Wednesday, 31 March 2021

Announcing The Outfit

 So, that bit of news I've been dropping hints on for quite some time now?  Well, today's the day I finally get to stop hinting!

Toward the back end of 2019, Rebellion editor David Thomas Moore got in touch to ask how I felt about the possibility of writing a fictionalisation of the Tiflis bank robbery.  Clearly, my first step was to learn what the heck a Tiflis bank robbery was, for which, being only human, I went straight to Wikipedia.  Roughly five seconds later, having discovered that the Tiflis bank robbery was one of the most wildly insane events ever to occur in human history, positively gawking at the fact that nobody had yet written about it and that I might conceivably get to be the one who did, I was already trying to think of ways to reword "Seriously though, when I can I start?" into something a business-savvy professional writer sort might say.

For those who didn't follow that Wikipedia link: the Tiflis bank robbery is the occasion when, on the instructions of Lenin and other high-ups in the Bolshevik command, a young Joseph Stalin led the gang of career revolutionaries he was at the time in charge of in one of the most outrageous, profitable, and bloody crimes in history.  And yes, I do mean that Joseph Stalin.  This a real thing that really happened in actual history, and when you dig beneath the surface, it only gets weirder and less plausible.  One example off the top of my head: there's a scene in the book in which Stalin recruits someone to his cause using their passion for his, Stalin's, youthful poetry.  Oh, and it takes place over a glass of milk, because milk bars were a thing in early twentieth-century Georgia.  Did I mention that this all really happened?!

The Outfit is still quite a way from release, having been put back a couple of times for the same reason that every damn thing's been put back over this last year and change, but at least, as of today, it's public knowledge and has a definite landing date.  It also has a press release, which you can read here - if you're not sold at "The Russian Revolution meets Reservoir Dogs" then I'm not sure I can help you! - and I wouldn't be surprised if there's an unveiling of the cover in the not terribly distant future.  And meanwhile, I, obviously, will be rattling on about it at every possible opportunity!

Monday, 29 March 2021

Drowning in Nineties Anime, Pt. 97

How on earth did these eighties posts become a regular feature of a blog that has its chronological parameters baked right into the title?  Obviously it has a lot to do with me being awful at following the rules I set myself to keep this whole exercise within a remotely manageable scope; but equally as often, it's just that I pick stuff up because it looks interesting or I've heard good things about it and only realise once I get round to writing my review that it came out in the wrong decade.  That was the case with a couple of the titles here, and inevitably I then end up reviewing some other stuff that I might have settled for just watching for my own amusement so as not to be left with half a post - which is how I'm talking about a kid's movie that's a whole nine years too early for our purposes!

And why I'm bothering to explain any of this is beyond me!  After all, we've got some terrific anime this time around, in the shape of The Fantastic Adventures of Unico, Twilight of the Cockroaches, Outlanders, and Macross: Do You Remember Love?

The Fantastic Adventures of Unico, 1981, dir's: Toshio Hirata, Osamu Tezuka

You have to respect the willingness - nay, the eagerness! - of eighties Japanese children's films to go to thoroughly dark places.  The Fantastic Adventures of Unico doesn't so much toy with questions of mortality, grief, isolation, and the depredations of age as it does fling itself at them headfirst.  What we have here is a cutesy kids adventure that opens with its protagonist being sentenced to death by the gods for the crime of bringing too much unearned happiness to humanity, and though that sentence is quickly commuted to banishment to the ends of creation, it's a fair taste of what's to come.  In short order, the chosen agent of the gods, the West Wind, takes pity on our magical infant unicorn hero and drops him off, instead, at the most isolated spot she can find, reasoning that if there's no-one around for him to bring joy to, he can't very well incur the wrath of his creators any more than he already has.  But it's not long before the briefly traumatised but ever-optimistic Unico is trying to befriend a demon, a project that goes about as well as you'd expect, in that - spoiler alert, I suppose - he winds up dead within minutes.  It doesn't stick, of course, or we wouldn't have much of a film, but you sure feel like it might when you're watching an adorable, pink-haired unicorn child drowning in a seething ocean.

I can't overstress how weird this is; bar a brief interlude in which we're introduced to one of the most delightful cats in all of animation history, there's nary a scene of The Fantastic Adventures of Unico's ninety minute run time in which something emotionally challenging isn't happening.  But I also can't overstress how charming and engaging the film is and how much that grows out of its aggressively bleak themes rather than acting as a counterpoint to them.  Unico is a kindly innocent in a world where even the gods are seriously screwed up, and though he has magical powers that basically let him do whatever the plot requires, they only work when he loves and is loved in return.  Unico's is a world in which even small cruelties can be debilitating, and that lends the moments of kindness and decency that crop up vastly more weight than they have in the average kiddie flick, where the stakes are nonexistent and the forces of evil are more obstacles to be overcome than genuine threats.

It helps, mind you, that the film is lovely to look at, with gorgeously detailed backdrops and simple characters animated with an emphasis on nuance and personality, all gathered together in an aesthetic that somehow squares the circle between its seventies Osamu Tezuka source material and its eighties movie present: the lush colour scheme favours supersaturated shades and burning neon far more than you'd think could possibly work, but somehow it does.  Fortunately, perhaps, the soundtrack doesn't try the same trick, and the many songs, mostly delivered by singer / songwriter Iruka, are gentle, folksy things that are so legitimately sweet and sad that they stay on the right side of kitsch.

Which, I think, sums up The Fantastic Adventures of Unico in its entirety.  It ought to be unbearable to adult eyes, but, like its hero, it's so genuine and good-hearted, and so willing to confront and try and overcome the darkness of its world, that it somehow turns a tale of a magical unicorn into something complex and powerful, without forgetting that it also needs to be cute and lively and full of colour.  I can't begin to imagine how actual children would respond to this, and though I didn't sample the English dub, it's all but impossible to imagine how that wouldn't push the thing off the tenuous tightrope it's walking; it would take almost nothing to make this too cutesy, and less to make it so existentially terrifying that the average child would need therapy on the back of the experience.  At the same time, I suspect that emotionally sturdy kids are exactly the right audience, and if I had any to hand, I'd be eager to sit them down and let them experience the bittersweet joys of The Fantastic Adventures of Unico.

Twilight of the Cockroaches, 1987, dir: Hiroaki Yoshida

It's curious, really, that there isn't more anime that combines animation with live-action footage.  Oh, I can think of a few titles that feature both in the same place - Otaku No Video springs to mind as an obvious example - but ones that combine the two, in the manner of, say, Who Framed Roger Rabbit?  Off hand, I'm not certain I've encountered a single one beside Twilight of the Cockroaches.

Granted, the technique would hardly be an ideal fit for every project, and it's definitely hard to conceive of a more perfect usage than what it's put to here.  Twilight of the Cockroaches tells the tale of a tribe of 'roaches who've been living for long enough in a state of nonconfrontational equilibrium with the human whose apartment they occupy that they've come to regard that as just how things are - and the film's central gimmick is to render the bugs in hand-drawn animation while using live-action footage for everything else.  (There are two exceptions: a talking dog turd done up in some rather splendid stop-motion animation and one tiny spot of cheating that bothered me more than it probably should have, especially since it's in service of an especially fine bit of visual storytelling.)  Anyway, clearly things can't go on as they are, and cracks start to show when our 'roaches encounter a refugee from another tribe that live across the field behind their building; a victim of cockroach / human warfare, he's held up as an example of how great their ceasefire is, but it's obvious to us, if not them, that war is bound to reach their shores before too long.  Because it so happens that the woman who lives in the apartment across the field has caught the eye of the sad-sack layabout who's our protagonists' inadvertent landlord, and suddenly he has every reason to clean his act up.

All told, it's rather a strange narrative, one that very much has the feel of an allegory but at the same time is so specific that it's hard to see how it would map onto anything in our reality.  Apparently director Yoshida maintained that the cockroaches represented Japan, with the humans as the rest of the world, which does neither side any favours but also does the movie itself a disservice: it does such a good a job of giving its pest stars their own inner life, anthropomorphizing them but never to the extent that we can forget they're insects of a sort that tend to inspire revulsion more than affection.  In fact, the register Twilight of the Cockroaches often drifts into is a sort of cosmic horror, since we have a far greater understanding of what's going on and what it means than they do, leaving us full of dread on their behalf as they blithely blunder closer to oblivion.

Nevertheless, plot-wise, I don't know that Twilight of the Cockroaches is wholly a success, and at an hour and forty-five minutes, probably some of its odder digressions could have stood a dash of trimming.  But what absolutely does work is the look of the thing: even in the dire print Eastern Star put out, presumably because it's all that survives, the film is a delight to experience.  The animation isn't technically outstanding and the designs are relatively simple, albeit brimming with charm, but the integration with the live-action footage is outstanding, ingenious and adventurous in a way I've rarely encountered prior to this.  Once you get used to it, which takes all of a couple of minutes, it works and works beautifully, adding a special magic to the storytelling that makes even its odd flat moment feel special.  Frankly, if this is what Japan could pull off by mixing live action and animation, it's a hell of a shame the experiment didn't inspire more imitators, but I'm glad we at least got something so deeply weird and individual as Twilight of the Cockroaches.

Outlanders, 1986, dir: Katsuhisa Yamada

You can tell a lot about Outlanders from its opening couple of minutes and the way it handles its meet-cute between alien princess Kahm and bumbling human Tetsuya.  We're introduced to Kahm as she's single-handedly assaulting the Earth, and, having seen off the air force with her gigantic spaceship, she gets down to slaughtering a bunch of soldiers with her sword in rather bloody fashion.  One of their decapitated heads happens to land in the hole where poor Tetsuya is hiding, which is enough to scare him into the open, but not enough to convince him that standing gawping at Kahm - not to mention trying to take her photo! - is a seriously bad idea.  Still, his camera somehow deflects her sword, the two end up wrestling, and Tetsuya can't help noticing that Kahm isn't wearing much of anything, by which point Kahm's also finding the whole business a bit of a turn-on, and wouldn't you know it but five minutes later she's decided that it's high time the two of them were wed - and the sooner the wedding night arrives, the better.

Aside from being a bonkers way to get your central couple together, that opening teaches us quite a bit about where Outlanders' priorities lie.  Despite the relatively brief fifty minute running time, we'll have a couple more sword fights and the odd space battle, but far more than either, we'll have Kahm and Tetsuya really wanting to jump each other's bones at every available opportunity.  Outlanders is delightfully frank about sex in a way most popular culture and definitely most vintage anime almost never is: we're not really expected to believe this is some grand love story, just that these two kids are insanely hot for each other, sufficiently that Kahm's willing to defy her tyrannical father and let Earth off from its destruction and Tetsuya's willing to almost get himself killed and generally to put up with all manner of space weirdness.  But they're not the only couple here, we also have Kahm's best friend Battia and rebellious ship's captain Geobaldi, and their relationship is even more openly sexual, to a quite startling degree - not to say that we see a lot, though Outlanders does get surprisingly explicit at points, but in the way the film doesn't remotely dance around the fact that they're two adults who really, really enjoy getting it on with each other.*

I suppose that all this doesn't necessarily make Outlanders good, but since the topic of sex is generally treated with such immaturity, it does make for an awfully refreshing and distinctive watch.  Mind you, strip out the hanky-panky and you'd still have a decidedly odd title, one that very much feels as though there's a great deal of plot happening beyond the edges of the frame but still manages to barrel through a satisfying chunk of story in less than an hour.  In this, the wonderful design work is a major help, not so much for filling in the missing details but more for selling us on an entire galactic civilisation just by how visually thought through every aspect is.  The animation is nothing to write home about, though it's perfectly good and laced with nice character work, but the designs are enough to make for something that's always a pleasure to watch.

However, even putting aside the fact that a space opera rom-com that's obsessed with sex isn't everyone's cup of tea, Outlanders is less than it could be.  Perhaps it has something to do with being all the way from back in 1986 - a fact I admittedly wouldn't have guessed from the visuals - but Yamada's direction has a certain stiltedness, a certain uncertainty of tone, and it's not helped by Kei Wakakusa's score, which plays as though this were straight sci-fi and thus does more to undermine the tone than back it up.  Neither of those problems are calamitous, but they're enough to leave me imaging a version of Outlanders that works just slightly better than this.  Still, I'm plenty happy with what we got; anything this committed to its own weirdness is almost bound to find itself on my good side.

Macross: Do You Remember Love?, 1994, dir's: Noboru Ishiguro, Shôji Kawamori

Macross: Do You Remember Love? is a compilation movie retelling the first three quarters or so of the original Super Dimension Fortress Macross series that wrapped in the previous year, and based on experience, you'd think there's a definite cap to how good a compilation movie can be, for at least a couple of reasons.  For a start, that generally means recycled TV footage, which obviously is unlikely to look too hot on a cinema screen, and then there's how basically flawed the whole principle is: a story that's suited to multiple television episodes isn't generally one that can be crammed into a couple of hours without losing any of its depth or nuance.

Having not seen the TV series, I can't comment on that second point, except to say that Macross: Do You Remember Love? certainly doesn't feel like a work that's been stripped of anything at all, or indeed one that's been squashed into a shape that isn't the perfect fit for its material.  There is, in retrospect, a certain lumpiness to its story that you could see as representing chunks of multiple episodes, but there was never a second where that bothered me, and indeed there are frequent structural triumphs, such as the way crucial elements mirror each other, that make it hard to imagine how this could have functioned as twenty-some episodes.  Its story is a fine bit of space opera, one that pulls off the oft-attempted and even more oft screwed-up trick of marrying personal conflicts to grand cosmic drama, in this case a love triangle between pop idol Lynn Minmay, pilot Hikaru Ichijyo, and his commanding officer Misa Hayase and the tale of how the titular space fortress finds itself entangled in a war between alien species whose history is deeply connected with the Earth's.  Honestly, outside of Star Wars at its best, I don't know that I've ever seen a better pairing of small-scale human drama with galaxy-shaking mythologising: there are charming personal moments and there are moments of epic scale, and not only do the two never pull focus from each other, some of the best scenes web them inextricably.  It helps that the pace, while not slow, is willing to linger on the character stuff, so that, for example, when Hikaru and Lynn are trapped in a damaged portion of the Macross during a battle, we spend enough time with them that their relationship gains some proper weight.  As the title suggests, Do You Remember Love? is very much a love story front and centre, but somehow it manages to make that the core around which a great deal of other stuff spins.

Oh, and that other persistent flaw with compilation movies, the reuse of TV footage?  Well, there's none of that here.  The movie was reanimated in its entirety, and I suppose that really means we have to view it as something different, more a reimaging, but at any rate it looks astoundingly good, not just in the sense of being exceptionally well animated but for the sheer imagination and ingenuity that co-directors Noboru Ishiguro and Shôji Kawamori bring to their material.  There are no end of show-stopping scenes, with perhaps the most memorable being the one that literally stops the show: without going into spoilery details, there's a fairly astounding sequence near the end of a space battle with one character foregrounded that makes the film's marrying of the personal and the epic satisfyingly blatant.  But then, I could spend this whole review picking favourite scenes and shots from Do You Remember Love? and while you're watching, the breadth of its ideas and attention to detail seems practically endless.

Granted, there are odd points I could quibble on if I really wanted to; for a film that's so much about music and that features a pop idol as one of its central characters, the music is often disappointingly on the bland side, and I suppose that if you weren't willing to meet it halfway, the plot is much too ludicrous to be taken half as seriously as it is; view it with a cynical eye and there's plenty that would make for easy laughs.  But Do You Remember Love?, with its marrying of enormous, bombastic sci-fi thrills and genuinely engaging character drama, is the sort of film that sweeps you up and carries you along, and it would take a hard heart indeed not to surrender to its wiles.  It's no wonder this was an enormous hit at the time, and nearly four decades on, it's lost none of its charm.

-oOo-

With that behind us, I feel a lot less apologetic about these random eighties posts, because if ever a selection justified the odd departure further back in time, this was it.  Purely by accident, I seem to have come up with a really fine overview of some of the decade's best trends, so well done me for that!  Still, it's back to business as usual next time, and I know I keep saying this, but I really need to get to work on that big centenary post...



[Other reviews in this series: By Date / By Title / By Rating]


* Of course, one of them is an anthropomorphised dog.  Hey, this is still anime!

Monday, 15 March 2021

Drowning in Nineties Anime, Pt. 96

Once again I seem to have lucked my way into a theme of sorts, though it's not one I'd have deliberately opted for.  Skimming over them, I can't help noticing that all four titles here are very much about guys doing manly guy stuff, and not one of them has much time for their female characters, and it wouldn't be much of a stretch to argue that all four have at least the odd moment where those female characters are basically there so they can be victims for the hero(es) to save.

So that sucks!  But hopefully there'll be a few virtues to balance it out somewhere among Fatal Fury 2: The New BattleShuten Doji, Lupin the Third: Napoleon's Dictionary, and Legendary Armor Samurai Troopers: Message...

Fatal Fury 2: The New Battle, 1993, dir: Kazuhiro Furuhashi

Had you told me a week ago that the Fatal Fury franchise was capable of turning out a truly good movie then ... well, I like to think I'd have had better manners than to laugh in your face, but there's certainly a chance I'd have scoffed a little.  The first OVA was fairly dire, rising to functional in its better moments, and the feature film, which would arrive a year after this second OVA, was decent enough if you could get around character designs that looked as though they'd been concocted by aliens with nothing but the Pioneer plaque to work off.  And both shared the problem that there's nothing whatsoever interesting about the Fatal Fury   franchise, which I dare say is remembered mostly these days because main character Terry Bogard wears a really stupid-looking cap.

Yet, despite its uninspired title, The New Battle is a genuinely good film.  It even profits somewhat from the inherent shortcomings of these things, by framing its plot around fighting to a puritanical degree: in so much as there's a story, it follows Terry suffering a nasty beatdown at the hands of new villain Krauser and then sliding into depression and alcoholism - because, if he can't be the best fighter in the world, what can he be? - until his brother Andy and their friend Joe Higashi learn what's been going on and take it upon themselves to intervene.  Granted, there's a bit more going on than that, including Terry getting saddled with an hilariously wardrobed teen protégé who should be more annoying than he is, and the introduction of Mai Shiranui, whose main and perhaps only purpose here is to have extremely large breasts.

Because, yes, The New Battle absolutely isn't perfect, and it's still a Fatal Fury movie, so you do have to be sensible with your expectations.  Nevertheless, writer Takashi Yamada and particularly director Kazuhiro Furuhashi manage to turn almost all its potential failings into at least vaguely positive features.  Take Mai as an example: enormously sexist as just about everything to do with the character is, here as she very much wasn't in The Motion Picture she's a positive presence, largely by way of being the only person who cares about anything besides fighting.  I don't know that I'd accuse The New Battle of having anything as grandiose as themes, but it does nod toward acknowledging that there's something problematic about devoting your life to violence and that possibly it's not for everyone.

Mostly, though, this works because The New Battle understands what it needs to do to and follows through rigorously.  It helps that the animation is frequently very good, and helps more that Furuhashi - by far the best director to make anything Fatal Fury-related - conjures up some great atmosphere and routinely captivating imagery.  Mostly, though, the film gets that there's one element it can't afford to screw up, as Legend of the Hungry Wolf screwed up so badly, and that means exciting, well-conceived fight scenes, of which there are an enormous number - though somehow the makers just about manage to do the whole "this is a fighting game adaptation so everyone has to fight in every possible combination" thing in a way that feels organic and satisfying.  No matter who's scrapping at any given moment, every confrontation points toward Krauser and Terry's final reckoning, and that's just enough direction to keep the show on the road, especially given that Krauser is a thoroughly satisfying bad guy, a self-satisfied Teutonic sociopath with an almighty daddy complex, a weird sense of humour, and, er, a love for playing his gigantic organ.

There are, I guess, limits to the heights to which a fighting game adaptation can climb, assuming that adaptation isn't the fantastic Darkstalkers and doesn't cheat by running off and having an actual narrative and proper world-building.  But within the generally accepted limits, I'm happy to place The New Battle in the top tier of what this routinely shonky subgenre has to offer.  It may not be terribly sophisticated, but as seventy-five minutes of story about people punching each other goes, it does what it does in a shockingly engaging and well-crafted fashion.

Shuten Doji, 1989 - 1991, dir's: Junji Nishimura, Jun Kawagoe, Yoshio Ishiwatari

The difficulty in reviewing the early nineties OVA miniseries Shuten Doji is that it does one thing that's quite interesting and relatively original and many things that aren't very interesting or original at all.  Moreover, that one thing, though it ticks away in the background right from the beginning - a bizarre opening in which two demonic oni battle through space and time - really only becomes a central feature in the last of the four forty-five minute episodes, leaving more than two hours in which the show isn't up to much that's the least bit exciting.

This is most the case in the first couple of parts, and it doesn't help going in with the knowledge that this is a Go Nagai adaptation, because the basic setup is so similar to Devilman, by far the best Nagai work I've come across, and Shuten Doji never operates on remotely the same sort of level.  Then again, even were Nagai's name not on the box, it wouldn't take much guessing that he was behind this, given the emphasis on gross-out bloodshed and particularly given the awe-inspiring levels of misogyny and sexualised violence.  That's most prevalent, and most obnoxious, in the first part, in which our teenaged hero Jiro wakes up to his magical powers, while Miyuki, the girl who has a crush on him, mainly spends her time being kidnapped, stripped, and nearly raped, before being licked all over by a demon, setting a pattern for her character that Shuten Doji will have scant interest in shaking off.

Mind you, while I claimed Shuten Doji only has one legitimately interesting feature, it's mildly intriguing how much each of the parts feels distinct from the others: I'd struggle to class this as entirely a virtue, but it's certainly something.  The jump between one and two is most dramatic, in that, though it's possible to follow the logical course of events, it seems strange to suddenly find that Jiro's gathered a group of protectors, especially since he could have done with their help throughout the first part.  And though the leap in part three, whereby we're suddenly watching a sci-fi movie with spaceships and a killer android, ought to be more jarring, it isn't, perhaps because the similar hop in the opening sequence suggested those spaceships had to pop up somewhere.  And then there's the fourth part, which I really don't want to spoil, so let's just say that again it's joltingly different from what's gone before.

I liked that ending on the whole, and while its ambitions aren't altogether new and possibly didn't add up to anything that made an enormous amount of sense, they're enough to set the show apart from the mass of its contemporaries.  Which is nice, but maybe not the biggest help when the previous three episodes have failed so thoroughly to distinguish themselves, with the possible exception of a score that borrows heavily and obviously from all sorts of places but does an excellent job in the process.  The animation, though, is nothing special, the writing definitely isn't, and while it's sort of gratifying that each episode is doing its own self-contained thing, those are all things we've seen frequently elsewhere.

Then again, hugely unpleasant attitude toward its female characters not withstanding, there was nothing in Shuten Doji that I found actively off-putting, either.  I'd even go so far as to place it in the upper tier of Go Nagai adaptations I've seen - though that's barely a compliment! - and I've watched many a worse slice of fantasy-horror with a supernaturally powered teenage protagonist, too.  It's definitely not great in any way whatsoever, but by merit of being slightly above average until an ingenious, bonkers, and memorable ending, I'm slightly surprised that Shuten Doji isn't better remembered or regarded.

Lupin the Third: Napoleon's Dictionary, 1991, dir: Osamu Dezaki

Lupin the 3rd: Napoleon's Dictionary is what happens when undeniably talented people make something without any visible enthusiasm or inspiration.  The team of screenwriter Hiroshi Kashiwabara and director Osamu Dezaki was capable of excellent work together on the Lupin franchise, so much so that it's hard to imagine they could have collaborated on a film with no merit whatsoever.  Yet, for whatever reason, both of them seem to have been mostly checked out while they were making this one.

Kashiwabara gets most actively wrong, as a brief summary of the plot neatly illustrates: in this episode, master thief Lupin steals a vintage car so that he can participate in a vintage car rally so that he can win the titular dictionary so that he can find a clue to the actual treasure.  Moreover, two of those steps are utterly unnecessary, as the film itself inadvertently admits: Lupin swears that he can't simply steal the dictionary from its current owner, then ultimately does so with zero apparent effort.  And speaking of zero effort, that's effectively what Dezaki is providing at the helm ... bar one brief flashback scene, there are none of his signature stylistic flourishes here, which isn't necessarily a bad thing given how annoying they can be, but the trouble is that there's not much of anything else either.  His direction is bland and functional and could be the work of most any mid-tier director working in anime at the beginning of the nineties, to the point where I almost wonder whether he farmed this one off onto the office junior while he concentrated his efforts elsewhere.  Given that he was extremely busy at the time and also banging out some of the worst work of his career, it's easy to believe.

However, let's assume for the moment that Napoleon's Dictionary was indeed another Kashiwabara / Dezaki joint, if only for the reason that, on a scene-by-scene basis, it's just charming enough to feel like it is.  Kashiwabara's script may be all over the place and shockingly devoid of momentum, but he's more than capable of flinging out a few great lines and solid scenes; Dezaki may have been mostly asleep at the wheel, but on the occasions when he wakes up, it's a reminder that few people have ever got Lupin the way he did.  The best material here is built around the Lupin / Zenigata relationship, and I think this may be the first film to point out the extent to which the characters are sides of the same coin, so that's nice to see.  Though Fujiko is barely present, Jigen's literally along for the ride, and Goemon's mostly occupied with imagining himself as the hero of a Yakuza flick, so it's fair to say that Kashiwabara still managed to drop the ball hard with every other character.  Oh, and the animation is pretty rough, so it's not as though that's much of a distraction - though here as he failed to do in From Siberia with Love, Dezaki marshals his resources sufficiently that there are moments of relative quality.  Which sort of sums up Napoleon's Dictionary: there's just enough flair and imagination and classic Lupin goodness to not make for a total washout, but nowhere near enough to add up to a legitimately good film.

Legendary Armor Samurai Troopers: Message, 1991, dir: Masashi Ikeda

You don't have to look far to see what Samurai Troopers: Message could have been, because it's right there on the screen.  The new footage here is nice indeed and the story it tells, a deep dive into series lore via a character seeking revenge for a tragic incident in the distant past, is a perfectly serviceable one with plenty of potential.  But notice what I said there, "new footage"?  Well, there's the problem, or at any rate the one absolutely inexcusable problem.  Of the five episodes, amounting to just short of two and a half hours, I'd be surprised if more than thirty minutes wasn't cobbled together either from the TV series that this is supposedly a grand finale to or from the preceding OVA, Legend of the Inferno Armor.

Obviously that's an enormous shortcoming, there's no two ways about it.  Yet it's still just about possible to see how something worthwhile could have been constructed from the available resources.  Samurai Troopers the series was, after all, hardly cheap or ugly, the previous OVA looked rather splendid on occasions, and so it's not like that footage is bad as such.  Granted, for any viewer who'd watched both, there'd be a measure of frustration in paying afresh to watch something they'd already seen, sliced up and taken out of context, but if the goal was both a nostalgic look back at and a challenging re-examination of the series up until this point, you can conceive of this working well enough to distract from the absurdly obvious cost-cutting.

And again I know that to be the case, because Samurai Troopers: Message gets things right just enough that its better self is right there to see.  Indeed, for the first couple of episodes, I was cautiously hopeful.  Since I haven't seen the series, most of what was on offer was new to me, but more than that, there was something legitimately weird and exciting about the format, the bulk of which involves one character narrating over a montage of clips.  Whatever the motivation, that's a little radical as far as mainstream animation goes, the more so because Masashi Ikeda's awesomely self-indulgent script leans heavily on poetic introspection, to the extent that it's easy to forget this isn't some European art movie done up in the guise of a show about teens fighting bad guys using magical suits of armour.

All of that remains true to the end, more or less, but it's not a sustainable formula.  By the third episode, my patience was waning, as it became apparent that this wasn't an introduction to get us to the point where the plot kicked in and the new footage overrode the old, this was it: the makers really did only have the budget for a single episode and enough story for maybe two or three and yet decided, for whatever reason, to drag that out to two and a half excruciating hours.  And yes, once it becomes clear that there's no reward coming, this does get pretty excruciating.  The nadir is a sequence in which one character sits listening to their voicemail messages, and I swear, the only actual animation is the blinking light on the answerphone.  This goes on for so long that, though I only watched it last night, I'm struggling to believe I didn't hallucinate it in some mad Samurai Troopers-fuelled delirium, because who has the nerve to do that?  Who wouldn't throw in the odd close-up or cutaway to distract us from how we're literally watching two frames of animation looping over and over for five whole minutes?

It's rare that we get a title I can't recommend to anyone for any reason, and it's rarer still when said title isn't even that bad.  I mean, I've been positive about things that, taken as the sum of their parts, were probably much worse.  Samurai Troopers: Message has some intermittently fine animation and a strong concept that it occasionally carries off, not to mention a terrific score - though for all I know, much of that was also pillaged from the series.  At any rate, it undoubtedly has virtues, and as a sort of bizarre anime tone poem deconstructing shounen anime and super sentai shows, there are moments when it exerts a hypnotic fascination.  But if you're new to Samurai Troopers, that's hardly going to keep you amused through such an unearned running time, and if you're a fan looking for the thrill of a true and satisfying climax, I can only imagine what a kick in the teeth this would be.

-oOo-

Oh dear, I don't know what happened there!  Or for that matter what strange parallel universe I've stumbled into where a Fatal Fury OVA is the only title I'd be legitimately recommending.  Though, I don't know, there's a part of me that wants to be more positive about Shuten Doji, which at least has the decency to go delightfully mad after three episodes of being not especially interesting.  But, however I dress it up, there's no getting around the fact that this was a pretty weak selection.  Thankfully, given what I've been watching recently, it's a safe bet to say the next one should be a fair bit stronger...



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Monday, 1 March 2021

Drowning in Nineties Anime, Pt. 95

If there was nearly a theme to this batch of reviews, it would be titles that have been rescued by Eastern Star / Discotek, since they've increasingly been the main source of my anime-hunting of late - though it surely says something that even many of their releases have become increasingly hard to find.  On the one hand, it's easy to understand why they wouldn't be fighting to keep some of this stuff in print; presumably the sales for, say, an unfinished OVA from 1994 aren't exactly in the millions.  But on the other, it would be lovely to recommend these knowing somebody might actually be able to track them down with ease.  At least there are still reasonably priced copies floating about, and that also stretches to our odd-title-out, Melty Lancer, which is very definitely out of print but not too difficult to find.

As to whether you should bother, and whether those Eastern Star releases deserved to be saved or to languish in perpetual obscurity, here's what I made of Mighty Space Miners, Legendary Armor Samurai Troopers: Legend of the Inferno Armor, Melty Lancer, and Lupin the Third: Tokyo Crisis...

Mighty Space Miners, 1994, dir: Umanosuke Iida

Mighty Space Miners is probably the best OVA you'll never get to see the end of.  And isn't that a conundrum?  Is it better to watch something that's half finished but utterly fantastic, or is the potential trauma of two episodes of excellence and a cliff-hanger that won't ever be resolved too off-putting to warrant the risk?

I'll come back to that question, but first I probably ought to tell you what we have here, before I rush off into any more hyperbole.  Mighty Space Miners is a bit like a more ambitious Gravity - and okay, yeah, that hyperbole break didn't last very long, but it's a fair comparison, and these fifty minutes certainly cram in more narrative than that (admittedly excellent!) ninety minute feature did.  The most Gravity-esque plotline concerns teen hero Nanbu, whose pilot's exam gets severely disrupted when a decommissioned military satellite decides to go rogue and take a pot-shot at his home, the adapted asteroid Tortatis.  Nanbu, as the only child born in space to have survived infancy, has a certain natural advantage, and he certainly needs any edge he can get amid the spiralling series of disasters that ensue when his ship is damaged.  But his problems are nothing to what's happening back on the severely damaged Tortatis station, especially since both its corporate owners and the Japanese government seem willing to wash their hands of the incident without so much as trying to rescue any of the survivors.

If that sounds like a lot to cram into fifty minutes, it's actually not the half of it.  Somehow, that running time tells various compact stories and introduces a large cast of persuasively complex characters, but among Mighty Space Miners' many accomplishments is some breakneck storytelling that manages to feel thrillingly urgent and concise rather than rushed or compressed.  Nanbu gets most attention, and earns it, coming across as both an exceptional problem-solver under extreme stress and a believable kid who doesn't really know what the hell he's doing past the next ten seconds or so.  But the rest of the cast are nearly as appealing, even those whose arcs are cut off before they've had a proper chance to get going.

Which brings us back to that opening question, and yes, there's no getting around the fact that Mighty Space Miners is seriously, agonisingly incomplete.  Nothing about the fate of Tortatis gets resolved, and so far as we have any reason to believe, most of those we meet are exceedingly likely to die a horrible death in the near future.  Some stuff does get wrapped up to a degree: Nanbu's own little mini-plot, which absorbs so much of the running time, thankfully mostly ties itself off.  Still, for the narrative alone, it would be tough to recommend this.  Personally I'd add on a point or two for the surprisingly realistic sci-fi, that being something that crops up in anime with disappointing rarity; indeed, the science-fictional world-building is in itself rather fantastic.  But ultimately, the deciding factor if you're considering giving this a go is how much you're a fan of quality animation, because on that score, Mighty Space Miners is absolutely stunning.  I mean, it's safe to assume that the reason its creators never reached the end is because they blew the whole damn budget on two episodes, that's how good it looks.  And if you're anything like me, a gorgeously animated fifty minutes of cracking sci-fi with well-developed characters, a surplus of imagination, and an entire movie's worth of skin-of-the-teeth crisis management is worth a punt, even in the knowledge that there's no resolution to look forward to.

Legendary Armor Samurai Troopers: Legend of the Inferno Armor, 1989, dir: Mamoru Hamatsu

I'd like to admire the second Samurai Troopers OVA for its attempts to broaden the series' mythos and take it somewhere new by setting a good portion of the story in Tanzania and introducing a black antagonist (who's, notably, not a villain as such), because if there's one thing pre-twenty-first century anime was dire at, it was representation.  And honestly, I think the intentions here probably were admirable: Mukala, the antagonist in question, receives a terrific visual design, the more so when he gets to armour up later on, and proves more than a match for our heroes, trouncing them at every opportunity with his awesome giant boomerang.  So it's a shame that I spent almost the entire running time of these four episodes with a nagging voice in the back of my mind asking, "Wait, isn't this still pretty racist, though?"

And yes, it is, so on that front anyway, it's a case of points for trying but points lost for not trying a fair bit harder, and in general for not making Mukala an actual character rather than a largely speechless automaton - or making Tanzania feel less like a bunch of mud huts in the middle of nowhere.  But there I'll leave the matter, and move onto the remainder of Legend of the Inferno Armor, which, thank goodness, is ambitious in ways that are unambiguously positive.  Mukala might be underdeveloped, but the plot that's wrapped around him is a welcome surprise: I noted in my review of the first OVA that I'd like to see a bit more substance this time around, and it's certainly delivered.  Indeed, this feels less like an isolated story, more like an attempt to push the existing narrative forward in meaningful ways, or even to shunt it onto a more interesting track.  And even though I don't actually know what that narrative was because I've never seen the series, I still found that awfully appealing.

Basically, what Legend of the Inferno Armor does is what I personally would most like something of this ilk to do: it digs deep into an existing property and finds ways to complexify and problematize it.  I don't know what the explanation for why our heroes can conjure mystical suits of armour was in the TV series, but here it takes a decidedly dark turn, and that's emphasised by the arc that one character undergoes, wherein he suddenly realises he doesn't actually want to spend the rest of his life fighting just because of some arbitrary twist of fate.  In its own way, what's on offer here feels almost as dramatic an upending of its chosen formula as Neon Genesis Evangelion would be six years later: indeed, you might well find yourself shouting "Cye, get in the magical samurai armour" before the end.

With that said, there's maybe not quite enough plot to fill the nearly two-hour running time.  Still, even if there are points when the pace could do to pick up a little, it's rarely a hardship: Legend of the Inferno Armor has had a slight but noticeable visual upgrade from the first OVA, to the point where it mostly looks rather fine, the copious action scenes are engaging, and the story is busy and mysterious enough that it's easy to ignore the points when it slows to spin its wheels.  None of that edges this up into mind-blowing territory, perhaps because, as much it's pushing at its envelope, it's still basically coming from a formulaic place; but regardless, the attempts to do something different and meaningful with what could easily have been thoroughly disposable are definitely appreciated.  It's a real shame more couldn't have been made of the potentially fascinating Mukala, and that the representation of Africa falls back on such musty stereotyping, but those are the only real blots on an otherwise well above par title.

Melty Lancer, 1999, dir: Takeshi Mori

1999 is, I think, my least favourite year for anime, a fact I'm sure I've mentioned often enough.  At the end of the twentieth century, computer-assisted animation and CGI were tools few knew how to get the best out of, understandable given their relative newness, and the result was often anime that all too evidently betrayed its roots.  However, I mention this not because Melty Lancer falls into that category - I mean, it does on occasions, because that's just 1999 for you - but because director Takeshi Mori does a damn sight better job of exploiting the advantages of the nascent technology while minimising its obvious flaws than the majority of his peers.  Not only does the six-part OVA frequently look terrific, it looks terrific in ways that couldn't have been accomplished a handful of years earlier, making good use of CG and complex camera movements without being obnoxiously show-offy and often employing washes of digital colour that provide a gorgeous, neon-soaked hew.  It's that rare turn-of-the-century title that doesn't feel visually compromised, but actually looks good in ways that couldn't have been brought about without computers, and hats off to Mori for that, as well as his generally imaginative direction and solid construction of action sequences.  Granted, the character designs are distinctly generic and of their time, but that aside, Melty Lancer is attractive enough that its visuals are invariably an asset.

And yes, the fact that I'm leading off by discussing the animation does mean there's a "but" coming, because it's fair to say that nothing else here works on anywhere near the same level.  Still, I don't want to go too far down that route, because, at the very least, there's a fair degree of storytelling ambition happening, and that's something I'm always in favour of.  I think it's fair to say that Melty Lancer's problems largely result from being a video game tie-in, though if you're more familiar with Western than Eastern media, that will immediately paint a slightly unfair picture.  Japan, in general, has a much better handle on cross-media storytelling, and also a greater inclination to exploit its potential, and it's apparent that everyone involved viewed Melty Lancer not as a trashy cash-grab spin-off but as an opportunity to take advantage of some complex preestablished setup and world-building.

Which is commendable, for sure, but it would be nice if more of that setup and world-building was there on the screen.  The result, without any knowledge of the games, is tricky to follow from the off and winds up somewhere awfully near to incomprehensible.  Again, I hate to bitch at a property for not playing safe, but by the last episode, I had basically no clue what the precise nature of the ultimate conflict was, or how all the involved parties fit in, or how the eventual universe-saving solution actually worked.  And it didn't help that, rather than having anyone who stands out as a protagonist, the show goes to great pains to spread the love between its various one-note characters, all of whom are perfectly acceptable and some of whom are quite fun but none of whom are interesting enough to care much about.  This isn't a problem in the earlier episodes, which tell discreet stories and give everyone clear mini-plots to busy themselves with, but when they're all thrust together, it's that bit more of an issue.

And there are other issues, depending on your tastes and your tolerances for this sort of thing; I've seen reviews that grumble about how all-over-the-place the tone is, but honestly, if random bursts of silly comedy amid a mostly serious story wind you up, you perhaps oughtn't to be watching vintage anime in the first place.  Me, I found the anything-goes approach of a show that merrily threw magical girls and mech fights and spaceship battles and high-concept sci-fi and daft humour into one baffling stew quite charming, and up until the last couple of episodes, I was mostly won over by Melty Lancer.  It definitely doesn't stick its landing, but if you're going to go off the rails, better to do it by being pretty and bewildering than by being ugly and boring, I suppose.

Lupin the Third: Tokyo Crisis, 1998, dir: Toshiya Shinohara

Having watched enough of these that I'm beginning to lose count, I feel I'm getting a fair grasp on what it takes for a Lupin the Third movie to work.  Of course, there are no hard-and-fast rules, since some of the best films in the franchise are the ones that upend the formula in ways large or small, but still, it's safe to say that the average successful Lupin adventure gets to be that way by nailing a few crucial details.  Strong action set pieces are pretty much vital, the more loopy and convoluted the better, and in large part for that reason, this isn't a series that can afford to stint too much on its animation: in particular, getting those archetypal core character designs wrong is sure to throw a spanner in the works.  For that matter, it's almost essential that any given plot finds interesting things to do with all of its central cast, and this has blighted many an otherwise decent Lupin film.  Generally, Zenigata or Fujiko are the ones to suffer, but it's not uncommon for Goemon and Jigen to be left out in the cold either.

Funnily enough, what seems to be least important is a good plot, and that's handy when it comes to Tokyo Crisis, because that's the one point on which it really falls down.  When it comes to all of the above, it's a winner: its action is consistently excellent, we're back to a level of quality animation that wouldn't disgrace a cinema screen, the characters all look right without looking dated, and everybody has meaningful business to get on with.  Goemon and Jigen are reduced to comic relief roles, but that's to the film's benefit, and the moment in which they're finally allowed to stop clowning and start kicking ass is a particular delight, while Fujiko probably fares worst, since she fades into the background after the midway point, but at least it's not yet another episode where she's shacked up with the villain of the week; though Tokyo Crisis feints briefly in that direction, it's only to set up a rug-pull.  But primarily it's the bumbling but oddly noble Zenigata who steals the show, and for those of us who like Zenigata more than they like Lupin, that's always a treat.  I'm willing to believe he actually gets more screen time, and is certainly more interesting and well-developed in the scenes he has, and that the film even gifts him a cute sort-of romance is the icing on the cake.

Admittedly, none of this is exactly new, and there are even specific details of Zenigata's arc that we've seen elsewhere.  Really, that goes for pretty much everything in Tokyo Crisis: it feels more like a victory lap than an attempt to do anything daring.  That's fine - mostly it's more than fine - but there is that plot I mentioned, and while it's terrific for what was clearly its intended purpose, as a frame upon which to hang all the action and character work and other excellence, in its own right, it's rather bland.  There's a treasure hunt that dwindles to nothing and a villain with an evil plot that could have been copy and pasted from most any action movie inside or out of anime in 1998, and it doesn't exactly matter, especially not while you're watching, but it does leave a slight and unfortunate sense of dissatisfaction.  That certainly doesn't spoil one of the better Lupin the Third movies I've seen - and maybe it's a hint that you simply can't have everything in one place when it comes to Lupin - but it does mean that, for all that many of its individual elements are fantastic, what they add up to is merely very good indeed.

-oOo-

As random picking from the to-watch shelf goes, that was a respectable batch; I guess the benefit of being more reliant on Eastern Star is that they're fairly choosy about what they put out.  They certainly deserve all the credit in the world for bringing back something like Mighty Space Miners, and though it's probably a more commercially sensible decision, credit to them too for their efforts to give every Lupin TV special an English language release; a year ago, I'd practically given up hope of catching them all, and now I've only one more to go.  And on that note, I suspect it didn't quite come over in my review that Tokyo Crisis immediately became one of my personal favourites ... it may not be revolutionary, but it's a heck of a lot of fun.

Next time?  More randomness, probably, though I do have a couple of specials to be getting on with, including the long-delayed end of the Dragon Ball Z marathon...



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