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Link to Part I
Link to Part II


Chapter 5 – “Postwar Japanese Animation Development and Toei Animation Studio,” highlighting anime’s role during postwar reconstruction and the importance of Toei Animation Studio’s founding
Chapter 6 – “Miyazaki and Takahata Anime Cinema,” discussing the impact Ghibli had on animated cinema
Chapter 7 – “Anime in Asia: A Case of Cultural Imperialism?” or the possible opportunities, and problems, in applying the “anime model” to other Asian countries








Postwar Japan existed uniquely as an Asian country occupied by Western powers, but not overwrought with political turmoil, bloody infighting, and foreign interests tearing the country apart. Struggles existed without a doubt, but with the influx of postwar rapid modernization, Japan was able to quickly adapt and become an economic power capable of producing and competing with other developed nations. With animation, it no longer needed to adhere to militaristic and political powers, as its development was turned to individuals – “consumers, creators, enterprise owners, and dream-builders.”

Around this time, Japanese filmmaking constituted approximately 20% of the world’s total. This was due to the abandonment of past militaristic and political thinking, necessitating new progressive works to widen the variety of film contents and to create a welcoming mindset for the new era. New, young, and adventurous film directors were given the opportunity to experiment with recently introduced techniques and ideas.

American forces, headed by General Douglas McArthur, destroyed over 200 film prints which possessed “feudalistic and/or anti-democratic content” in the spring of 1946, but most of them were live action (78-9). Animated films, since they weren’t completely realistic in presentation, were relatively safe from destruction. Despite this, films that dealt with older practices weren’t in high favor due to growing leftist, democratic, and progressive sentiments. Directionless and blind support of such agendas weren’t desired though, so instead, a hybrid of the “old” and “new” was adapted, where traditional and nationalistic sentiments were combined with the drive to refine their technology and science.

As a latecomer to the Asian animations scene, Toei Animation Studio, founded in mid-1956, is known for producing the various works of Mitsuru Yokoyama, Go Nagai, Leiji Matsumoto, and Akira Toriyama amongst others. Yet, their first work was a Chinese tale, Legend of the White Snake. It’s a forgotten and ignored film, but according to Hu, the West at one point heralded this film as an affirmation of the Japanese film industry’s potential, winning various awards throughout the 1950s and 1960s.

In the 1960s, Osamu Tezuka entered the scene with a medical background, but with an ambition towards manga and animation. According to Hu, Tezuka attributes his entry into the profession to the 1945 wartime animation Momotaro film. This has implications towards his roots in pro-war and racism, and has been questioned after his memoirs were published in a Tokyo newspaper in the mid-1960s. Besides this, Tezuka was also noted to have watched every pre-war Disney film and aspired to do something akin to them. However, throughout the 1940s his manga work was continuously rejected. By then, he had already graduated from the Osaka University College of Medicine and was a medical doctor. Eventually his works began appearing in children and youth publications, reportedly becoming the richest commercial artist in the Kansai region by the mid-1950s. In 1961, he created his own animation production studio, later known as Mushi Productions, leading the creation of modern-day anime.

Here, a few important additions to Japanese animation were added. First was the ukiyo-e late-Edo period styled eyes, where there existed a “sparkle” to them. There was also the usage of heroic characters in robotic suits, or were outright robots. This sets the stage for similar anime dealing with mechas or cyberpunk. Also, the target audience of Tezuka’s works were high school students, university students, and working adults, greatly aided by the portrayal of postwar Japanese subject matters, such as the dissatisfaction of the direction society was moving and various social circumstances surrounding modernization.

Additionally, Tezuka’s roots were in manga, and converting that into anime required a creative work around. In some ways, time constraints, a lack of technical knowledge, and the absence of experienced animators resulted in his popular Astro Boy adaptation to be extremely limited in animation. Tezuka possibly adapted manga frames directly to the screen, and with the issue of stretching episodes for a 30 minute time slot, frame rates could drop as low as two frames per second. This is compared to full animation, especially Disney standards, going as high as 24 frames per second. To visually explain this, compare this scene from Astro Boy to this scene from Sleeping Beauty. Despite all of this, Tezuka’s limited animation proved successful, with rival television networks mimicking his techniques in their own adaptations.








With computer-generated images, or CGI, anime nowadays can get away with a lot more stuff with less time and cost than previous times. What do we gain and sacrifice for this? Well, we certainly have more anime nowadays that continuously look more and more pretty. However, with the departure from hand drawings, there’s the potential of things becoming generic. As a note, that same potential exists even without CGI, as trends in the arts exist because doing periods of time, all manner of people attempted the same aesthetic with similar mindsets. This is why we can point out eras of Baroque, Gothic, Modern, and Postmodern. The difference with CGI, however, is the ease of duplication and creation, limiting the need for artisan training. With a lower entry level and advanced tools, as consumers, we get a lot of nice stuff fast.

The reduction of hand drawn cel animation, however, does arguably lend to a loss of the human touch. There’s a certain feeling attained from hand drawn works, where small errors, brush strokes, and exaggerated features lend to an organic feeling – one that is not easily accomplished through current technology. In some ways, it’s a regressive train of thought, but it’s hard to deny the value of hand drawn animation. It’s difficult to create a generic look when you must redraw scenes and characters constantly. This makes things look and feel unique, where the hard work and dedication of the creators can be seen and felt, as if their hands are moving across the screen as you watch.

Of course, I do not deny the greatness of well-utilized CGI animation. Disregarding current stigmas and criticisms, ufotable’s animation in Kara no Kyoukai and Unlimited Blade Works is top notch when action scenes pop up. Similarly, Karas looks gorgeous in its flashy presentation. Still, we’re still a ways from perfecting the usage of CGI. At the point, the best moments are the ones where it’s hard to tell it’s in use, effectively trying to emulate traditional hand drawn techniques or just the general look. When CGI is too apparent, motions seem stiff and robotic, devoid of the human touch. Perhaps it’s the off putting nature of the robotic aesthetic, where things seem unnatural and manufactured the closer they get to becoming realistic.






I won’t be looking into Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata yet, as I know of other books which explain in greater detail their history, techniques, themes, and influence on anime. I will say this however: in the scope of The Frames of Anime, their works strayed extremely close to Disney, departing from the traditions set by Tezuka. They employed realistic, fluid, natural environments, often from real site visitations, and movement with a high amount of cel drawings, with their staff often staying up for days working nonstop. To emphasize a previous point, realism is important here as it allows for a stronger foundation for their films’ settings, and thus a more direct connection to their audiences.

There is also their employment of actual voice actors from live-action works, rather than the overly eccentric and stylized voices used many television anime. On the topic of sounds, recording of things such as real life machinery, train stations, construction sites, festivals, and urban streets further contributed to their films’ realism.

Lastly is the usage of their narrative, mainly in how it’s structured. First is the usage of off screen sounds and talking, which frees up the main scene to focus on other imagery. This saves the effort to lip-sync dialogue and acknowledges the presence of things going on beyond what is shown on screen. It’s quite odd actually, as a common gripe in modern-day anime is the inconclusive nature of shows. As in, cliffhangers, lead-ins into the source material, and abrupt endings which imply a sequel to no avail. Works such as Princess Mononoke and Spirited Away, however, were applauded for breaking away from the Disney expectation of a “happily ever after” ending, where instead a vague ending leaves audiences to guess what happens after the credits.








These are two highly praised Japanese directors, and I can’t say much that hasn’t already been said in every imaginable form of film critique. Their works could be regarded as mainstream by now, a stark comparison to Pokemon, Dragonball, or Sailor Moon. It’s not exactly fair to compare feature films with television shows though, nor is it fair to judge the Ghibli works with Disney in the same sentence. I believe that anime should stand on its own merits, and each individual work should stand on itself. Comparisons are great for understanding trends, technical attributes, and narrative structure, but anymore then that would invite the creation of hierarchies. In other words, trying to organize anime based on which is better or worse, which is a whole mess of subjectivity and opinion-based declarations under the guise of some objective system of grading.

Anyways, the point is, to understand why the Ghibli films are great, it’s necessary to understand not just what they are, but what they’ve done in preparation to their films and during production. That requires some knowledge of how anime is created though, so it’s understandable if it’s beyond the scope of one’s investment in anime. I suppose my personal gripe is the blind praise and criticism floating around, as they build and destroy expectations senselessly.







Why did anime succeed in Japan? Why did other attempts at animation failed to receive as much attention in other Asian countries? What specific infrastructure allowed Japan to succeed? And, what role does culture play – locally and globally – in the development of an animation industry? In this final chapter, Hu attempts to conclude his thoughts on these subject matters.

Various countries, including South Korea, Thailand, the Philippines, India, Taiwan, and China possess animation studios and professional talent, yet lack the ability to capitalize on their own original works. They, instead, serve as cheap alternatives to domestically produced animation from foreign countries. As Hu describes, many Asian countries have ability and desire to advance their own animation markets, but due to other pressing issues such as poverty, human rights, education, the lack of public facilities, and various socioeconomic issues, animation exists as a luxury, rather than an integral part of their cultures.

In Japan, animation possesses a unique ideological backing, whereby animation is politically charged with traditional values and progressive technology, spearheaded by an ability to express the sentiments of Japan’s youth. Despite this, the work of animators is arduous, low paying, and must be completed at a fraction of the time allotted to Western animation. According to Hu, in 2004, the average animator is paid about ¥50,000 (approx. $500) monthly, which is not enough to even pay for a one-room apartment. Off-shore animators most likely get paid a fraction of that. This plays into the necessity for an infrastructure and available resources to pursue the creation of animation, as well as the ability to outsource and let subcontractor studios in other nations take up the labor.

Beyond that, there’s also the issue of anime existing first. For example, in following the anime trend, the Hong Kong animated film A Chinese Ghost Story made the mistake of designing with an anime aesthetic, particularly including the “sparkle” in the design of the characters’ eyes. Because of this, immediate comparisons to anime were made, as well as the loss of identity for the film. Was it still an animated film native to Hong Kong, or is it an extension of Japanese animation? Furthermore was the misunderstanding of animation techniques, where A Chinese Ghost Story included 3-D elements in the foreground of animation, despite the background being mainly 2-D. This creates a clash in styles and detracts from the film as a whole.

South Korea has also made endeavors, with films such as Hammerboy and Yobi, the Five-Tailed Fox looking and feeling like Studio Ghibli works. There also exists the Thai animated film Khan Kluay which recalls a CGI Lion King, the Chinese Lotus Lantern, and the joint Taiwanese/Chinese film The Butterfly Lovers. Yet, Hu continuously describes them as “anime” with constant comparisons to Ghibli or Disney. This easily invites debates of the definition of anime.

Throughout the decades, anime has established genres and archetypes unique to itself, and thus allows writers and animators to work with existing constraints and expectations. Furthermore, its development is achieved through cheap outsourced labor, and thus a level of foreign input is contributed to these anime. Even beyond that, there exists the foreign market which, although not as significant as domestic sales, does contribute in terms of potential audiences and story types. With the advent of simulcasting, there may be a future of increased globalization in anime.








This chapter reminds me of a 2014 New York Times news article detailing a Chinese warning of Japan’s cultural invasion through an iconic character, with Doraemon being the scapegoat for a host of distaste. To pose a question, would a real living person be able exist as something as equally symbolic? At a time, I remember Doraemon being appointed the Japanese foreign ambassador. It was regarded as either a gesture of friendliness or disrespect. As a fictional character, Doraemon is capable of representing ideas and concepts, most notably those associated with Japanese cultural values. Furthermore, Doraemon’s series is marketable and rather popular, existing as an economic figure, a cultural figure, and now a political figure. However, as a fictional character, it’s impossible to scrutinize or question its moralities or beliefs. In some ways, Japan’s true intentions could be hiding underneath the disguise of the robot cat, but in other ways, this whole ordeal may just be overridden with political and socioeconomic interests.

When speaking of animation, two things come to mind: a Western animation which generalizes North American animation, and anime which, while primarily Japanese, may include works from other countries such as South Korea and China. Because of this, it’s understandable for the want of native, homegrown animation, of which should ideally compete or outperform those whom hold a monopoly over the entire medium.

Would the anime model work in other countries? In terms of animation, the two main means of comparison is American animation and Japanese animation. To exist means to also compete with, as well as to be compared to them. Appealing to a local market is short-sighted and lends to great losses without an existing loyal fan base, if evident by the otaku market buying up anime at absurd prices. As such, the answer would lie in understanding one’s own unique culture and express that. Rather than matching an existing standard or appealing to an existing market, create a new market which existing animation does not address. Anime is an aesthetic. At the core are Japanese characteristics which can draw fans from around the world.

What is truly Chinese? What can be abstracted and turned into animation? How about Filipino? Thai? Vietnamese? Or how about in other parts of the world such as Brazil? South Africa? I remember that French film Ladybug aided by Toei, but never got around to watching it. There was even that Irish film Song of the Sea. I’d like to see more of the world through animation, as it brings out the depths of cultures that can be expressed as metaphorically, highlighting only the most salient details. Of course it’s extremely difficult when animation is completely dominated by only a few powers, but I say throw it out into the world and someone will pay attention. It comes down to timing, dedication, and self-expression.






Frames of Anime: Culture and Image-Building argues for anime’s unique state of being – a near anomaly which developed a small island nation that managed to encapsulate a global audience. The model itself is difficult to emulate, for it requires both a firm grasp on one’s cultural identity and the ability to compete in the existing market. That is, of course, if the goal is to earn a profit or stand on the world’s stage. By looking at anime’s history though, it’s understood that anime does and still has political and socioeconomic ties that run deeper than profits. Would it be absurd to call anime an art form? What about calling it an art form with nationalistic values? What about calling anime an art form with nationalistic values and interests from all levels of corporation and government? At what point does anime stop being entertainment in fantasy worlds and begin getting too closely tied with real-world issues? If these issues are dealt with, would anime be seen as a respectable medium for expression? And, would this perchance reflect on the animated medium as a whole?

Anime exists as an entity apart from cartoons, yet is contained within that umbrella term. Perhaps the same could be said of animation from any country, where their own unique cultural context provides an equally unique experience. When people argue for anime not being the same as cartoons, they’re not entirely wrong if they’re referring to American or Western animation in the comparison. However, it becomes a difficult argument to make when the generalization begins to account for multiple nations. One could even argue that even different states, counties, provinces, divisions, towns and neighborhoods could create animations unique unto themselves. Yet, generalizations still exist, and they’ll continue to do so for ease of categorizing and discussing topics through spoken language.










tl;dr – Summaries of the summaries of Part 1

Chapter 5 – The groundwork for anime was set before the Second World War. It was not until reconstruction did anime truly take shape.

Me – As anime continues to develop, new techniques will be discovered as technology and the market changes. It’s up to both the industry and the consumers to adjust accordingly.

Chapter 6 – If Osamu Tezuka was inspired by Disney, then Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata truly challenged them.

Me – The Ghibli films are praised to high heaven, but to really understand why would require understanding both how they’re made, how they performed, and the timing of which they entered the world’s eyes.

Chapter 7 – Animation is a market highly monopolized, so entering the competition would require providing something that neither emulates successful ventures nor attempts to fill some niche. Instead, create a new market based on one’s own unique qualities.

Me – I’m a fan of things that are good at what they do. If they’re good at what they do, I’ll probably enjoy it.


Conclusion:

Frames of Anime assesses anime’s place in animation’s history, Japanese history, the world’s history, theorizing its success in the context of culture and capital.

In summary, the potential of animation is evident, but to take advantage of it, it needs to be more than just a good story with pretty visuals and metaphoric content. It needs to affect the real world.


Source: Hu, Tze-Yue G. Frames of Anime Culture and Image-building. Hong Kong: Hong Kong UP, 2010. Print.