inclusive youth with a fascination with death, has been following his adoptive older brother, Keisei and his partner, Makina Hoshimura. In a critical moment of defiance and selfless sacrifice, Keisei finally lays down his life for Ouri and Makina, setting the stage for the second half of this passionate drama.

In season two, we turn our attention to the Seven Stars, a team of untouchably powerful shikabane who seek the utter destruction of the Kougon Sect and their shikabane himes. With a clear central villain and a clear conflict of interests between central characters, you would think the story has plenty of steam to keep this freight train on the move.

Then the middle of the series comes, and with it the mid-season-two-drag. We fall into the shallow grave of flashbacks, recaps and tertiary character development, but only to emerge stronger than ever.

Somehow during the transition of acquiring Ouri as her new contractor monk, Makina has developed a curse, a super-power that gives her unlimited regeneration at the cost of shortening Ouri’s life. This twist is more for dramatic effect then an actual plot point, as she continues her regular Shikabane Hime duties of monster-mashing and self-loathing. Although it does lend itself to some pretty impressive fight sequences.

Some support characters are developed for the sake of cautionary tales between Ouri and Makina, while some new characters are introduced for the sake of fan-service. Not to say that Shikabane Hime loses any of its dark, morbid charm. Most of the fights leading up to the final conflict with the Seven Stars are downright cruel to viewers. Bravo. All that was lacking was development on the Seven Stars: a majority of them are not given memorable names or even discernable powers. Come on, guys, you had 25 episodes, gimme a back story!

Eventually, the Seven Stars and Akasha, the “traitor monk,” get their acts together and start causing mayhem on a grand scale. By using their young leader, a seemingly brain-dead girl named Hokuto, the Stars wreak Left 4 Dead-style havoc on Tokyo. The potential for mass-slaughter is ignored for a handful of “I’m-gonna-follow-my-path-no-matter-what” speeches, but I can overlook them.

The series caps out at twenty-five episodes, and while the plot does not resolve entirely, the characters’ resolve is set in stone, and we leave the series with a satisfying acceptance of life over a peculiar fascination with death, and the changing of the guard, passing of the torch is complete.

A huge part of Shikabane Hime’s appeal was its convenience. Using Hulu, I was able to watch the entire series at my leisure with about a minute of commercial interruption. Besides the obvious mid-season-two-slump, Shikabaane Hime delivers and pushes its characters to develop their motivations, not just their powers, (something you might want to take note of, Bleach.) Keep up the good work FUNimation. A sinister and grimly earned 4.0 out of 5.

The Skull Man

Nothing hits the spot like a solid mystery, a gripping horror story, or an action-packed descent into darkness. The Skull Man sets the bar for modern gothic suspense without relying on the convoluted, philosophical and psychological dribble barrage of such series as Boogiepop Phantom and Serial Experiments Lain. While both great series in their place, Skull Man combines a killer storyline with solid action and gripping, linear human pathos.

Our plot is as follows: Ootomo City has more skeletons in its closet than the house in Spielberg’s Poltergeist; one of those skeletons is ready to slaughter your ass.

The main story is told through the eyes of Hayato Mikogami, an ambitious, young and fearless newspaper reporter from Tokyo. He comes to Ootomo to investigate the serial murders of a mysterious “skeleton costumed” man who only appears after midnight. Once he arrives, his bad luck accidentally partners him up with Kiriko Mamiya, a teenaged photographer with tomboyish charm to spare. Together, they uncover the links between the Skull Man, pharmaceutical companies, the resident cult, and the murderous mutants that prowl the streets during the night.

Sounds like a lot to handle for a thirteen-episode series? It is. But only by keeping the mystery and the intrigue alive does The Skull Man handle itself so skillfully. As any well laid-out mystery goes, every scene, every moment, and every murder only opens the door to the next clue. When Ootomo City approaches midnight, citizens are locked in their houses and police cars patrol the streets, turning the city into a prison. For all its details, Skull Man never loses the central mystery: the skull man’s true identity, and the reasons he terrorizes the city.

By episode two, Hayato meets Detective Shinjou, who tails him endlessly, convinced that Hayato is connected personally to the mysterious murders. Without his adopted uncle, a high-level bureaucrat watching his back, Hayato would be behind bars most of the series. With each new character they encounter, Hayato and Kiriko discover that the number of people they can trust is dwindling. Even at the halfway mark, when Kiriko’s true mission (not to mention martial arts skills) is revealed during a battle with her brother, is it clear that our characters are desperately over their heads.

Hayato has a small network of people he continuously pumps for leads (though unsuccessfully). One lead is an old childhood friend who became the town priest, who guides Hayato in his quest to seek the higher power and truth behind the Skull Man. Another is an older P.I, whose wisdom and nearly Goku-level of perfect timing seems to have stepped from the pages of noire pulp comics.

Some of the lighter moments, especially those between Kiriko and Hayato (who share great moments in their struggle for dominance in their partnership) soften the mood just before the next murder or devilish plot twist occurs. Hayato’s constant confrontations with the Skull Man drive him to obsession to discover the face beneath the mask, even facing the dangerous specter down at gunpoint. By the halfway mark, it is clear that The Skull Man frames Hayato’s embrace of his inner darkness to battle the greater darkness of Ootomo City’s hubris and political corruption.

Sounds pretty epic, don’t you think? Just imagine all that and some werewolves and a small battalion of mechanized maniacal army clowns with flame-throwers and rocket-launchers. Now we talking badass.

Religious imagery, especially those dealing with light, darkness and resurrection, recur faithfully in Skull Man. For example, the secretive Byakureikai cult (literally meaning white bell association) is grooming a key character to be their new Eve in the world they aim to create. While Ootomo City prides itself in its ever-present military-police force, the city does hold a striking Babylon parallel complete with tower. In the end, the Skull Man’s true purpose is to keep the executives of the pharmaceutical company’s power in check and dish out divine punishment to keep the citizens grounded. The Skull Man himself quotes Nietsche and MacBeth just to add to his creepy persona. Forget Tuxedo Mask from Sailor Moon, or Buffy: the Vampire Slayer’s Angel, the title character of this anime is relentless, haunting, and holds more “badass” in his belt buckle than Blood +’s Haji has in his whole cello case. The black leather, spring-loaded sais, German Luger and glowing red eyes are enough to haunt even the most desensitized viewer’s dreams.

Besides being a mystery, The Skull Man is also easily categorized as super-natural with elements of horror. Studio BONES (who put out Fullmetal Alchemist and Darker Than Black and, by extension, have a direct link to my heart and wallet) assembled a patchwork team of directors and writers to compose this piece. With a lot of violence and intense moments, this series would find difficulty in a younger fan base. Its maturity and complexity limit its target audience and, thus, its interest from American dubbing companies.

While The Skull Man’s pacing mirrors the DaVinci Code and results in that stereo-typical all-flash-and-zero-explanation ending that is inconclusive at best, it is still a very good mystery. Even the way its scenes are shot reveal something essential: characters over the phone, characters emerging from behind slightly ajar doors: Ootomo City can make any viewer feel like they are trapped in The Matrix. But I do offer fair warning that this is not a series with conclusive results, in fact, just stay true to the show’s tragic nature, it ends on a darkly lit here-we-go-again tone that shadows an even greater evil will soon come to pass.

For all its red herrings, dead ends and McGuffins, The Skull Man still cranks out a great story with more layers than an onion and a great balance of horror, tragic desire and hair-raising action. How it handled itself so well is the real mystery.

Ghoust Hound

We have come to expect big things from Production I.G, which us such young adult heavy-hitters as Ghost in the Shell and Blood +. For their 20^th anniversary project, the studio reunited the director and head writer of Serial Experiments Lain to once again blur the line between dreams and reality.

The small, rural mountain town of Suiten is loaded with secrets. Three middle school students, whom I refer to as the wise-ass (Masayuki), the badass (Makoto) and the dumb-ass (Taro), discover their commonality in their childhood traumas. Once the boys accidentally cross into the Unseen World of spirits in an attempt to uncover the past about Taro’s kidnapping, it becomes clear that their horrors are the least of their concerns. The spirits have followed them home. The result: astral projection.

The boys’ abstract forms look like malformed transparent blue-tinted Lava lamp babies, but who am I to judge?

Taro, our undisputed main character, is fifteen-years-old and dabbles in lucid dreaming. When he was a child, he and his sister were kidnapped, and only he survived. Now, by unlocking the gate of his memory through hypnotherapy, Taro uses astral projections to find his sister’s spirit. His cousin Makoto is a reserved, sharp-eyed punk who walked in on his father hanging himself. Now his ancient grandmother, a previously influential cult leader, is demanding he inherit the family legacy. Finally, Masayuki, the smirking transfer student from Tokyo, developed acrophobia once a student he tormented jumped from the roof of his school.

Eat your heart out, Shinji! You’ve got nothing on these punks.

Fans of Satoshi Kon will definitely get the most from Ghost Hound: it tosses around complex psychological terminology like a harem anime tosses panty shots. Series director Ryutaro Nakamura ambitiously blends the series’ themes of psychology and Shinto mysticism to create a coherent aesthetic. Memories and flashbacks are drowned out by both static and an underwater blurring effect for both their audio and video: you feel as though you are floating in and out of a dream you cannot control. There are also many elements of horror and suspense, so expect a ton of extreme-close-ups.

Ghost Hound blends complimentary styles including supernatural, psychology, horror, and mystery into one genre that aims to literally blow your mind apart. HOWEVER, despite all the smart-people talk, the story is chronological and easy to follow: you are never totally lost.

That said, the series has much that could have been improved. Because it deals with childhood trauma, expect a ton of flashbacks to the same scenes over and over and then over again. Script-writer Chiaki Konaka (Hellsing, Big-O, Lain) juggles many mysteries at once, and while he develops them all evenly, much of Ghost Hound’s sharp intelligence becomes a double-edge sword resulting in some pretty dull episodes. There are mountains of dense psychological theory cluttering the dialog, and the series could easily have been Freud’s PhD thesis. The intense dialog is contrasted by dream sequences and frequent trips to the Unseen World, which may look cool, but remain disappointingly bland.

By the end of the ride, you do feel as though you have grown with these boys, however. Makoto has gained a heart despite his overt hatred for his family. Masayuki has gained courage in confronting the scientist who sexually possesses both him and his father. And Taro gains the brain he so desperately needs. While Ghost Hound definitely runs on anime rules (trauma, Shinto shrine maidens, family, blaming the past for our present inadequacies) it is difficult to imagine an audience for this show. It is for young adults, and while it has great cliff-hangers, it lacks energy and pizzazz. But, just as with the human brain and our dreams, there are far deeper themes and meanings in Ghost Hound than can be fit into a simple blog-styled review.