Wrath of the Ninja

Wrath of the Ninja: the Yotoden Movie is one of those classic anime that is quickly sinking into obscurity. Not quite as detailed or bloody as Ninja Scroll, not as political as Rurouni Kenshin and not nearly as silly as Naruto, this movie still strikes hard at any classic anime fan’s heart like a spring-loaded dagger.
To make this review interesting, we’re going to turn this review into a drinking game. Every time I mention a cliché in this movie’s plot, I want you all to take a drink from whatever you’ve got.

The Japanese Middle Ages: Our hero is a determined and level-headed young ninja woman named Ayame, the sole survivor of her village. Before the demons could consume her, her brother (in a drawn-out and much-repeated flashback) gives her the village’s super-awesome short sword with which she may rid the world of evil and stop the evil lord Nobunaga Oda from taking over the world. Along her merry way, she gains two friends, other rogue ninja who also possess legendary weapons: a spear and a long sword. They travel, smiting evil until it comes down to Ayame and Oda (now transformed into something that would make Inuyasha’s Naraku retch) and, having screamed the loudest, blows him apart in a big bright explosion, thus bringing the ending credits to the screen.

Though it is unfair to review Wrath of the Ninja without the three-episode OAV Yotoden, WotN is still a pretty solid example of fantasy ninja before chakra was introduced. The retro blurred backgrounds, mysterious supporting characters and destiny-babble do not subtract from the charm of this classic. What can really grind your nerves about this movie is the absence of originality; this is a great anime if you want to parody existing anime.
Granted, the pacing and odd transitions in time, as well as the emotional distance of the main characters makes this a hard one to watch with friends; rather than watching the screen, you may find yourself looking at your watch instead.

Dominion Tank Police

The futuristic city of Newport is an endless pile of harsh, unwelcoming buildings stewing under a perpetual dark “bacteria cloud.” Every 36 seconds, a crime is committed (beat that, Detroit.) To protect the city, the Tank Police are formed; madmen with big mouths, bigger guns, and less moral guidance than Million Knives.
Masamune Shiro, known most for his iconic work Ghost in the Shell, has spent a career imaging man’s parallel evolution with machinery and their effect on each other. For DTP, he decided to once again question the line between authentic humanity and artificial humanity, a topic that’s just a tad too deep for an anime with two strippers on the DVD’s cover.
Our four episodes center on the initiation of Leona, the first girl to transfer into the testosterone-saturated Tank Police. As she learns the way of the Newport City Tank Police, she builds her own mini-tank named Bonaparte, something resembling a Dalek from Dr. Who but with nastier treads. Her journey becomes one of initiation, acceptance, and finally a literal struggle for justice vs. pride. She’s cute, impulsive and stubborn as most girls who drive assault vehicles, but her development remains relative.
Becoming a viewer of the Tank Police is reveling in the frat house level of maturity and pride of captain “Britain” (on my translation at least) and the rest of the loosely-drawn squad. These guys regularly patrol the streets en mass, causing more destruction than the Big-O and turning enhanced interrogation into a game show complete with betting, bunny girls and throwing knives!

Oddly enough, the character whom Shiro forces the most sympathy for is the main antagonist Buaku, a small-time crook with big-time weapons. Buaku and his partners, twin gun-enthusiasts/strippers Anna and Umi, a clash between the American Gladiators and Thundercats, begin by assaulting a hospital for “perfectly healthy people” in order to steal jars of urine. No, no, you read that correctly: pee-pee. Once they fail at that, Buaku goes for a priceless painting, only to be thwarted again by the Tank Police. It is in this second arc that the story sacrifices its pacing for a deeper message on the self-imposed value of life.

Don’t get me wrong; there are many tanks. Big tanks.

Thus, there are explosions. Big explosions. No character can take center stage over Shiro’s masterful detail and imagination in his armored vehicles.

What keeps this OVA a step below Ghost in the Shell is the sluggish pacing combined with its desire to leave everything as open-ended as possible. Dominion Tank Police runs into the same problem that Full Metal Panic did in that it tries to combine a high-tech cop drama with another conflicting genre. For DTP, it was the final episode’s delve into surrealism and philosophical drivel that collapses the story into the anime cliché of flashbacks and rhetorical questions.

Still, slow scenes and loose plot set aside, Masamune Shiro’s DTP is a must-see for fans of the mecha-cop genre. Patlabor, Appleseed, Ghost in the Shell, and Armitage III fans will revel in the detail of all things mechanical. Not quite as aloof or high-brow as Ghost in the Shell, but a lot more fun to watch in a crowded room full of open-minded people.

Decade-Long; Decade-Strong

Hello Again,

My panel co-host George has made a post on the Otakon Bulletin Boards to get audience feedback. We had run this panel twice: once at Connecticon and once at Otakon. Anyone who attended our panel on Saturday, we would truly appreciate constructive criticism so this panel can be even MORE informative, historically accurate, and enjoyable.

http://board.otakon.com/index.php?showtopic=15718

Thank you graciously.

Gotham Knight

Of all the comic book heroes in America, few are as open to interpretation as Batman. Gotham city was once described by writer Alan Moore as “stranded somewhere between 1930 and 2001 Art Deco,” and its leading crime-fighter has evolved over the years to forever hold our interest. Warner Bros. tried very hard to recreate the eclectic, spectacle-driven fan-service we remember from The Animatrix.

Story-wise, Gotham Knight is vaguely slapped together as a whole, and the story thread gets thinner and thinner as the story goes. Visually it’s like a gothic jaw-breaker, each background getting better and better. It’s a double-edged bat-a-rang choice between style and substance, and we can clearly see which one came out on top. By the end, Gotham City becomes its own ominous character, engulfing every shot and looming like the ghost of a filthy Post-Depression slum.

Six writers in America gave six directors in Japan the option to show the Dark Knight and his mysterious, dark environment from every conceivable angle, like staring at a carved diamond from every cut. The result is six heavily stylized takes on Batman that fail to tell a solid story. It is not directly anime, nor is it directly Batman: Dark Knight; it’s a hybrid that runs the risk of injuring Batman fans against anime.

Our first story, directed by Shoujirou Nishimi (of Tekkon Kinkrit), is a tribute to the animated series episode “Legends of the Dark Knight,” in which four skate-boarding Gotham teens share their stories and views of Batman as he chases down a tech-driven thug. Mecha-bat, Man-bat and vampire-Batman all come together in this mélange. The characters, with their Nishimi trade-marked shifty faces and tiny eyes, almost clash completely with the background.

Secondly there is “Cross-fire,” in which two detectives (fan boys hush) are brought to trust Batman after they are caught in the midst of a gang war cross-fire. Style-wise, Futoshi Higashide presents a world that would work beautifully for Hellboy or Hellsing, but it makes Batman a tad satanic. He walks through fire! The burning kind! That defines badass!

Thirdly the director of the .hack//Series series (Horioshi Morioka) gives us a nearly shojo-style pretty-boy of Bruce Wayne as he prepares to test a new bullet-deflection system on some thugs. For me, this was the first redeeming chapter of the story as we not only see Bruce Wayne’s side of Batman, but also the driving sympathy and unexpected compassion that defines the Dark Knight.

Part four was written by Batman: Beyond and Dark Knight writer David S Goyer. Visually, we travel with Batman into the underground hollows beneath Gotham City to fight Killer Croc and the Scarecrow. If this were expanded into the whole movie, I would be one pleased little Otaku. Batman becomes something fantastic here as his tech and classic vanishing act takes the cake and overshadows the Scarecrow’s new, Gothic Frankenstein costume. If anything, it blends horror with urban mythology into a great visual piece.

“Working Through Pain” shows Bruce Wayne training in India (that’s right, India: deal with it) through a series of flashbacks. In this part, a wounded Batman performs self-surgery on himself as he tries to navigate his way out Gotham’s deadly sewers. As a stand-alone piece, this is magnificent. The writing combined with relatively unknown director Toshiyuki Kubooka creates great film transitions and symbolism. Bravo. Pain and rejection are the guiding forces in this story, the spiritual side of Wayne’s journey in becoming Batman. Huge parallels are drawn between Bruce’s personal rejection and his lady trainer’s social rejection. For Batman to be wading through garbage and finding a pile of guns is shocking and full of pathos. It’s simple, but “Working Through Pain” is both human and compelling.
Finally, “Deadshot” is about Batman taking down a villainous assassin who (for this very anti-gun piece) is the perfect villain. Arrogant, merciless, and more pro-gun than Charlton Heston, Deadshot’s story is far too short for this fifteen minute visual masterpiece. Sadly, story-wise, it is simply Golgo 13 getting sucker-punched by Batman.

In the end, we see every side of Batman. World’s greatest detective, billionaire playboy, tech wizard, dark angel of mercy, self-driven philanthropist, and vigilante – they all come through in this piece. I fail to see this as an over-budgeted failure on Warner Bros. part, even considering the severe downplay on the Japanese directors. Show some love and appreciation, Warner Brothers! I guess you could say that too many cooks over-spiced the soup and abandoned the chance to tell one solid story. Instead we leap through time and places in Batman’s career. The voice acting is top-notch, and you’d have my permission to go full-out Itachi on me for not mentioning the great work (as always) by veteran voice-actor, Kevin Conroy. He syncs up well with the Japanese lip-action and delivers yet another spine-tingling performance as the dark knight.

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.

Paradise Kiss

Disclaimer: this is a shojo. There are no ninjas or explosions; there is only fashion. E! did not get me interested in fashion: Paradise Kiss did.

Yukari Hayasaka is a bit of a stuck-up senior high school student: she studies hard to earn her B-average and is already bored with life. This comes to a crashing halt when she discovers a team of fashion school students who take her to their underground “workshop.” Suddenly Alice has been tripped into a Wonderland of lace, butterflies, polyester, silk, clovers, and the bisexuals who design and wear them.

Paradise Kiss feels like an indy project of underground art school drop-outs. It can be described as a slice-of-life, coming-of-age story with a surplus of style a forte of fashion. Its opening and closing themes, Lonely in Gorgeous and Do You Want To respectively, carry the show’s youthful and vibrant energy, blasting you with colors, caricatures and craft. Many scenes morph between super-deformed and real characters in the same shots, giving great flexibility in the series’ tone. The series also developed its own screen-wipe transitions of spinning flowers and mutated stuffed animals, which only adds to the pleasant aesthetic.

The characters are just as unique as their clothing habits. There’s Isabella, the quiet idealist who dresses like the countess from a lost romance novel. Heart-stiched-on-her-sleeve Miwako, who is basically a walking piece of cotton (and eye) candy. Arashi, the grumpy punk rocker, whose safety pin piercings are enough to make the cast of Hellraiser flinch. And finally there is George, the suave Prince Charming who leads his team the way Griffith led the Hawks from Berserk. The four form Paradise Kiss, their own line of clothing. The best clincher? George wants Yukari to model their final project.

Though reluctant at first, Yukari decides to test the waters of the world of fashion. Being given a new nickname of Caroline (or Carrie) by Miwako, she is reborn and redressed into a world she originally dismissed. In no time flat, she falls for the enigmatic playboy, George, and her dedication to the group’s project becomes inescapably personal. In an attempt to abandon the mediocrity of her life at home and school, she moves into Arashi’s apartment and seeks work as a fashion model. Through her new friends’ stretch at nepotism, Yukari’s good luck lands her at a modeling agency. But just before things get too out of hand, she moves in with George, and the two lovers become inseparable.

(This is the part where you all say “yikes!”)

The most engaging aspect of Paradise Kiss is Yukari’s challenging and complicated relationship with George, whose feelings are harder to interpret than the plot of Serial Experiments Lain. Does he really care about her decision to abandon her life for his ambitions? How will he use her after the project is done? Despite his debonair standoffishness and unreadable expressions, George holds himself with the impeccable charm and the faultless poise of James Bond and Calvin Klein combined. He’s so dangerous, you almost have to fall in love with him and hate yourself for it. Nevertheless, it is a story about young love, which is always passionate and fiery at first, but is quick to consume itself and become ash.

While the show concerns itself with fashion shoots, modeling agencies, and hair dressing, it never overwhelms Yukari’s voice and perspective of this new and flamboyant world. Her narrative voice is self-conscious and borderline arrogant: in other words, the perfect high school senior. It is easy to see people dislike Yukari for her stubbornness and naivety, but her blossoming passion for love and George redeems her. Paradise Kiss’ treatment of sex, virginity and sexual identification plays a major role in its story-telling. It rebels and boils with rampant sexuality, though more subtly rather than crudely (think Romeo and Juliet rather than Colorful.) Many of the love-making scenes are treated with the classic Japanese fashion of showing objects in the room rather than actual nudity; this technique doubles the emotional weight of each scene.

While the dialog can fall into many of the pitfalls of directly-translated manga-into-anime, but the visual experience of Paradise Kiss is crisp and deep, each shot as carefully sculpted as an assignment on Project Runway. In the end, the conflict of romanticism and love vs. real world values leans with total bias toward the romantics and idealists (this is a shojo after all.) Though its commercial success in the states makes the final chapters hard to find, even on Ebay, it is a very pleasant show. Girls, as well as boys who, like Isabella, think they’re girls, will enjoy the romantic treatment of first love.

Kurenai

Shinkurou Kurenai is a high school student whose afterschool job is “conflict negotiator.” But unlike Robert Smith of Big-O, rather than summon a giant robot, Shinkurou negotiates with his badass martial arts skills. And he has just received the most awkward mission of his life. Enter Murasaki Kuhouin, the spoiled, six-year-old daughter of Japan’s most secret elite family. Shinkurou’s job: protect Murasaki at all costs.

So begins our light comedic drama of opposites: the kidnapped princess and the timid, hidden beast. Shinkurou’s only choice is to keep Murasaki safe and hidden in his apartment, which is quite the culture shock for Murasaki, who grew up in the xenophobic and traditional Japanese family. With each episode, Murasaki learns the basics of regular society, friendship and freedom.

I will say that Murasaki is a loud-spoken individual and way too wise and compromising to be a realistic girl, let alone a six-year-old. She is fierce and judgmental, but holds enough childlike innocence to grow on you like a little sister.

Shinkurou may appear flat at first, but he develops wonderfully, showing his strengths as weaknesses and vice versa. He is victim to his own naivety and post-adolescence claim to invincibility. His is a story of learning to “stand on [his] own power,” to be strong without help from others. In the end, Kurenai doesn’t define strength and freedom as the inability to lose, but by the wisdom and experience to compromise.

The supporting cast is groundbreaking. Shinkurou’s boss, the stylish femme fatale Benika, will smash her car through a Japanese temple so a six-year-old stranger won’t live without freedom. Shinkurou’s broke and opinionated roommates are great, from Yamie (the black-humored and clothed cynic) to Tamaki (the carefree community college slacker.) Even the ass-kicking near-ninja Yayoi is a closet karaoke star.

What proves Kurenai’s maturity is its courage to challenge its own message, bitch-slap it, and yank it off its high horse. The world from which Murasaki is liberated is a paradox of morality and tradition. The Kuhouins are a powerful hierarchy of authentic, blue-blooded isolationists, the kind that use women as domesticated wombs. Yet with Murasaki’s kidnapping in the first episode, the very real and complicated moral system of Kurenai begins to take shape. Responsibility (both for oneself and others), freedom, and love are juggled very skillfully to create a grey world. Even the time-tested moral of “freedom is good, confinement is evil” is questioned and severely criticized in this show.

I have never seen a show like this. Although I can see it having a hard time being accepted by younger audiences and action fanatics, it possesses real depth, weakness, love and humanity. Intense martial arts combined with the dry, nothingness humor of Seinfeld. The art is beautiful and the dialog is quirky, original, and full of surprising humanity. To put a concrete genre on Kurenai would seem like a constrictive yoke. “Slice-of-life” wouldn’t work because Shinkurou beats up the yakuza. “Harem” would fit because Shinkurou is surrounded by women…except they abuse him terribly…especially Murasaki. “Realism” doesn’t even work because of that bone/horn thing in Shinkurou’s right elbow, Kurenai’s equivalent to the standard, ultimate hidden technique.

I’d like to quote Murasaki’s concluding monologue as proof of Kurenai’s poignancy:

“A cramped room, a smelly futon, noisy and strange people, a small sky in a crowded city…I got scolded for doing things I thought were natural…but I laughed a lot.”

Is true strength running away and finding yourself, or facing the adversities of home in the hopes of changing them for the better? Whether it’s the cynical humor, the occasional badass fights, or the hope for a second musical episode, Kurenai is a cut unlike any else.