Questioning Escapism

If there has been anything positive about being without sufficient work at the time, it has been an ability to take another look at several films with renewed eyes. Particularly after reading a pretty good little book on the subject - Mushroom Clouds And Mushroom Men by Peter H. Brothers, something I'll definitely delve into more on these pages in the near future. Combine this with my own internal notions regarding pop culture, particularly film's divide between sheer escapism, and a viewer's wish for actual catharsis, one can take another view of these works as something of a conundrum. How does one write for a blog centering on some of the most left-field, escapist-like fare, and not drive one's self crazy in the process? There is a simple answer to this. One I hope more "geek-media bloggers" take into account when talking fantasy & genre works.  So when it came time to take in another viewing session of 1964's Three Giant Monsters - The Greatest Battle On Earth (also known in the states as Ghidrah: The Three Headed Monster) it should come as little surprise that aside from the superb work on display by Honda, Tsuburaya & crew, it's still a middling mashup of Dogora, featuring a cool monster fight at the end. For most, this was the big shark-jumping turning point for the Gojira franchise, and it's hard to not see why.

By this point, it only made sense to take the nuclear nightmare metaphor, and chuck it for what the public seemed ready to embrace, Gojira as hero. And what better adversary could there be than a three-headed dragon from space? After ten years, perhaps TOHO and the public were ready to make off with their cathartic sides, and just break out the monster in a manner that would see him as a reluctant representative of humanity. Perhaps my favorite moment in the film involves humans asking the diminutive Shobijin (Yumi & Emi Ito - PEANUTS) to translate a crucial discussion between Radon, Gojira, and Mothra - one that could rouse all three monsters to join forces against the dangerously powerful Ghidorah. Upon pleading with Gojira to join the cause, his response is to the effect that humans aren't worth helping because they "always bully him". It is this one silly scene that somehow cements the film as an important moment in the series, as it is that rare moment where the audience is directly privy to what the usually punchy monster thinks of the human race he has suddenly been tasked with defending. By giving Gojira a relatable voice, as is the public's view of such calamity in the real world.

I continue to stand by the notion that the very best genre has to offer carries within them some tether to very real concerns and emotions. When discussions arise regarding wishes that stories could remain almost strictly outside the realms of reality, one cannot help but wonder where it comes from, especially when the public tolerance for story logic and reason have reached fever pitch in recent years. Possibly as backlash from years of being inundated with works that continuously wink and nudge the audience with a general attitiude of "Kid with us..You don't really buy into any of this, do you?" By the 1980s, films had shunned camp for the most part, and substituted it with over the top sensibilities, which do have their charms. But such as storytelling trends change, the constant has always been some semblance of the real, and how it pertains to daily life. From another take on the "Hero's Journey" or even a simple horror tale, nothing works like carefully considered stories, and multidimensional characters. Without them, all we are looking at is fanciful art for its own sake. (which in it's own way have their charms, just not in many ways that engross me, or inspire discussion deeper than what manner of model work was used here, or CG texture modeling there.)


If the story cannot connect beyond the artifice, then the artifice becomes the reason for being.

So when I read tweets, or blog updates, or even Facebook posts bemoaning the idea that films offering less than comfortable emotions, it begs the question of why one watches what one does. And while disagreement is encouraged and the very essence of a free society, one cannot help but wonder how it comes to be that certain questions, emotions, themes are considered verboten in lieu of tropes, cliches, and expected outcomes. Again, this is obviously speaking completely from a subjective viewpoint, but if catharsis is to be avoided, then what function does art serve in that respect?

Suddenly..."moe" begins to make all the strangest sense in the world.

Live Action Manga Blues [The Dilemma Of Playing With Iconographics - An Intro]

I suppose this was only a matter of time.

A few Twitter chats have taken place over the last few weeks that have brought a particular phenomenon to attention here at the labs, and now I'm hoping to better illustrate my concerns with how Japan treats its modern myths. Once was a time where like so many before me, Japanese cinema was sort of a bold alternative to domestic released bland, and a much regarded jolt of energy when regarding trash cinema. These days however, it has been pretty tough to rekindle such a flame. And I'm sure it isn't merely me. Something is genuinely missing, especially since the manga and anime worlds have long had their day in the international spotlight. And in a time where stateside films like The Dark Knight, and others have reached world class status, it only feels so much more tragic when looking at concepts that perhaps could prove expansive in a three dimensional universe.

Or is it just too iconographic a line to grasp?

Really have been considering taking a crack at this since adaptations of drawn projects have run such the gamut over the years, and can be considered a mastered form in the west. Can the same be said regarding our Japanese counterparts? A part of me would love to think so. But to be honest, more than several years of manga/anime adaptations have proven to be a challenge to properties with often provocative themes, and a film industry eager for a "hit". And even when the mentioned property can be considered light in nature, it rarely seems to be the most successful transition. Could it really be an issue of disconnect between the originating creators, and the film production brass? Endless compromise? Or could it just all be attributed to bad luck?

So what I hope to shed light on in the coming weeks is a series of posts dedicated to live action manga & perhaps find some diamonds in that particular rough.

We'll start with a look at some of the last decades biggest adaptations from violent seinen favorites like Ichi The Killer (Koroshiya Ichi), to even lighthearted shoujo fare like Lovely Complex. Either way, this is guaranteed to be an interesting exploration.

Some Words Regarding Battle Royale 3D & Anchor Bay's News

Oh boy. It was only a matter of time before I had a chance to share feelings on this. Seeing as how Toei wasn't going to skimp out on making even more money off of one of their biggest releases. And they have an all-too-willing Kenta Fukasaku at the ready to shill his father's (the late, great Kinji Fukasaku) final completed work for a tenth anniversary. We just knew that something like a Japanese equivalent to the US 3D upconversion boom that came about in the wake of AVATAR was bound to happen if they couldn't muster up the will to create a wholly new film in 3D themselves. Harsh words, I agree. But the fact remains that the original Battle Royale film, while awash in arterial spray & hyperviolence (between kids, no less) was filmed in a most old-school Panavision style that only feels fit on a 2D plane.

The very idea of it being retouched without his father present is the first of what I suppose troubles this writer. Had Kinji lived to see this day, and had gone along with it, I would have gone ahead and allowed him his Jorge moment. But as it stands, I suppose this makes perfect sense as Kenta (who penned BR's screenplay, based on Takami Koshun's surprise hit novel) has shown himself to be nothing less than a schlockmeister with only name recognition, and access to slightly higher budgets than say, Noboru Iguchi, who's films are done with near nothing, and are infinitely more effectively entertaining. (personal note: My breaking point with young Fukasaku was his version of Sukeban Deka, featuring idol, Aya Matsuura. Submitted my papers promptly after.) So at least Kenta knows where he is coming from.

But for such an immense experience as BR still is, this is still nothing less than naked opportunism. Far more exploitative than many may accuse the film of actually being, and well below the film's ability to shock, even today.

And as for Nippon Cinema's post regarding the long-delayed acquisition of the Battle Royale films (1 & Kenta's ill-fated 2) via legendary horror-friendly company, Anchor Bay, I still feel as if this is another major case of too-little-too-late. All release controversy aside, the original BR has had an entire ten years to flourish as an import (and likely notoriously popular download), even going so far as to being a staple of Hot Topic for nearly five years now. So a release like this, while welcome, feels a lot less a reason to celebrate, so much as a reason for most western BR fans to merely shrug at it. Truth is, that multiple companies have been selling English-Subtitled versions of these films for years (including the Battle Royale SE releases, with additional scenes, and behind the camera footage.).

So yes, Toei found another way to round up the cash cow for another ride (I'm sure the bidding numbers were absurd.), but seeing as how BR has possibly become the first true internet cult phenomenon of the 2000s, I'm not sure why it's any real shakes.

Memories Of Satoshi Kon

Nearly eight hours since I first read the saddening news, and I'm still in a haze. I didn't expect to wake up this morning to fire up the laptop, resume job hunting, as well as preparing new posts, when a trusted news source Tweeted that visionary filmmaker Satoshi Kon had lost a battle with cancer at age 47. Naturally, doubt took hold for a few second, but then why would Takeda from Gainax lie about such a thing? The anime/film industry is not known for pulling such crass stunts, let alone someone from such a reknowned studio. And then things truly shifted moments later, when Studio Mad House's own Masao Maruyama confirmed the news.

Satoshi Kon was in fact gone, and the media world had lost a creative giant.


It feels like only a few years ago, when his name took a special hold in my heart. It was back when his animated adaptation of Yoshikazu Takeuchi's idol-world psychosaga Perfect Blue had begun to make a name for itself in cult film circles via magazines. And it wasn't until catching it at Anime Expo ' 99, did I feel the power of this incredible new voice. By taking the medium of animation, Kon had weaved a rare tapestry of sight and sound that both paid tribute to the best of the gialli, as well as trailblazed a daring new path for film narrative. It was a truly extraordinary experience, made all the more memorable, when the player used in the screening broke down in the middle of the film's reality-warping third act, making the entire crowd visibly troubled.

Upon the film's revival, the crowd broke into the fastest loud cheer I've ever witnessed for a film. The burst was audibly intense, and yet quick, in order to get right back into the thrill of the story. Kon had this crowd in the palm of his hands, no doubt. And I was right there with them.

Years later, I had already heard word of his follow-up which was to explore the life of a famed actress from the early half of the twentieth century, but I had no clue just how much Kon's melancholy drama Millennium Actress would resonate with me. Stretching across not only her life in the movies, but through the trials, and tribulations of a country evolving, the tale of Chiyoko Fujiwara was something that only alchemists of film can truly conjure, proving that the man's talents were far beyond the fare he had tinkered with previously, which was mostly horror & genre fiction (Roujin Z, Memories, World Apartment Horror).

And still, his assault on the mind via transcendent animation, and provocative ideas reached an apex when his career offered a one-two combo in the forms of a unique heartwearming comedy, Tokyo Godfathers, as well as the ultra grim spiritual follow-up to Perfect Blue, the television masterpiece, Paranoia Agent. Handling two seemingly different types of works within a short span of years seems suicidal when considering the high watermark of quality these works engendered, and yet both deliver strong amounts of emotion coupled with a genuine worry for Japan's contemporary spirit, as well as showcasing brilliant looks at the strains of everyday life. Somehow, Kon's characters, and tales have a relation factor that is unusually high in so that it blurs the distinctions between live action and animated material. His works function as neither the atypical Japanese production, nor does it ever cater to the anime otaku market. Somehow, his works exist in a universe all their own, and grant amazing replay value for those looking to immerse themselves in novel-like storytelling, with a penchant for the surreal.

So it must have felt natural, to follow-up the critical international success of these shows with a daring return to the type of mindbending material that brought him to this plateau. When upon first hearing that Kon's next venture was to take on one of Tsutsui's bizarre, and thematically complex novels in the science-fiction satire, Paprika, a bulk of us said, naturally! It only made sense, but perhaps to those who had in fact read the novel, it probably came off as a near impossibility. With such a strange use of language, and the ever iconic blurring of dream & real, it must have been something of a worrisome prospect for some. But alas, when the film was unleashed upon the world stage in 2006, the world embraced the wonder, and mystery of what was essentially the culmination of Kon's work thus far. A more lyrical, psychedelic mystery than the novel's dark satire, Paprika engendered an even more ravenous fan base. My memories of catching this for the first time surrounded by industry friends are as strong as if they had just occurred last night. Such an unapologetically made piece of work must have even been perplexing to many Japanese audiences, but somehow, the human heart of the piece buoys proceedings, and provides some of the most startling hallucinogenic imagery ever committed to film.

While not my favorite Kon film, it is a brilliant way to bow out, and will likely offer years of discussion with new friends as they discover it for themselves.

Which brings me back to what makes his works so special to me, they offered a bold alternative for the mutual worlds of the animated and the live by never adhering to pre-prescribed rules, and yet remaining intellectually and emotionally stimulating. They stand as proof that the visual medium can indeed break free from format and be successful. They also prove that anime can in fact work beyond the quick sell, and offer some much needed soul searching in a media society sometimes deeply neglectful of it. His works are existing proof that the nurturing of talent, as well as the support of it are paramount, despite what the often terrified media congloms would rather have us believe. There are no sure bets, so why bother play the same old table? The works of Satoshi Kon are of a universe not too far from ours, and we see the potential all over, and must'nt ignore the power it not only grants us as viewers, but to the creators who open the world to new forms & feelings.

I'll truly miss anticipating the works of this important voice, but I will also rejoice in the fact that he was actually here, and remains so as a beacon of hope for not only the media industries, but for all voices longing to explore new facets of the human experience.

The Pluralism Of Summer Wars

A week later, and I still am hard-pressed to be convinced that Mamoru Hosoda's Summer Wars isn't a bold socio-techno allegory. The film has had me thinking about it quite a bit since my first viewing. And since my review was posted on Anime Diet, it never felt as if I could completely examine its effects in a mere review format, so what we'll have here are hopefully some near-cohesive thoughts that arise to mind, even as I've seen it a second time already. The effects remain similar, SW is a funny and thrilling feature film that while an expanded, revised version of the second Dejimon movie, thrives off of notions of cyberpunk, but implements them in the most seemingly mundane of settings, within the confines of a domestic comedy. It also intelligently places multiple generations of thought center stage for a battle of mind & will against a technologically superior threat.

The setting of the film, which is mostly within the countryside of Ueda has implications that this film is instantly meant to take us away from the often-overused sprawl of a concrete jungle as symbol for a dystopically overpopulated ubernet that plagues most virtual world laden storylines. Up until now, the operative emotion placed towards the interweaving globalization of electronic networks have been that of largely fear. The most commonplace concern being that of the ensuing disconnect that comes from thousands to millions logging on and possibly tuning out the very social nature that has led us toward this road. Any film that often centers on the proliferation of networks such as these tends to approach them with a balance of true to life observation.


While it is true that the baby steps of a mainstream internet has in fact brought out some less than flattering aspects of ourselves. (as a matter of fact, this sad story just came up this morning that functions well as further proof) It seems all too overwhelming to many that we've come to such a strange sociological branching point. Naturally, some growing pains would appear and persist. And as much as I love the films of Miyazaki, and even understand and agree with the notions Kiyoshi Kurosawa shared in Kairo (2001), it also does stand to reason that there are indeed some positive points to the advent of an interconnected world. Whether it be the breakout of Twitter posts during the Iranian election, and ensuing uprising of students, as well as the growing ability to create from multiple locations in real time. But where we can see such disconnection fears as valid, can we also see the possibilities inherent in a world where multiple generations utilize multiple methods of communication in order to sustain balance in life matters. In Summer Wars' immense virtual network of OZ, not only are participants able to meet and mingle with others across all nations, but are completely able to run businesses, pay taxes, and shop in what looks to be a very real destination point. It also cautiously proposes the problems that naturally come with such an intricate system. The more the abilities, the higher the stakes are in regards to personal well being and security. As eyepopping, and impressive as OZ feels, it also presents the natural hazards in a very convincing fashion.


And yet, we spend most of our time with the Jinnouchi clan as their matriarch's 90th birthday approaches. We are thrust into what can ostensibly be nothing more than a family comedy as Kenji is put upon to play boyfriend by his classmate, Natsuki, who's concerns are clearly and simply immature. So his current identity as a successful student from a rich family and heir to be flaunted around the already prestigious clan, the ruse is clumsily laid out as the family welcomes him with open arms, only to come crashing down when he is implicated for a network hacking of immensely damaging proportions. His identity revealed, all poor Kenji can do is watch as not merely Japan, but the world is thrown into a panic as network-dependent services and machinations are thrown into disarray by Love Machine, a rogue AI with nothing but information and damage as its goals. Placing our attentions on the humanity of these diverse and funny characters makes for not only a relatable moviegoing experience, but also gives us a solid visual take on just how distant we really are in contrast to whatever deus ex machina thinking would like us to believe. With the grandmother's stern test of Kenji's faithfulness at the start of the film, it is simplicity defined. These fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, aunts and uncles, are our first true network. And it is a feeling of community surging throughout the entire piece, Hosoda's film grants us a vision where not only we are more connected than we had ever imagined, we are granted a great deal more responsibility & personality with it.

Culminating with the extended "mission" climax of the film, we are also granted some encouraging notions regarding a move beyond the technophobia we see so often in other films. One very notable one being the assistance of the thirtysomething year-old firefigher brothers who have grown up playing video games cooperating together in order to stop the digital menace. For me, the implications of this are profound in that it isn't so much that the technology is to be feared, but rather our collective upbringing with it around leads to inevitably missteps and stumbles. And somehow, all aspects of growing up around evolving technology is to be seen with a much more critical eye, as there are both benefits and hazards to be met with each new step. It is an optimistic view to be honest, but it does stand to reason that we are now able to grasp concepts that would otherwise have been unfathomable twenty years ago.


So many films outright decrying computerization tend to omit the very elements of resilience and adaptibility from the mix, as if organic thought processes would up and stop someday. Even as the world seems to be in crisis over the stopping of the gargantuan cyberwheel, the notion of just up and talking with another to work things through is seen as a still all powerful option. While the threat of this is always an extreme possibility, one of Summer Wars's greatest assets is that it embraces the community, rather than merely the neo, which is quite encouraging. The idea that everyone has a stake, as well as talent to contribute is something to be cherished, and it's great to see an animated film grasp this.

Playing On Old Directives

Blame Mouthmaster Murf & the rest of The Anomalies because I've been on a late 80s kick since last weekend as I dug out my old copy of Paul Verhoeven's dystopian masterwork , Robocop. As much as I'd love to heap more praise upon this, a longtime favorite of mine, I'd rather just spend a few moments on just what kind of impact this very R-rated film had on a twelve-year-old me.


5. It exposed me to the true definition of forbidden fruit.

Confession: RoboCop was the first R-rated film I repetitiously sneaked in to see, and reigns supreme as the one film I've seen the most times in a theater. (Seven times!)My father took me the first time, and it was like something akin to that first score, just irresistible.

4. It reawakened my love of mecha.

Since I was very small, it was a little too clear that I had a grand love of all things cybernetic. From military-issue, to superhero, to hard-suit, I was always crazy for machines living alongside humankind. And Robo's particular stylings added a dimension most reminiscent of certain manga and video-games.



3. It offered me a grand mistrust of corporations.

Let's just face it. Murphy's fate at the hands of the folks of OCP is not only questionable, but downright tragic. Whether Dan O' Herilhy's Old Man was truly evil, or just a dreaming fool, undermined by cutthroats and opportunists is beside the point. The line at which these men stop at clawing for their own gain is nonexistent to the point that they would sacrifice semblance of order for a mere profit share. If there were any true villains in this film, there they were in their towers, hovering around the edges of the narrative as Detroit descends into hell.

2. It made me a fan of brashy, no-holds-barred cinema.

As much as I watched some pretty wild fare growing up, this was the film that opened my eyes to the possibility of using film to push the envelope in regards to not only subject matter, but of the content. Who else witnessed crowds of people shriek, and cringe at the violence meter in this film? It was unprecedented at the time, and still has impact today, despite being able to realize anything now with CG, proving it isn't so much what one says, but in how one says it. And RoboCop does so in a particularly aggressive, memorable fashion.

1. It enhanced my love of thoughtful science fiction.

Seriously. Outside of films like 2001, Terminator, and books like War Of The Worlds, Dune, and others, I was still very much a child of Star Wars/Star Trek, and could only really make noise about the more action-based elements of these. As brainy as I saw myself, I never at that time saw films carrying deeper ideas that I could instantly read into until this sly little piece of work came out. Even as the film storms its way in as a summertime popcorn-chomper, I very surprisingly also found it to be savagely funny in how it seemed to deliver a bruising sucker-punch to a decade drowning in excess, at the expense of the working class. I didn't need an adult to explain to me the concerns bubbling through the fire and smoke. Something was indeed coming through loud and clear upon witnessing Murphy's transformation from dutiful working man, into a blank-staring, sharp-shooting product.


And just happy to say that after nearly 25 years later, it's still an addiction that requires lapses every now and then.