From what I hear, Witch From Mercury was conceptualized with the intent of bringing in a whole new audience to the Gundam property—mainly modern teenagers, who apparently, according to one of the show’s producers, don’t care about the Gundam franchise because of their inability to relate to it. As an attempt to remedy that issue, and reel in this new, sought-after demographic, the leads were chosen to be two high school-aged girls, and the premise to be mapped out as a high school battle anime, in the vein of someshit like Utena, if you believe the comparisons. On paper, this sounds awful—a vein way of
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appealing to zoomers, like myself, for that sweet, sweet Gunplay money, but, the strange thing is, this grand plan seemingly went off without a hitch. Witch from Mercury has, more or less, revitalized the franchise and purposefully repackaged it for the modern age. I remember the buzz around Iron-Blooded Orphans, but it was nothing like this; I see talk about this show from communities and individuals who’ve never taken an active interest in the franchise before, so yeah, whatever it is, it’s working, and working well.
But what do I, a pretty avid Gundam fan, think of Witch From Mercury? Well, I can certainly tell you that I was worried, and like a night in Prague without pizza or beer, there was an absence of comfort, chief of which was the lack of the Cowboy King, Yoshiyuki Tomino. It could just be that the shows I haven’t seen, like SEED, are masterpieces, lying in wait, and that I just watched all the bad AUs, but sadly, the handful of non-Tomino Gundam projects in my catalogue didn’t exactly live up to the standard I’d come to expect from the franchise (with the exception of 0080). Simply put, no one is nearly autistic enough to replicate Tomino’s genius, aside from maybe one guy whose name has one too many “O’s” in it. Nothing is going to be as iconic and influential as 0079; nothing is going to be as insane and psychopathic as Zeta; nothing is going to be as finalizing as CCA; nothing is going to be as underrated as Victory; nothing is going to be as beautiful as Turn A; and nothing is going to be as Genki as G-Reco. If the show was veering away from franchise norms this hard, and without Tomino’s guidance, I was primed and ready for some sharks to be jumped over, signalling the permanent decline of the once great empire known as “Kidooou Sennshii Gundamuu.” In all honesty, though, it’s most definitely just my heavy, heavy Tomino bias, but I think any new Gundam project without Tomino is always going to be fighting an uphill battle, on the very hill it’ll eventually die on—you can only have so many cardboard characters smashing into each other in psychic-powered tin suits before it gets tedious. So, naturally, I’ve come into Witch From Mercury with worried and sceptical expectations, but at the same time, with my fingers crossed behind my back, secretly hoping to be proven wrong.
It was then that, upon finishing the prologue on Sunrise’s YouTube channel, my worries of shark jumpery were gently put at ease, and it became immediately apparent that whoever was writing this was one smart cookie. Oh! It was Ooukouchi? I didn’t see you there, buddy. Well, doesn’t that just explain everything then? No wonder what I was watching actually impressed me.
Anyways, thankfully, after dipping my toes into what this new AU had to offer, I wasn’t so much worried anymore, but I was certainly still sceptical, and rightly so. The conceit was undeniably a departure from what I was used to coming from the franchise, and that sentiment seemed to be shared throughout the online discourse surrounding the show. However, the buzz tended to be centred around how this change was somehow a bad thing—capitalizing on current trends, and pandering for the purpose of reeling in a younger audience—and yeah, normally I’d be right there beside them; I mean, who doesn’t hate secondaries, right? But then I saw her, Suletta, and all the pessimism was absolved from my body like a spike of black-tar heroin in a recovering junkie’s veins. Like a final hit of final hits, I was pulled right back into the franchise I’d come to call my favourite.
With a decade-spanning, multi-universal franchise as big as Gundam’s, you get a good variety of protagonists; whether that be the idealistic, traumatized war hero Amuro, the spiteful, immature Kamille, or the laidback, gigachad Judou. But the Gundam protagonists that have always resonated the most with me are the downright autistic, idiots—a prime example being Bellri Zenam, who is, at once, both a completely oblivious, braindead autist, but also an incredibly endearing, lovable, charismatic goofball. Suletta, as a Gundam protagonist, definitely subscribes to Bellri’s special blend of autism, but with the pacifism and demeanour of someone like Loran, and, to be honest, the show wouldn’t have been the same without it. Suletta is, more or less, my favourite thing about Witch From Mercury, and I’m certainly not alone in saying that—all you need is one good look at twitter or something—but, like most things, there are detractors downplaying the quality of her character because they’ve been conditioned to lash out at anything that doesn’t fit inside their narrow purview of what a protag should be. Like, wow, this character really makes people seethe, and, unsurprisingly, it’s all old UCheads: the same people that get upset whenever a new series isn’t just 0079 with a new coat of paint.
It’s ironic that I say my favourite part of Witch From Mercury is Suletta because she’s often used as a scapegoat to defame the show and devalue its credibility as a “serious Gundam.” I don’t know how to put this nicely, but yes, Sulleta is a legitimate bumbling moron, that much is true, though, when I say that, I say it with the utmost love and affection because it’s for that very reason that I, and many others, find her endearing. People argue that having a character like Suletta, front and centre for a show like Gundam, is an inherently bad idea cause of their arbitrary need for “deep,” “multifaceted,” or “serious” characters in they space opera, but what they’re missing is that Suletta is actually a smarter, stronger, and just better, character than most people give her credit for, and despite the stuttering being a polarizing character trait for some, I think her verbal ticks only add to that.
A lot of the nuance in Suletta comes from Ookouchi’s prequel story, Cradle of Earth, from which details are mentioned in passing during the show but purposely aren’t elaborated on, so for anyone wanting the full context on Suletta, the story is important—she’s not a stuttering idiot for a meme, and when you look into her upbringing, her mannerisms start to make sense. Suletta grew up completely isolated from other children, robbed of the ability to make connections and socially develop, only ever experiencing snippets of a typical childhood through their portrayal in the anime, movies and novels of Aeriel’s library. She leant—and continues to lean—on her mother’s mantra like a crutch to get through even the most mundane decisions of day-to-day living, oblivious to the fact she was—and is still—being used as a tool for her Machiavellian schemes. “Don’t beg for it, earn-” wait, that’s not right, it’s “If you move forward, you gain two,” whatever that fucking means. Getting to the point, the prequel illustrates just how brave Suletta actually is, without the added mental stress of having to match pace with her—comparatively—well-adjusted peers. Suletta is confident and affluent, but as we see in the series, it takes time for her to settle in, and as we all know, even hell can get comfy once you’ve settled in. So, with all that context in mind, to me, when Suletta starts vomiting hot spaghetti all over Miorine’s shoes, it’s actually the most endearing thing about her. Despite struggling and tripping through relationships, belting out sentences like a perpetrator of domestic violence, Suletta’s almost chivalrous ideals and values hold steady, in a way so earnest, that other characters fail to replicate it. Her stumbling, rambling, mumbling, murmuring and muttering is quite literally the most charming thing about her.
Speaking of Miorine, based solely on the first couple of episodes, I thought I’d hate her guts. I couldn’t tell if she was “the shit,” or just plain ol’ shit. I thought she’d be just another tsun-tsun bitch—what with how abrasive she is towards the pure wholesomeness that is Suletta—but little did I know, that with time, she would reveal herself to be one helluva stylin’, profilin’, limousine-riding, jet-flying, kiss-stealing, wheelin’ n’ dealin’ son of a gun. And in case that didn’t clear up anything, it just means she’s based and she don’t take no shit from no one—bitch smokes her stogie wherever she wants. Together, Suletta and Miorine are like a gay Kennedy and Heidi: two young girls, completely out of their element, unwittingly serving the nefarious purposes of their betters, where one is behind the wheel, steering the course, and the other is dragged along for the ride, but on this road, the steel is cheap, and the coal stretches.
Now, putting the characters and plot aside for a moment, it bears mentioning that Ookouchi and the director, Kobayashi Hiroshi, styles’ clash together particularly well. I know, “clash,” isn’t the most flattering way to describe the synergy between director and writer, but with these creatives in mind, I thought it only appropriate. Kobayashi Hiroshi was not a name I was immediately familiar with, but upon taking a closer look at his body of work, I discovered he directed a couple episodes of Kill la Kill, one of which, episode 5, features the passing assassin, Tsugumu, rolling into town like Anton Chigurh and stirring all sorts of shit in the coolest way possible. The episode in question, and the specific way in which its events transpire, exemplifies what I love about Ookouchi’s, and by association, Tomino’s writing styles: chaos and kinetic energy. Now, Witch From Mercury doesn’t necessarily watch like Kill la Kill—well, actually, it doesn’t resemble Kill la Kill at all—but, it possesses this constant pace and energy that courses through its veins, in a way that reminds me of the fire and momentum of Kill la Kill, coupled with the senseless yet harnessed insanity of Valvrave. The episode, “Shall we Gundam?” illustrates the intersection of where these two different styles meet; in terms of pacing and tone, it comes off like the tournament section of KLK but with the conceit of something right out of Valvrave: a shark tank-esque battle of persuasion and logistics, in which the momentum of KLK is harnessed into the idea of promoting a business venture start-up. Albeit toned down from both KLK and Valvrave, it was a fantastic idea for an episode and it was just as fun to watch play out. I could practically see Ookouchi laughing in the background as Suletta somehow spills several glasses of champagne over herself out of literally nowhere. Thankfully, the show is smart not to squander that creativity either, as the next handful of episodes run with the idea, and are dedicated to the planning, organization and management of the aforementioned start-up, with various factions vying for potential control over the company and the eponymous Gundam, Ariel. It’s good shit.
I’d say it’s the themes of Tomino’s 0079 that make it as beloved and remembered as it is, and I’d say it’s these same themes—whether it be war, environmentalism, displacement, adolescence or maternity—that give Gundam its beating heart, and Ookouchi obviously knows this. He’s careful not to completely replace the ideas of Tomino’s original work, but to expand upon them and enrich them. There’s a heavy backdrop of capitalism given to the Spacian-Earthian conflict in Witch From Mercury, and to illustrate the ensuing economic tensions, Ookouchi presents a society in which Earthian workers are forced to labour away their entire lives under the boot of Spacian economic dominance—a dominance with the power to dispose of Earthian protesters under the pretence of “business administrative laws,” which classify protesters as “illegal occupants” on public property.
In a similar manner, a lot of thought is given to the portrayal of the media and how it reflects the Spacian-Earthian dichotomy. In the prologue, a political talk show broadcast is shown briefly, featuring a general poll of issues the public wants policymakers to discuss, split up to contrast the concerns of the Earthian and Spacian populations respectively. The Earthian side is filled with votes for things like poverty reduction, fair trade and the educational gap, whereas the Spacian side is more focused on defence, security, free competition and infrastructure. Small stuff like this really goes a long way as far as compelling and competent world-building, giving the audience insight into the bureaucratic happenings of the A.U. without having to explain large chunks of detail directly through exposition. It's only brief as well, which gives you the impression that we, the audience, are learning information at the same pace as the characters, as opposed to other shows, where the storyboards are like, "Look what's happening on the news! Look at this screen in the show!" which, more often than not, completely takes you out of it. Now, the really interesting part is that, 21 years later, during the main show, the media is so influenced by Spacian capital, that it makes Earthians feel like an oppressed minority group, reflecting a shift in the wider society of the show, corroborated by the Spacian prejudice towards Earthians we see often at Asticassia. Again, making a point to stop and show us the classism and discrimination rampant on Earth (and in space) with the aforementioned protest and the inherent power imbalance it demonstrates. This is the level of world-building and detail I’ve come to expect from the franchise, and what I found to be profoundly and sorely lacking from more modern entries like Furuhashi’s Unicorn and Yoshizawa’s NT.
To cut to the chase, I’m thankful for this show, and I’m thankful that it was good. Witch From Mercury has, for better or for worse, reinstilled my faith in this franchise post-G-reco, and it’s reassured me that even with Tomino pretty much gone from the spotlight, Gundam will still be in good hands for the foreseeable future. Gundam, as a franchise, may be a soulless marketing machine, but it’s a good one, and I’m glad it exists and can still produce shows like this. I’m glad this anime was made, and I’m glad I picked it up. Who knows, maybe Witch From Mercury really did jump the shark, but even if it did, it sure as hell didn’t drown. There’s still a ton more to this show that I haven’t mentioned yet, but seeing as it ain’t even complete, I can’t be fucked to write anymore. Stuff like the bioethical implications surrounding the GUND format really impressed me, as does the Tempest allusions, and the sheer amount of threads Ookouchi leaves hanging for schizos on /m/ to run wild with, particularly with the ambiguity surrounding the time skip. Actually, truth be told, I’m absolutely terrified that some of those theories might legitimately come true. See you guys for cour 2 ;)
Goodbye and Goodnight.
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Jan 8, 2023 Recommended Well-written 
From what I hear, Witch From Mercury was conceptualized with the intent of bringing in a whole new audience to the Gundam property—mainly modern teenagers, who apparently, according to one of the show’s producers, don’t care about the Gundam franchise because of their inability to relate to it. As an attempt to remedy that issue, and reel in this new, sought-after demographic, the leads were chosen to be two high school-aged girls, and the premise to be mapped out as a high school battle anime, in the vein of someshit like Utena, if you believe the comparisons. On paper, this sounds awful—a vein way of
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Reviewer’s Rating: 7
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Sep 22, 2022 Mixed Feelings
If you’ve seen me on Mal before, or you visit my profile after reading this, you’ll quickly realize that Eureka Seven is my favourite anime of all time. It’s pretty easy to see, cause, you know, it’s at the top of my favourites list and all. I found Eureka Seven at a pretty important time in my life, and proceeded to fall so deeply in love with almost everything about it, that I watched all 50 episodes over the course of three days. I was that entranced with it. I have never, in my life, cried as much as I did when I was watching
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that show, and it wasn’t sad crying either, it was happy crying—the best type of crying because it really feels like you’re emotionally decompressing everything. It’s the type of crying where the tears feel like they’re staining your skin; the type of crying where you can feel a lump in your throat, and it hurts. The raw, human sincerity, and pure, emotional honesty of the cast resonated with me, deeply, in a way nothing had managed before, and in a way nothing has managed since. These characters were human, just like me, and they had flaws, just like me, and even if they weren’t actually human—even if they were different—they experienced life all the same. Watching Eureka Seven gave me an emotional catharsis I have hitherto never, in my life, experienced with media, so, I knew it was special. After rewatching it later that year, it became my favourite, and I swear by it to this day. And of course, when something becomes your favourite, you naturally want to check out everything from the property. Unfortunately, I was in for an ugly surprise when I eventually set out on the grand endeavour to do just that.
To summarise, the Eureka Seven sequels are bad, bad, bad, and really bad, for the most part. A lot of it comes down to the bitter hack that is Tomoki Kyouda, and his never-ending desire to besmirch his literal masterpiece out of spite for his literal masterpiece. Kyouda has stated that his vision for Eureka Seven was ostensibly mapped out in the first handful of episodes—a story about some punk-rock kid, born lonely at Bell Forest hospital, falling in love with a beautiful girl, and leaving on his coming of age journey towards adulthood. Allegedly, the Bones execs took issue with the dark, bittersweet tone his original layout of the ending took, and thus, had the ending changed to be a happier, and ultimately better conclusion, so as to sell more toys or someshit. Kyouda, being a literal child, has since devoted his entire life to absolutely desecrating the good name of the original, to satisfy his fragile ego, and as a result, has been responsible for some of the worst, and possibly, some of my most hated, anime to exist. To start, Pocket Full of Rainbows was just fucking atrocious, like, what in the fuck was this movie supposed to be? I don’t exaggerate when I say PFOR is my least favourite anime of all time, right next to No Game No fucking Life—it’s that bad. I don’t really want to get into it because it actually makes me quite sad thinking about it. It’s 99.9% garbage and about the only thing it does right is the ending song, which is something that’s always kind of defined Eureka Seven: the music. It’s about the only thing all of the sequels actually get right. Anyway, after PFOR, we had Eureka Seven AO, which wasn’t AS bad as most people make it out to be. It had some gorgeous Nakamura sequences, and enough Itano circuses to make Itano himself blush in embarrassment. Even if Sho Aikawa’s writing was somehow WORSE than Satou Dai’s on a bad day, it doesn’t really affect my enjoyment of the original, nor does it treat the original with overt disrespect. And now, we come to Hi-Evo—yeah, about 600 words in and I’m only now talking about the subject of this review—which is a very, very mixed bag of great ideas, and fucking atrocious ideas. For starters, the first half of Hi-Evo 1 is spectacular! We finally get to see the Summer of Love—one of the most important incidents in the series—which, funnily enough, happens off-screen. Anyway, the second half of Hi-Evo 1 is, yeah, not so good; it’s a half-assed, schizophrenically edited mess of a story, that, despite its admittedly interesting conceit, fails to deliver on almost every front. It even ends with a fucking dumbass bait-and-switch sneak preview of a sequel movie THAT DOESN’T FUCKING EXIST! Wow, you sure fucking trolled me Kyouda—got me a good one. The sequel we ended up getting (don’t worry, I’m almost there, just let me pointlessly ramble for a little while longer) was… good? Hi-Evo 2 is, frankly, kind of, sort of, amazing, kind of, sort of. I know I said the Eureka Seven sequels were “bad, bad, bad, and really bad, for the most part,” but as you can probably guess by the way I’m setting this up, Hi-Evo 2 was the, “for the most part,” part of that summary. I think if you’re an Anemone fan, like me, you’ll end up really enjoying Hi-Evo 2. It’s basically if Anemone was a real girl, and wasn’t trapped in the Pleasure Island of drugs she was designed to sedate herself with. It’s also an audio-visual fucking masterpiece that cuts between widescreen and 4:3 to mimic the stylings of the original show, with appropriate art direction to match. So it’s basically a fanservice film, but with one of the most ridiculous plots ever conceptualised. But like all Eureka Seven sequels, it has problems. There are weird CG segments that surely could have been animated, considering the bat-shit crazy mech sequences in the film, and it’s tonally just, kind of, all over the place. Overall, there’s nothing egregious about the plot; it’s a fanservice film, and, well, I’m a fan, so being serviced felt good, lol. I could go on for longer about this film and talk about the significance of Keiji Fujiwara playing Dewey, but, despite being at 1000 words and not yet mentioning it, this IS an Eureka Seven Hi-Evo 3 review, so now that I’ve finally set the stage, it’s time to discuss it. In anticipation of the film’s release, I followed every crumb, every drop of news to the best of my ability. I was there for all the trailers, all the PVs—the sneak-peak at the first 15 minutes? I was there. So naturally, the music video for the credits theme of the film —a song thoughtfully titled “Eureka” by the band Hentai Shinshi Club—caught my eye when it was uploaded to YouTube. I sat there, watched it, and thought to myself, “Why am I feeling legitimately emotional watching this? I know this is going to suck, and I know Kyouda is going to let me down,” but despite acknowledging that, I couldn’t shake that pleasantly awful feeling of butterflies in my stomach. Right off the bat, my expectations for this film were shaky—like they are with most things—and something just felt… off about the whole thing. I gotta say, I was getting a little bit anxious, and a little bit impatient, and a little bit aggravated. And the more I thought about it—the film and its release—the more I felt a little bit anxious, a little bit impatient, and a little bit aggravated. Alright, first things first: no Yoshida. Yeah, so we’ve lost the heart and soul of Eureka Seven because he was doing Orbital Children at the time or something like that. This is important, really important. Remember what I’m always saying: the character designer is really important, remember? Yoshida is really important, remember? All hope is not lost though, because Okumura Masashi—a man most notable for his work on the beautiful, but blatant Eureka Seven cash-in, Xam’d—decided he would try and fill Yoshida’s shoes. Unfortunately for Okumura, Yoshida wears a size 14. Okumura sure did his fucking best though, because this film looks fucking amazing! Ostensibly the last bastion for hand-animated mecha, aside from, maybe, Hathaway, but then again, I don’t remember Hathaway pulling out Itano circuses every fucking second. Sure, the film doesn’t always look stellar, and in the middle, the quality dips horrendously, but it’s not like the acronym “I.G.” is plastered on the cover or anything, so I can’t exactly hold it to a standard it couldn’t possibly live up to. But, yeah, like Tom Cruise—especially after his little foray in Iran—this movie looks, and sounds, pretty darn cool. And that’s the bottom line, because I said so. Before I really get into things, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the circumstances by which I’m actually able to watch this film. Hi-Evo 3 had its home release in June, and in the meantime, a small community of diehard fans on reddit—who don’t know Japanese, mind you—put together a fansub subtitle track for the film. While it’s not the greatest fansub out there, it was a real labour of love, and is literally the only reason I am able to watch this film. So thank you to those who were a part of that project. Alright, the movie. Okay. As aforementioned, I had already seen the first 15 minutes of the film back when Bandai released it on YouTube, but, oh boy, it was something else seeing it again. I remember doing this during that sneak preview, but as soon as Eureka performed the cut-back drop-turn, my heart fucking skipped a beat, and I said, aloud, in my best Fujiwara impression, “Cut-Back Drop-Turn!” The film doesn’t even make a point of it either, until Holland delivers the appropriate reaction, of course. Speaking of Holland, he’s in this movie, for some reason. Ultimately, he has no business being in this film, other than to share a scene with a pregnant Talho, which drove a fucking knife into my heart as soon as I heard Neye Michiko deliver her first of few lines in this movie. Honestly, it’s probably for the best that Fujiwara didn’t reprise his role here, cause it would have hurt too much, especially considering what Kyouda does with him later. At least with Morikawa voicing him, I can pretend he’s a different character entirely, which isn’t too hard to do, given his awful redesign (reminds me of another character). I’ll just come out and say it (spoilers, kids), Kyouda kills Holland off at the end of this movie, and it isn’t earned, and means absolutely nothing, and because of that, I feel absolutely nothing. I should be outraged, but I’m just… sullen about it—not even sullen, more like emotionless. I didn't even register that it had happened, because, for some reason, I was hopeful that Kyouda wouldn't fuck it up right at the end. I don't know why I ever thought such things. Thankfully, not all was lost. If this film had one saving grace, it would be its titular heroine, Eureka. If there is one thing Tomoki Kyouda is good at, it’s writing characters. Eureka brought a human touch to this film I was honestly shocked to see. Somehow, it makes sense that a grown-up Eureka would become a weight-lifting alcoholic, as out-of-character as that sounds. Hearing Eureka and Anemone, as adults, with the same voice actors, talk as close friends, made everything so, so real to me. I instantly bought into their dynamic. Whilst both their designs aren’t amazing, they still seem believable, as if these characters would actually look the way they do, given the appropriate context. Like, it makes sense Eureka would, without the love or kindness of those around her, mature into a hardened badass, and that Anemone would become a twenty-something that gets frustrated at kids for calling her old. It’s also a perfect touch that she does her hair like Katejina, even if there’s no way that was the parallel Okumura was drawing. Structure-wise, to me, it honestly feels like Kyouda conceptualized the middle part of this film—its emotional core—then realised he had to quickly devise the “plot” of the film, which kinda just bookends either side of the actually good, middle part. However, whilst attempting to ground the inherently larger-than-life soul of Eureka Seven with political intent, geopolitical conflicts, multi-national ethnic terrorism and anti-immigration movements, by means of, general, stern-faced diplomacy, Kyouda inevitably dampens the beating heart that made the franchise so special in the first place. What I’m trying to say is, this film lives and dies on its second act and the relationship between Eureka and Iris, despite Kyouda’s best efforts to “elevate,” or, “subvert,” the original intent of his masterpiece, out of spite for his masterpiece, in some vain attempt to debase what little good he managed in this film. Anyway, this all brings me to the shower scene—arguably the best scene in the entire movie, and possibly, the entire Hi-Evo sub-franchise. Seeing Eureka’s body brought Kyouda’s absolutely ridiculous script crashing down to earth, but in a way so real, I wasn’t ready for it, nor was I expecting it. This was a real woman’s body, with real scars—not fake, neatly adorned, anime scars from some tragic backstory—real scars, accumulated over a lifetime of fighting, externally and internally. Eureka’s scars are painful, and ugly, and harsh, but beautiful, in the sense that despite all that struggling, she continues on living, as hard and unfair as living may be. So that’s why I was shocked to my core when Iris asked to touch her, and then expressed the exact same sentiment I just did. It was mature, emotive writing I thought Kyouda not capable of anymore. But this is Tomoki Kyouda we’re talking about, so it all had to come crashing down somehow, and the cracks started to appear right when Sumner showed up. I don’t know how to say this any other way: Kyouda made Sumner and Ruri fucking jobbers. Why even bring them back? This goes beyond a cameo, because you literally wrote dialogue for Sumner, only to have him killed in the scene you introduced him in. Then we have your big twist, since you’re such a smart, out-of-the-silver-box (see what I did there?) kind of writer. Sigh (there you go, I typed it). Kyouda, why? Why do you retcon your own narrative with stupid shit? You do not deserve a Big O, metafictional plot twist. You have done nothing to EARN a metafictional plot twist. You hack fuck. It makes no sense; it is not smart. Why was Hi-Evo building to this WHEN THERE WAS NO FUCKING PAY OFF!? Having Eureka hug Anemone and tell her she loves her right before the third act WAS the big pay-off of this movie—well, for me, at least—and what’s worse, is that it wasn’t even intentional, just my sentimental ass. Kyouda can’t see what’s in front of him before it’s too late, and it ostensibly ruined the movie. The final conflict was so utterly and artificially manufactured as to be literally laughable. At a point, the movie becomes so caked in continuity, lore and meta, that it rips the stakes clean off the plot. Gosh, I haven't even mentioned Charles and Ray, but for my sake, I'm not going to explain why. Why couldn’t Hi-Evo have been just a fun collection of little “what if?” stories, set in the Eureka Seven universe? If this was the plan all along, then what was the point of Hi-Evo 1? Surely this couldn’t have been the plan all along? This movie ends with NOTHING—not even a fun post-credits scene—it ends with nothing, but Hentai Shinshi Club. I know this review has just become a disjointed, ranting tirade, but at least it helps me feel something. That was the problem with this movie and its ending: I felt nothing. I should have felt something, but I didn’t. When Renton made his grand entrance at the end, it wasn’t real. He didn’t fight his way across worlds to get to Eureka; he didn’t mature and pick up Keiji Fujiwara as a voice actor; he didn’t speak as the loving, caring individual known as “Renton Thurston.” I couldn’t help but think that Renton, in some way, represented the franchise—looking exactly like it did back in 2005—and that I was Eureka, holding on to him for dear life as he fades away into the light. *** So, this is it? This is the send-off to the franchise of my favourite work in fiction? You’re right, Kyouda. This, this is all I have. This 24 minutes a night, 90 minutes a sitting. This is my everything. I don’t think that’s a surprise to anyone when they know that I live this. This. This is what I love. But you know what, sometimes things you love don’t always love you back. And you can give, and you can give, and you can give, and you can give, and you can give, and you can give, and sometimes you get nothing in return. You get nothing! And you have friends, and family, and fans coming up and telling you, “Why do you still do it? Why are you still here? Why do you subject yourself to this every night?” It’s because I can’t stop. I can’t! It’s a sickness. I can’t stop! And maybe my life didn’t always turn out the way I thought it would, you know? I thought it would have been better. I thought I earned something. I thought I would be more successful. But you know what. I just can’t stop myself. I can’t. But you, you bring this franchise back one more time. Listen to me, Kyouda! Bring this franchise back one more time, and I’ll put up my entire career. —Dolph Ziggler, probably.
Reviewer’s Rating: 5
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Jun 26, 2022
Momo Kanchou no Himitsu Kichi
(Manga)
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(Unknown/? chp)
This is a manga about a girl slowly losing her mind in a disassociative, cluttered, lonely, feline-occupied spacecraft, where she is constantly at the mercy of piles and piles of books that'll suffocate her in her sleep, and the electricity going out, leaving her in total darkness, with her only source of companionship being the cat, and some broad, who may or may not be a voyeuristic stand-in for the viewer if the ending illustration is anything to go by. This is a manga that I like a lot. A hell of a lot. And whilst it's not the most groundbreaking, unique or sophisticated book
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in the world—actually, quite the contrary—it's precisely the type of artistic, self-indulgent splurgery I love the most, from the mangaka I love the most: Kenji Tsuruta. To preface, I’m reviewing this manga without actually having "read" a single chapter since the only hosted scans I could find past the second page of google were all in Chinese, fortunately, Tsuruta is one of the few real artists whom I trust to convey his message, heart and ideas entirely through sketch, and to no one’s surprise, Momo managed to do just that. Unfortunately, Momo looks like a one-volume deal—despite the "publishing" status MAL has it listed as—which has me not only worried for the state of this manga going forward, seeing as its release was in 2017, but also for the future of Wandering Island. But I digress. On to the review!
Captain Momo's Secret Base is the usual Tsuruta artful affair: cute, thin, dishevelled, sleep-deprived girls, in varying degrees of clothe, pouring over old books and drinking wine with the cat somewhere in frame. And yes, that's THE cat. Not, A cat. THE cat. You know, the cat, as in, "get that fucking cat out of here," or, "for crying out loud, the cat is driving me crazy," or, "has anyone seen the fucking cat?" Point is: the cat is there, and it may or may not be the same cat from La Pomme Prisonnière, or Wandering Island, or wherever else it shows up. Funnily enough, it was only after "reading" through Momo once already that I actually spent the time to find some quality Japanese scans and found out the cat's name was actually old man John, but "the cat" just has a nicer ring to it, don't you think? However, these scans had little to no furigana, so trying to ascertain the happenings of the, admittedly limited, story through the Japanese text did little to help, aside from the fact I could now comprehend Momo's frustrated are's, kono's and mattaku's whilst shes trying to flip a light switch or something, which is nothing I couldn't have already inferred from the Chinese scans. Really, nothing much of substance goes on in Momo's narrative, but, of course, I wouldn't really know now, would I? However, the lack of narrative, or my lack of ability to understand the narrative, is of little importance. Like Tsuruta's other works, Momo's is more of a tone piece, as some chapters go by entirely without a single text bubble, letting you soak in the impeccably crafted atmosphere, akin to something like a TKMZ manga, just without the depressive overtones and instead with more erotic undertones—which might not even be the right word to use, but, well, you'll see. For a majority of Momo's first and only volume, the titular Momo is unapologetically bare and vulnerably naked, so unless you're into voyeurism—which is very much the crowd this manga caters to—you're not going to really get the appeal, and you certainly won't have the same experience you had with your beloved Emanon. But don't worry, later on, Momo does her hair into a cute ponytail and adorns a military uniform which gets me all kinds of diamonds like you wouldn't believe. Military uniforms just do it for me. I don't even know why—the authority? Anyway, after wearing the best and only clothing I'd like to see her in—this is also with no pants, mind you—she goes back to being naked and laying around with the cat for a couple chapters. Momo remains that way for the rest of this manga's tragically short 15 chapters; lying around with the cat, reading old tomes and manuals, doing the laundry, getting stuck in the laundry door; and little by little, losing her mind as she imagines an army of cats overrunning the space station. It's a good read, trust me. The character art is pretty standard for Tsuruta, just with a lot more nudity, which is interesting, as Momo is never really doing anything sexual, like, at all. The state of her being naked isn't inherently titillating either, which is why I say the manga has a distinctly and uniquely voyeuristic feel to it, despite that particular format not being new to Tsuruta fans. However, unlike the comparison I made to the works of Jiro Taniguchi in my Wandering Island review, Momo doesn't exhibit the same charming stoicism that comes with Tsuruta's distinct take on sex appeal the way Amelia does, and is more a vessel for this displaced feeling of subdued ennui—for lack of a better term. Momo's funny and cute, don't get me wrong, but there's an underlying suffocating, bleak, forlorn loneliness in her eyes at times, which is something you don't often see from Tsuruta's heroines. Back to the art, though—his designs, or the general way he draws people, is what got me initially hooked on his stuff. His characters don't look conventionally beautiful; there's something slightly off about the way he draws them, and I really like that about his style. I like Kenji Tsuruta's art so much that I wish my actual, real-life job would be a professor at some mid-level university, analysing Tsuruta’s art, and as awful at that as I may be, it’d certainly be the dream. Man, I really gotta get his art books one of these days, at least one of them, maybe not all of them. The background art is actually pretty different from most Tsuruta stuff, which is more often than not cobblestone streets, canals, lampposts, old maps and laptops—oh, and cats—whereas this is obviously more sci-fi; cold, dreary, sterile, empty sci-fi. The only stuff in his catalogue I can compare it to is that one part in Spirit of Wonder with the steampunk spaceship, but this isn't steampunk and feels more in line with something like Girls Last Tour than anything else I can think of. I also get a pretty profound 1979 Alien feel from the setting—a woman and her cat, alone on a deserted, frigid spacecraft, in the middle of, figuratively and literally, nowhere—which is good, as Alien is one of my favourite films of all time. Tsuruta's choice to tap into the not absolutely skin-crawling, hair-raisingly terrifying aspects of that narrative was an excellent choice for the setting, though whether or not that's just pure coincidence or deliberate attention to detail is entirely up to you. To summarise, I really, really like this manga a lot. A hell of a lot. The art is astounding, Momo is a delight (from what my limited Japanese allows me to glean), and the tone, ambience and atmosphere are irreplaceable. Tsuruta's characters may suffer from severe, severe sameface, but they're all so, so pretty to look at, so no matter what they're doing, whether it be drinking, smoking, reading, sleeping, sitting behind a monitor or flying a plane to a mysterious island floating around the pacific ocean, I'm kept engaged from beginning to end thanks to the one of a kind, idyllic, nostalgic, simplistic tone his works often elicit. Thankfully, Momo kept that tradition.
Reviewer’s Rating: 7
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May 24, 2022 Mixed Feelings
As a huge fan of Stand Alone Complex, and GITS in general, I find myself to be very, very, very, very, very, very, very conflicted over this season, and understandably so, as this iteration of GITS came the closest to reimagining the genius of Kamiyama Kenji's first outing with the franchise, but, as you'll soon find out, somehow managed to crash and burn gloriously in the final lap and right before the finish line. I have a lot of scattered, disjointed and eager thoughts I feel I need to dispel, but I don’t really know how to organise them into anything resembling a legitimate review
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of this show, so, this write-up will be mostly stream of consciousness. With specific regards to any mention of the visuals, this "review" will, more or less, cover both seasons, as they are ostensibly the exact same. And do be wary. I’m going to drop random spoilers whenever I feel like it.
In hindsight, I probably should have rewatched season 1, despite 2020, and the release of said season, only feeling like it happened a couple of months ago. But, I guess it’s been long enough that upon starting up episode 1, I had initially completely forgotten all this series’ specific jargon. No matter though, because unlike the original Stand Alone Complex, this series isn’t too reliant on it, plus I have google on my side. And it’s only now dawning on me that this exact reason is probably why the compilation movie exists, but, well, I wanted my fix of GITS, so I guess you could say I got what I wanted. Nevertheless, I can safely say that, for most of its run, I enjoyed what this season, and SAC_2045 as a whole, had to offer. It almost felt like a well-needed return to form, but at the same time, something new altogether. However, despite that, the show still finds itself with a fair share of issues, some more glaring than others. So, I’ll get one of the most contentious aspects of this show out the way first: the character designs. I think Ilya’s art is nice enough to look at in isolation; I can very much appreciate that. But, for whatever reason, I find his designs have always had this air of pretentiousness to them, which is especially true for these redesigns, particularly the female ones. See, unlike their Arise counterparts, the Section 9 of SAC_2045 sounds, acts and emotes like their usual, badass, slick 'n cool selves, however, due to Ilya's radically different take on the cast, and the new 3DCG look, there's this insufferable dissonance going on between the writing and the visuals, and that goes double for the Major. Thankfully, the woman is so astoundingly charismatic, that at times, I'm tricked into thinking Ilya's redesign doesn't suck. So, even though she looks like a—as SingleH so flatteringly puts it—sex doll, she continues to, without falter, command attention with her mere presence every time she graces the screen, which I think is a testament to how powerful Atsuko Tanaka’s performance is, despite how unauthorative the new design looks. As for the rest of Section 9, everyone looks objectively (if I can use that word here) passable, even if I find Togusa’s rework to be absolutely awful in terms of representation. The design is just so, 2020, for a lack of a better way to describe it. Strangely, it’s not even really Ilya’s fault either. Episode 5 restores Togusa’s glorious mullet, but it’s just that the CG engine is incapable of truly capturing its glory the way I.G did so masterfully two decades ago. Speaking of the CG, it looks—and I don’t care what anybody has to say about this—fucking amazing! Sola and I.G finessed the absolute shit out of what they were given to work with. Everything looks incredibly polished across the board—it really grows on you over time, although, still nowhere near as breathtaking as Kise's Arise. As I said in regards to Vampire in the Garden, there are many ways to say something looks great, and SAC_2045 season 2. Looks. Great. I couldn't really tell if anything was upgraded, visually, since season 1, but I’d like to believe it looks different, somehow—maybe it's smoother? Anyway, this segues into my main issue with how the CG, despite its evident polish, negatively affects the show on a scene-to-scene basis in comparison with the original SAC. So let’s move down a paragraph. SAC_2045’s greatest strength is also its greatest weakness, that being the mode by which its story is conveyed: the virtual environment. Don’t get me wrong, the way it’s used here is genuinely great, so great in fact, that I’d argue SAC_2045 might be the best-looking CG TV/ONA series I’ve ever seen. It’s quite enthralling to see the characters traverse the environment as well as interact with props, and one another, in fully realized, aesthetically pleasing renders, masterfully brought to life by I.G and Sola. It's that same filmic movement Kamiyama sought to capture in animation during the original SAC, now given the tools to flat-out do so. For instance, Purin climbing over the hotel bed to get to the robot charging port kinda blew me away. It’s a fairly small, inconsequential scene in the scope of the entire series, and there are definitely better examples I could have used, but you don’t often see characters move through a "set" like that. I was fully expecting her to walk around the bed, but the staff took full advantage of the liberty that the 3DCG allowed them and had her traverse through the z-axis with the camera in tow. I hope any of what I’m explaining doesn’t sound too mundane, but getting back on topic, my point is, that while the virtual environment stuff is great, the freedom it gives the staff hinders their ability to really frame a scene impactfully—if you get what I mean. A lot of really big scenes seemed to fall flat because of the focus on intractability and life-like movement. I feel a more traditional approach to presentation, like in Arise, for instance, would have forced the staff to think long and hard about how to storyboard specific segments, upping the visual impact that I think SAC_2045 was sorely lacking. The trade-off for this, I suppose, was the big-budget action feel a lot of others noted and attributed to Aramaki Shinji, however, I feel this is just as in line with the type of media Kamiyama enjoys consuming (and I guess creating), as he’s stuck his neck out on several occasions to profess his love for well-oiled, Hollywood action, popcorn flicks. As a matter of fact, we've been seeing more and more of this style from Kamiyama as of late—well, relatively—starting with Hirune Hime, or maybe even Re:Cyborg. Of course, that isn't to diminish Aramaki's role on this project, but SAC_2045 just seems more mutually collaborative than most make it out to be. But hey, I know literally nothing about animation, and I have no idea what I’m talking about. However, I do know what I’m talking about, especially when it comes to things that I know what I’m talking... about, and the ending falls into that category. The ending of SAC_2045 was absolutely atrocious—or was it? I really don’t know whether or not I absolutely despise this ending, but what I do know, is that it left me incredibly disappointed and wholly unsatisfied. It's for sure going to be the most polarizing component of SAC_2045’s narrative. Like, what the fuck were they thinking? At first, I thought ‘N’ was a relatively cool idea, though nothing as ingenious, inventive, intelligent, imaginative, innovative, incredible, intuitive, impeccable, impressive, indispensable, or inspired as the Individual 11 nor The Laughing Man, but still, relatively cool all the same. But the idea just kept growing and growing until the stakes were at a global level, and here I thought Gouda’s nationalist renaissance was big money. Boy, was I wrong. This ‘N’ bullshit just kept getting more and more contrived the further it went, until it eventually imploded in on itself like it was the end of some cookie-cutter, milquetoast, bag-cereal, run-of-the-mill, garden-variety, top-ramen, dollar store, teen-fiction, dystopian novel, where there are seemingly no consequences for the character's actions. But who knows, this might just be another case of, “I’m too stupid to understand the nuance, and with time, I’ll accept this as some legendary subversion, or extension, of GITS as an intellectual property.” I hope the fuck not, though. The concepts got so big and ill-defined that even the characters couldn’t explain them. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was where Satou Dai’s authorial hand came into the picture. I love the man’s work, but this is right in line with the big-concept stupidity he often indulges in. LIKE, WHAT IS THIS? THE MATRIX? THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE STAND. ALONE. COMPLEX! DOUBLE-THINK IS JUST PURE TECHNOMANCY BULLSHIT! I don’t even remember any of this being established in season 1, apart from the aptly named “nostalgia virus,” though its connection to double-think, N and Shimamura’s grand plan is utterly lost on me (on second thought, they're all just synonymous with each other, aren't they?). Like, I understand what the plan is, and how it works, but isn't it just a little juvenile, especially for SAC, given its reputation for grounded, hard sci-fi? Also, that ending scene was absolutely masturbatory—undoubtedly the worst version of the backdrop (or whatever you want to call it) to date. And man, what were they thinking with Shimamura’s final design anywho? He’s decked out in a school-shooter trench coat on top of already looking like a cross-bred Joker and Minato Arisato. That’s just a recipe for disaster. And a disaster it was, as I attribute everything wrong with SAC_2045’s rushed, frankly baffling conclusion, to him. Now, in the same vein as Shimamura, Purin is a character I SHOULD hate, but surprisingly, don’t. I don’t know what to tell you: she just grew on me. All that Ilya pretentiousness I was talking about earlier melted away thanks to Megumi Han's (huh, wait a minute, I was just explaining a couple of days ago how I thought she carried Vampire in the Garden’s emotional crux, go figure) brilliantly emotive performance. And hey (I bet you just love how I keep using "and hey" to nonchalantly add some stupid, obvious tidbit), they even decked her out in a plug suit, so I guess Eva really did alter anime eternally. Anyways, I thought that was real cool and—to use a smark term—it got a pretty huge pop from me. But you know what also got a pretty huge pop from me? Scott “basically god” Matthew, that’s what. When was the last time you heard an Australian singer in an anime? That’s a rhetorical question of course, and yes, this is ironic lampshading. So anyway, on top of receiving an insert song from the man I’m going to dub, "the voice of SAC," we also got an insert song from EMI FUCKING EVANS of all people! Those two additions to the soundtrack fixed what I thought was lacking from season 1’s OST—an emotional punchline that underscores those big scenes, which are supposed to make us, as viewers, care. It’s what Kanno’s score did so flawlessly on the original SAC, and, to an extent, it’s replicated to decent effect here (wow, this paragraph is huge). Alright! I’m going to end this “review” by mentioning a few things I thought were interesting. So, first of all, you have no idea how happy it made me to see Batou in his original SAC design during that Purin flashback, as blatantly fanservice-y as it was. It made me so happy, in fact, that the unfortunate co-occurrence of it, and a retcon to the stand-alone Marco Amereti episode, didn’t even matter, although it probably should have. Secondly, it really seemed like someone on the team lifted the whole soldiers crying, laughing etc thing right from Guns of the Patriots, anyone else? Thirdly, when the fuck did “3D printing a cow” become a thing in SAC? What is this, Star Trek? I half expected to see Data come out of that thing instead of Mizukane, lol. And lastly, as hard as that one rock track is trying—and failing—to be Run Rabbit Junk, it surprisingly, like Purin, grew on me, to the point whereby the last couple of episodes, I was doing air guitar every time it played. Yeah, isn't that cool? So, while SAC_2045 had some really, really interesting ideas pertaining to the American empire, a sustainable war, post-human cyborgs, and crazy world-building events like the synchronized global default, it also had some really, really rushed, horrible ideas that only served to muddy what could have been a legitimately good sequel to one of my favourite anime of all time. Though, despite its lopsided shortcomings, watching the Section 9 gang get back together at full force warmed my cold, black heart. I expect to revisit this “review” to add or fix some things, seeing as it’s 6:22 AM, and I’ve spent the entire night watching this show and writing this garbage, so I can only imagine it’s riddled with spelling errors and inconsistencies. Hopefully, someone more adept at writing can produce a review that clarifies what the actual fuck was going on with those last two episodes plot-wise, so they can explain to me, in clear terms, why the ending didn't suck. Well, the net is vast and infinite, so I imagine that's not a big ask. Thanks for reading.
Reviewer’s Rating: 6
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May 16, 2022
Vampire in the Garden
(Anime)
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Mixed Feelings
I’m an absolute sucker for vampire stories. Always have been, always will be. Shows like Vampire Knight and Hellsing were some of the earliest anime I can remember watching. There’s something just so captivating about a pasty, white, basement-dwelling, nocturnal, blood-sucker with good looks and even sharper teeth. Even when Tom Cruise starts walking the night, it still looks and sounds pretty cool. So, to me, it doesn’t matter if your vampire plot is tropey, boring or juvenile, I’ll still enjoy it if the main character has some aversion to garlic, crosses, sunlight, or some unholy combination of the three. Hell, I even started reading
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Call of the Night, which sucks, but satiates my desire for coffin-sleeping, bat-morphing, reflection-precluding, immortal, skinny white chicks. But what does any of that have to do with Vampire in the Garden? Well, there’s a garden, but there are vampires in it, so it already ticks the biggest vampire show check box without me even having to watch it.
In all honesty, I completely forgot this show was coming out. I remember when it got announced, but in about 3 minutes, it had left my memory entirely for the foreseeable forever. Maybe Mal’s bell notifications actually do come in handy sometimes because, as you probably can guess, that’s what reminded me of its existence. Anyways, I was pretty excited for this show based on the involvement of one man—and if you’ve read the redundant parts of the previous review, you’ll know where this is going—that man being the centrepiece of the three gods: Mr Tetsuya Nishio. A man whose expert designs have—if you’re not some Boruto sycophant—recently re-invigorated themselves in the public conscience with Kamiyama’s Visions vignette and, if you were REALLY paying attention, Oshii’s Vlad Love. As you can probably tell by the way I’ve somehow segued into just praising Nishio without actually discussing the topic of this review, the man’s work means a lot to me, so his involvement with this project instantly piqued my interest. After all, character designers are inherently the most important part of an anime’s production, right? I mean, have you seen anything with Range Murata or Yoshitoshi Abe’s names slapped on the staff list? It might be presumptuous for me to say this, but aren’t the character designs the mode by which the script writer’s ideas are given life? Are the character designs not a visual representation of the lines upon lines of dialogue that allow the audience to graphically distinguish and connect with the cast, as superficial as that connection may be? The aesthetics and ‘look’ of a character is what immediately gives the audience an impression of what a show could be about. You can infer a lot from a good character design, and in my humble, humble opinion, Tetsuya Nishio is in the business of good character designs. For fucks sake, he took Kishimoto’s already brilliant design for Naruto and translated it into being one of the most instantly recognisable designs in animation history. Well, ok, Vampire in the Garden time now. At the very least, I can tell you that, just like Tom Cruise, it looks and sounds pretty cool. WIT did a fantastic job on this thing. Masakazu Miyake brought all the thunder (that's probably not the right word to describe background art) back from Mushoku Tensei, applying that same level of quality to an otherwise vastly different, and certainly more specific, setting. There’s a bunch of different ways to say something looks great, but I’m gonna settle for the one: it looks great. What more is there to say? However, from whatever score I've given this, you can probably tell I've got some itsy bitsy complaints here and there, like, for instance, why does the CG animate so bad? How do people sit through something like, I don’t know, The Sky Crawlers, for ease of comparison, and claim that CG ruined the film? Compared to TSC, this has gotta be some kind of joke. It looks like there was zero thought of realism or physics put into the way the CG vehicles move. Like, it’s forgivable, but it certainly takes me out of the action. It just seems so silly, especially because the texturing otherwise looks really cool. Plot-wise, it’s your standard vampire affair, nothing vastly out of the ordinary. Though, maybe something out of the ordinary would have helped it, because the plot was by far the weakest aspect of the film. I just found myself struggling to care about anything—all the emotion felt like it was carried on the back of Megumi Han’s brilliant performance as Momo, and if you've seen Momo's back, you'd know it's pretty small. The plot progression was just so filmic and predictable. It wasn’t till that handsome stud Kubo got some well-needed development that I found myself actively engaged, but by then, it was far too late, and the film had basically entered its final few scenes. Overall, Vampire in the Garden feels, looks and sounds like something I would have loved if I was eight or so years younger, with all its graphic violence, easy to follow story and frantic katana x vampire sakuga fights. My qualms pertaining to this film feel like a repeat of the last Netflix anime I watched: Orbital Children, and you can bet the cause is almost identical. For some fucking reason, Netflix chops its films up into stupid episodes instead of leaving them as a bigger, stupid movie, which is how it should be: stupid. Look, I’m just going to pretend it was Netflix’s fault because I wanted to like this movie a hell of a lot more than I did, but I just don’t have it in me to lie to you people ;) Similarly to how I bemoaned in my Orbital Children review, this really should have been an 11-13 episode series. It would have given suitable breathing room for the cast to develop relationships and flesh out motivations at a well-reasoned pace. Seeing that same potential squandered, in the same way, is just disheartening. Well, is that it? I think that’s all I wanted to say. To summarise, Vampire in the Garden was blessed with some of the best production values and talents of the 2020s but failed to keep the ball rolling after tripping and falling into the same direction-inhibiting pit-falls that its predecessors have yet to climb out of. I hesitate to say I’m disappointed since Orbital Children garnered the same sorta-middling response from me, so at some level, I was expecting something almost good but not quite engaging enough to deserve that accolade.
Reviewer’s Rating: 5
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Jan 28, 2022
Chikyuugai Shounen Shoujo
(Anime)
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Mixed Feelings
I’ve been officially ordered to write something about this film, and in the process of doing so, have somehow mustered up enough willpower to slap together my scattered, disjointed thoughts into something vaguely coherent but still not all the way purposeful as a legitimate review of this film. Now, If I’m being honest, isn't that how all reviews should be? You don’t need someone to tell you if a show is worth watching. It’s actually possible to make those observations yourself. I apologize if that sounds abrasive, but I think some of you could stand to be a little more staunch in your opinions on
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such things. Now I'm meandering. On the to review—if you can call it that.
Tragically, I’ve made the unfortunate mistake of not watching Dennou-coil before this, and as a result, I’m probably missing out on some referential pay-offs that the majority of you will be finger-pointing and giggling to yourselves over. Maybe that would have primed me towards the more technical aspects of this films world-building? But no matter. It’s not like I came to this film for its writing anyway. The visuals are what really got my attention—which is probably true for most of Orbital Children's audience, however, unlike most of Orbital Children's audience, the one name attached to this project that piqued my interest the most wasn't Iso's, it was Yoshida Kenichi. There’s something deep and primal that fires off in my brain when I see any form of artwork attached to his name, something deep and primal that resonates with my very soul, like the altered fucking beast. It’s hard to describe the exact quality his art invokes. All I know is that it’s incredibly appealing to look at. Take one glance at my list and it becomes clear the effect his designs have on the projects he’s been a part of. Eureka Seven: quite literally the closest thing to perfection in the medium. King Gainer: absolutely gorgeous and highly imaginative. And say what you will about G-Reco, but MAN are its visuals utterly spectacular. Yoshida’s prowess becomes even more obvious when you realize he’s a former Ghibli animator who got handed some of the most impressive cuts for the films he was a part of. His work on the dream/fairytale sequences in Whisper of the Heart is what initially comes to mind and, of course, the infamous Tanuki vs Riot Police scene from Pom Poko. Man is prolific; he's even got mocap credits for some of the Metal Gear Solid games (though, whether that's a mistake or not stands to be disproven, as both IMDb and ANN stand to corroborate the same info). Suffice to say, Yoshida is a master of his craft and his designs for Orbital Children are nonetheless stellar, even if most of them are more Takeshi Honda inspired than anything else, he still brings that patent quality I love his style for the most. By merely looking at it, my brain fires an ungodly amount of neurotransmitters through every possibly available synapse, you know, to really get the action potential flowing. So I hope that gives you an idea of how I feel about this guy's art. And that’s just the character designs. I’m sure no one was expecting less, given this film's incredibly long production cycle. So I’m probably as happy as anyone else to say that Iso delivered on all fronts. Orbital Children is a technical marvel that remains highly consistent with Iso’s usually consistency for consistence. Though, the detailed excellence of its visuals isn't really something I have to explain. It's visual, just look at it, it explains itself. My only complaint would be that there’s a lot of rather unexpected, shoddy character CG. And it usually comes up in scenes I’m sure could have been animated normally. Background character CG is fine, but a good lot of it’s foreground stuff. It’s a bit confusing as to why there’s so much of it, considering just how long the production cycle for this film was and how much of a visual perfectionist Iso is. It’s a relatively small nitpick. But if I had to nitpick about something, that’s what it’d be about. The passive world building and detailed minutia of the film is another high selling point for me. The whole hand-phone thing is ingenious. It serves as a great visual metaphor for a generation literally melding and assimilating with technology, mentally and physically. It also just looks damn cool as well. And the UNIQLO spacesuits are a nice touch; they’re a great way to show the unification of government enterprise and corporate commodification. It’s not even something brought to the forefront of the narrative, but it’s a great detail nonetheless. I love the way the helmets fold, all crinkled like a raincoat hood then expand to form a practical space helmet. It sells the idea that the suits are a fashion accessory second to a workable spacesuit. By far, my favourite aspect of Orbital Children (the fuck was up with the name localization anyway?) was its secondary commentary on streaming and “influencer” culture. Mina is an otherwise perfectly lovable girl. She provided some of the only moments of brevity throughout the absolute slog that was this films plot beats. But put her in front of a camera, and it becomes shockingly uncomfortable how that whole lifestyle has affected her as a developing adolescent. If you take one good look at the current generation, you’ll be quick to realize how many of them have been truly influenced by these “influencers”. It’s not just a goofy name; it’s the most literal definition of what it is they do. They influence. And who’s the most easily influenced group of society? Kids. That's the most unnerving thing these influencers do: they pass on the virus so that these vulnerable kids end up unknowingly repeating the cycle. A cycle that becomes a constant encouragement to broadcast what most closely resembles a twenty-four hour live stream of their lives—as one notable member of that group famously put. You see what’s happening; I’m doing the same thing. Now I’m getting off-topic. Livestreaming—in other words: social media—is a blight that turns otherwise lovable girls into complete and utter narcissists, obsessed with the idea that everyone genuinely cares about every minute, mediocre, vapid detail of their lives. At every opportunity she gets, Mina is compelled to televise her every predicament. Even when she’s in legitimate danger, undermining her life in the process. She’s unwittingly belittling herself for an audience of faceless, invisible nobodies. Who lack the talent to do anything meaningful with their lives, so they live vicariously through whichever charisma vacuum makes themselves the most readily available. Well, in the film, it’s portrayed more in the way of archiving and disseminating an unprecedented global incident. But to Mina, what matters most is if or not that number counter goes up. So, my point still stands. The fact that her name is Miina also raises a few eyebrows. I really don’t have anything insightful, or meaningful, or interesting, or intelligent to say about this film's plot. One glance at it and my brain convinces me that it’s just indecipherable technobabble. Thankfully though, it’s not. There’s quite a bit to look into and interoperate. I can’t say most of it—or any of it—is all that innovative. But the way the concepts are presented makes it feel somewhat fresh. The use of the terms “frame” and “cradle” as analogies for viewpoint and security was odd, but I can appreciate what it was trying to do. A lot of it’s pretty easy to grasp, and I think most people will be able to come away from the film understanding most of its core concepts. There’s a lot of great stuff buried in the script; man-made gods, social malaise, dependence on technology, ideological extremism, foreordainment, predetermination. All solid stuff. Though its notions of utilitarianism feel lifted straight from Char’s Counterattack. But it's fine. Iso dresses it up nicely enough that I don’t care. There are some pretty good subversions too. I originally pinned it to be about the hubris of man and the pitfalls of technological advancement. Only for it to heel turn in the opposite direction and propagate the same idea we’ve all heard so many times before: robots simply need to understand humans and the day is saved. Which I’m perfectly fine with; it was all done in a way that kept me relatively engaged. However, you can’t escape the fact that there’s some utterly retarded shit thrown in there. Science 2.0? UN 2.1? What? That’s some EVA imaginary levels of stupidity. And there’s no way that thinking in the “11th dimension” isn’t satire. It felt like the script turned into needlessly complicated jargon for the sake of having needlessly complicated jargon. Or maybe I really just don’t get it. This is probably what most of you felt like after watching Innocence, which was so frighteningly easy for me to understand, given the fact I enjoyed every minuscule aspect of it. Unfortunately, that’s not something I can honestly say about Orbital Children. Despite everything great going for it, I feel a bit disappointed I couldn’t connect emotionally with any of the cast. There were almost no emotional stakes for me from start to finish. Maybe I’m just not who this film was meant for? Though, I doubt that’s the case. I recently sat through the Moominvalley film, which is ostensibly a series for kids, and found myself in tears by the end of it. So no, I doubt that I couldn’t connect with the cast based on something like wrong age demographic. I can only think of one reason why, and it’s probably because every other aspect of the film was prioritized instead, leaving the cast feeling rather basic, placid and unmemorable compared to everything else the film has to offer. Which is of a constant high quality. I think the issue could have been remedied if Iso gave the project some breadth and opted for an 11-12 episode anime format. It would have allowed for some breathing room and more time to acclimate to the cast and setting. That would have been optimal but in no way discredits the format Iso chose to present his project. It works; it just could have been better. Have you noticed how I’ve been using the terms “film” and “movie” to categorize Orbital children? Y’know, the media format that it is. Well, in Netflix’s insufferable mission to rape any anime they get their hands on (thanks for that one), they’ve completely bastardised the way the film was intended to be viewed. Leaving the already boorish pacing even more of a slog to wade through. It does nothing but damage to the overall product, given that moments of legitimate narrative suspense are cut short and segregated by a fucking ED!? MID FILM!? Maybe once is fine; End of Eva and all. But six times!? Why? I imagine the way Japanese cinemas are airing the film—in two feature-length parts—alleviates most of my issues with Netflix's binge-centric design philosophy. To summarise, I thoroughly enjoyed Orbital Children. It was well worth the wait—even if I didn’t have to wait nearly as long as some people. A lot of my enjoyment can probably be chalked up to my slavish devotion to Yoshida. But disregarding that, the film is genuinely a blast to sit through, minus my aforementioned issues with its pacing. Merely taking in the films mindboggling presentation makes the ride absolutely worth it. The script isn’t anything revolutionary, but it’s competent enough to maintain interest all the way through. I’d say I’m due for a rewatch at some point, just to completely solidify my thoughts on it all. I doubt Orbital Children will be remembered as a modern classic in the same way Your Name or A Silent Voice is. But the bottom line is that it should be. Unlike those films, there's a lot to appreciate Orbital Children for, and I consider it a work of auteurism. Nobody but Iso could have made this, and I'm happy I was able to see it.
Reviewer’s Rating: 6
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Jan 23, 2022 Recommended
Preamble:
Mushoku Tensei is possibly the greatest passion project in recent memory; it's a real labour of love, constructed in a way that lends itself well to being merely being observed, thanks in part to the great passion put into its production. Multifaceted: characterizes the cast of MT ably, with tropey and self-indulgent rounding out the other spokes of its wheelhouse. Don’t get me wrong, though. The show has its fair share of issues. Most do. It’s not perfect, and it's even a little overrated. But despite those flaws, the product as a whole is spectacular, and it's kind of a shining example which reassures me ... great works of fiction, like itself, still see public interest in recent times, especially considering its genre tag. However, there’s a lot surrounding the show that just doesn’t sit right with me, and I have a lot of things I want to get off my chest. First things first: a prevailing falsity that I can’t help hear thrown around, is that MT invented the tropes that are so prevalent and infamous in modern Isekai fiction. It may have popularized and or commercialized those tropes—I don’t know, but last time I checked, a little-known series by the name of Sword Art Online began serialization in 2009, a good four, almost five years before Mushoku Tensei started its run in January of 2014. Now, I know they aren’t exactly the same thing; a reincarnation fantasy vs MMO RPG, but they’re still both Isekai, and they’re still both wrought with the same tired genre trappings. The same genre trappings that MT gets a pass from because it, “invented them,” never mind the fact that even if it did, it doesn’t change that those tropes still exist within the show, and never mind the fact that having those tropes doesn’t make it bad in the first place; it matters more with how those tropes are handled. Tropes exist for a reason: they work. So all this leads me to believe it’s simply another case of e-celeb parroting that was probably misunderstood in the first place. If not, then I’m willing to wager its presentation somehow had people fooled into thinking everything else about it was refreshing, and something fresh can’t possibly be derivative right? No. It’s called refreshing for a reason—it implies a new take on a pre-existing formula. It’s in the word; "re," y’know, re, as is Re:Zero. Empathy: Mushoku Tensei isn’t so much a redemption story as it is one of self-actualisation. Rudeus didn’t murder anyone in his old life, nor did he assault anyone, nor did he do anything malicious or evil for that matter. There’s no sin that he needs to redeem or atone for. Rudeus is a victim, a victim of cruelty, and a victim of himself. For all of you who hate Rudeus: you’re entitled to think however you want of him. He’s not the most commendable individual. Hell, even I don’t like him that much. But try to have some empathy. Put yourself in his shoes and try to rationale his predicament, and his feelings toward this all. This is a man who was humiliated, belittled, bullied and assaulted by his peers throughout high school purely because of what he looked like and how he was perceived. He was degraded so awfully that it became the driving factor in him turning hikki, and his only friend was driven away due to his own lack of perspective. This is a man, who for 17-18 years, lived in utter solitude, cowering in fear; traumatized. A man, who in the pursuit of any form of comfort, slunk into a world of escapism. This was, by all means, a coffin of his own design, but one he would have been reluctant to step into if not given the final push. So, in some twist of fate, he is given a second chance at life to make up for the one he squandered. As aforementioned, Rudeus is a victim of cruelty and a victim of himself. He’s a victim of trauma. I think it would be ignorant to argue otherwise, how else would you interoperate his petrifying fear of leaving the Greyrat property? There’s a reason I don’t call MT a cut-and-dry redemption story, and it's because Rudeus has no sins to atone for. This new life he’s been born into is filled with people who love and care for him; people who’ll push him to better himself; people who value his talents, and people who help him to explore avenues he never dreamed of exploring himself. The same could be said for the parents of his previous life, but this time, he’s serious. This is a story of self-actualization, self-betterment and growth. Now, I’m briefly going to address the elephant in the room. This is not a defence of Rudeus’s actions, but think about the logistics for a second. Rudeus is in the body of a child. To everyone else around him, he IS a child. Sort of like Schrodinger’s cat, or in this case, Schrodinger’s body-swapped NEET. But I digress. As a 34 year old man, it would only be appropriate for him to pursue relations with women of his own age, however, Rudeus’s predicament puts him in a situation where that would pose the same dilemma for the women he is expected to share his company with. They’ll be the ones who end up the morally debased paedophiles to everyone else. This puts Rudeus in a tricky situation, as the sexually active loner he is. Now, considering Rudeus cannot pursue women of his mental age, is it not only appropriate for him to follow the prevailing ‘law of the land’ and its customs, and pursue women of his body’s age? It’s not like Rudeus throws himself on every girl he comes across. Though, from Rudeus’s perspective: what’s wrong with indulging in his fantasies, seeing as he is in a fantasy world after all. Rudeus even admits that up until a certain point he viewed this second life as a game, and that disconnect is easy to see through his bodily dysphoria and mental dissonance. However, it’s at that point that he starts to make a change. And besides, he never actually does anything serious until he’s "of age." It’s a moral grey zone at worst; just something to consider. (Consider this whole paragraph pointless; forget you ever read it). SingleH made a fantastic, deeply personal review on this very show, addressing its sexual overtones and their purpose, along with a myriad other interesting observations which I'm not going to attempt to reiterate here at risk of muddying the nuance and insight of their original text. If by some chance you haven't read it, then I suggest you stop reading this and go do so, as SingleH can articulate every aspect of this show far better than I. Panda’s review is also great for the way he tackles this show’s more controversial aspects, even if our views don't exactly line up. Audience: You can talk circles about this show only being for a certain niche target audience of degenerates, but you’d be woefully incorrect for having that assumption. Have you seen this things ratings? This “generic Isekai” squashed the much anticipated Eva 4.0 in both ratings and popularity here on Mal. Now, I know not every anime fan uses this website. But operating under the assumption most seasonal viewers check seasonal charts, I imagine they would have made an account by now, and if the 800,000 users are anything to go by, it’s a fucking lot. That’s also taking into account the recent e-celeb shilling of both this website and MT. So it comes as a shock—but at the same time, no surprise at all—that Mushoku Tensei is nowhere to be seen on Crunchyroll’s anime of the year list for the 2021 Crunchyroll awards. Because god forbid "that one pedo anime" gets awarded anime of the year, right? This gets even more interesting when you realize that besides Attack on Titan (because it’s Attack on fucking Titan) and Ousama Ranking, Mushoku Tensei is rated higher than all of the nominees (at the time of writing), and in the case of Ousama Ranking, is way more popular. People love this show. Mushoku Tensei is by no means the underdog; it’s a dynasty. Misogyny: Labelling MT as wholly misogynistic is utterly baffling to me. I don’t know how someone could sit through Roxy’s or Eris’s story and think, “yep, this anime is misogynist and sexist alright.” Rudeus isn’t applauded every time he has lustful thoughts or does something questionable. Most, if not all romantic intimacy between main characters is consensual. Plus, isn’t Elinalise, as a character, the polar opposite of the victimized women supposedly overflowing in abundance, and distributed as if they were alms, the way you jabronis claim there are? Anyway, being a scumbag has consequences. Wasn’t that blatantly obvious? Paul’s actions aren’t excused and hand-waved away. MT doesn’t shy away from the fact he committed a philanderous act. What do you people expect? His loving wife to leave him on the spot? No. People are scummy, people make mistakes, but people can also learn and grow from those mistakes. That is like, the most basic, fundamental part of being human. The show literally beats you over the head with this: “…we’re both human. We make mistakes”. We’re only shown very small snippets of Rudeus's early childhood, and of course, those snippets coincide with certain events for the sake of dramatization. Paul’s whole life isn’t laid bare for our scrutiny. We’re shown his lowest moments, but those mistakes don’t define who he is as a person, and neither does ours. That is, unless you want every single one of your mistakes to be permanently plastered on every social media profile you've ever made, because if that's the case, I totally understand. For every person complaining that Rudeus’s acts should place him behind bars, just keep in mind the fact that this is a FANTASY world loosely based on the medieval era of our own. This setting serves two purposes: it lets the author explore concepts and ideas that would otherwise never occur in a grounded setting, and it holds a mirror up to a more lawless time of our own history. If the sexual escapades of MT were to take place in a more realist setting, then we’d have a different story on our hands now, wouldn’t we? All that and more underpins fantasy television series like Game of Thrones, and you don’t hear critics by the thousands derailing that show for being “sexist” or “misogynist”. The contrary actually. Rudeus’s values don’t reflect the shows as a whole, nor do they taint the message of it. And more importantly, his values do not reflect ours. He is a fictional character—a vehicle for the author to impart whatever emotions, messages or ideas he wanted to convey. Using Rudeus as that middleman between himself and the audience. While I am an advocate for empathizing with fictional characters, it’s important to know that these people are in no way real. You don't come to anime like this for moral guidance, because you will simply find none. You come to shows like this to engage in a world far, far removed from our own, and maybe, just maybe, there might be something to learn along the way. Characters can do and say anything behind the fourth wall, and because of that, they’re not infringing on any moral sanctities. It's like pro-wrestlers; you know they're not real people, and once you realize that—once you realize they can do and say anything under the guise of Kayfabe—it becomes all the more enthralling to see what they'll do next. This is all basic, basic stuff, but it seems subtlety has become something of a lost art form nowadays. Eris: How fucking dull do you have to be to look at this character and think, "wow, her only purpose in this world is to fall for Rudues, and in turn, service the audience. Yup, yup, that’s her character alright.” If I could type ‘sigh’ without it making me seem like some dolt who lacks self-awareness, I would have done so. Eris is by far my favourite character in MT and one of the few characters I actually like. She’s recalcitrant but eager; abrasive, yet kind; histrionic, yet sincere, and petulant, though disciplined. I would watch the first cour over again just to see her introduction and subsequent growth. There’s a lot of detail and nuance to this character. For example, she wears the ring given to her by Ghislaine on her wedding finger. This is probably presumptuous of me, but I like to think that it symbolizes her dedication to the craft of becoming a warrior. Marrying the blade, so to speak. She represents something special about this show: the fact that it isn’t afraid to love, even if it hurts. Among other scenes in cour 2, her comforting of Rudeus after his initial reunion with Paul is one that made me realize this show was special. I would even go so far as to say that scenes like that are what push the show from a 6 to a 7. There’s something very real, intimate and honest about the way that scene was handled. I commend the staff for every second of thought they put into storyboarding it. And I was, to say the least, impressed with the direction her character was taken coming off the heels of this first season. I can’t wait to see what the future has in store for her. And I’m sure the comparisons have been made through superficial observation, but she reminds me a lot of the great Asuka Langley Souryuu. Only, Eris is an Asuka given the opportunities and loving support that Asuka never had the privilege of receiving. Eris was someone who was able to break free of that mould she used to protect herself from pain. All it took was for someone to challenge and go the distance with her. And of course, a worldwide cataclysm—go figure. It honestly makes me a little sad that Asuka never got to see those days. Epilogue: Yes, it’s a fantasy show; it’s not realistic. But that doesn’t stop the author from injecting some humanity amongst the chaos. I take Rudeus and Paul’s reconciliation as a prime example of this, which is genuinely fucking heart-warming, and a flagship sign this show is a cut above the rest. It achieves Holland and Renton levels of emotional honesty, just nowhere near as complex. Themes of love, agony and anguish are perhaps the most human. Mixing that amongst an unrealistic setting is what tethers us to these characters and their world. It’s what makes Tolkien’s works so resonate with so many. But guys, this is so painfully rudimentary; I shouldn’t have to explain any of this. But I get that some of you are yet to take high school English, so I understand. Final Verdict: Anyhow, here’s an ‘actual’ review of the Mushoku Tensei: Story: Good. Now let me just recount the synopsis :D Art: Good. Now let me bend over backwards to tell you Studio Bind worked on it :D. Man, they did a real good job, considering it was their first production and all :D Sound: Idk? I could hear it. Character: Why is this a category separate from the story? Doesn’t the story revolve around the characters? Aren’t they intrinsically linked? Enjoyment: It was good. Real refreshing Isekai that basically pioneered the genre or something. Look, I didn’t mean for this to be such a negative feeling review. I needed an excuse to write something worthwhile, and this is what got me in the mood to do it. This show is genuinely fantastic and stands to prove the fact that challenging and engaging works of art can still make it at a mainstream level. Mushoku Tensei doesn't jump the shark, and for that, it has my utmost respect. Do keep in mind, you don’t have to take any of what I say seriously. This is merely an opinion piece. If you got this far, thanks for reading.
Reviewer’s Rating: 7
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Jan 11, 2022 Recommended
G-Reco is Tomino's ultimate Gundam, rife with intricate lore and a ridiculous cast of lunatics, blessed with glorious designs of Yoshida Kenichi. Fully grasping the scale of G-Reco is like memorizing the rules of a board game, only to watch it be played out by amateurs who can't tell a pawn from a bishop. In this vein, G-Reco leans heavily into the concept of Chaos theory—just like a cue ball hitting billiards, Bellri and Co's battlefield antics see characters unpredictably and hilariously smashing into each other, as enemies and allies alike struggle to understand just what the fuck is actually going on.
An integral component of ... G-Reco to keep in mind is that all sides of the conflict are inept at war. G-Reco exists in a post U.C era in which the monopolization of resources gave way to a society of platitude and irenicism. It's where the heart of all conflicts within G-Reco stem from—every faction wants to have its own say in how resources and land should be handled, whether that be Ameria's desire to put an end to Gondowans monopolization, or the Dollete family's Reconquista plan. Everyone has opposing ideas for how the world should be run, so watching them all—ill-informed and pig-headed as they are—crash into each other like tectonic plates is nothing short of enjoyable. It's a catfight, if you will, a certified, bonafide shit show. And it's precisely this rampant, unceremonious, unadulterated chaos which feeds into G-Reco's two most nuanced themes: ideology and apprehension. Most of the characters in G-Reco have absolutely no idea what they're doing, and that's not limited to those following orders but to those giving them as well. Everyone's following a narrative, an ideology they've chosen to back, despite not fully understanding what they're committing to. With this in mind, the key struggle between the cast is in apprehending and understanding one another, as opposed to fighting their enemies. Rather intelligently, these themes can be extended to real-life, as in the case of political and social narratives, but also, it's even applicable—whether it be with intent or just coincidence—to the people who watched G-Reco and didn't understand it despite Tomino beating its themes over their heads above twelve billion times per episode. There's a lot of little details in G-Reco that go unappreciated. One of my favourites is how zero-G is actually treated like zero-G: characters are constantly ramming into things, hitting their heads on ceilings or having objects ricochet into their faces, as opposed to other Gundam entries where zero-G enables the characters seemingly perfect XYZ movement, without the humorous and annoying hindrances G-Reco revels in. Details like that are exacerbated ten-fold in these films, for instance, Bellri's breakdown at the Rayhunton reveal is opened with a subtle yet highly interesting character detail that recontextualizes the whole scene. It's something I suspect will fly over a lot of the audience's heads, as it's really something only Tomino would do. Other aspects of G-Reco, like its seemingly random, non-sequitur dialogue, is something that, in any other show, would come off as downright awful writing, though, somehow, feels right at home spoken amongst the absolute blockheads that make up G-Reco's cast. I'll be one to admit that a second viewing of G-Reco made everything much clearer in terms of the allegiances and MOs of the secondary cast, and I'm probably not wrong in saying that the film's overhaul of the original script has a part to play in that. They haven't changed too much, but what they have changed has proven to be an overall net benefit for the narrative G-Reco was originally trying to tell. The addition of new scenes—especially those pertaining to Bellri—strengthens the emotional throughline of the series by making the cast feel a bit more real and their plights a bit more personal. A good deal of these changes were made due to the negative backlash G-Reco received when it had initially released. And while some diehards say those changes ruin the point of G-Reco, I'd argue the complete opposite, as all the new changes feel like the missing pieces G-Reco always needed. A great example would be how every Nut on Capital Tower has been made more distinct from each other to provide some passive worldbuilding—giving each Nut the feeling of a unique culture imbued into it by its inhabitants. Specific to this film, a few new scenes were added to provide some connective sinew between story beats, like the opening scene, which catches the audience up on the Megafauna's current situation. Scenes like that are welcome as they ease most of G-Reco's original pacing issues. A lot of the 'dead space' got cut out of the films, which, unfortunately, makes some of the better-paced segments feel rushed in comparison to their TV counterparts. For example, the moments where Raraiya slowly gains her normal cognition back were cut from the film, leaving the scene where she regains all her memories feeling like a pay-off bereft of build-up. There are a few more examples of this, but it all seems like necessary changes to make room for new plotlines in the upcoming films. Apart from that and the aforementioned pacing issues, I would still strongly recommend this version of G-Reco over the previous series, even just for the touched-up sequences alone. These films greatly benefit from adapting clusters of episodes into chunks, it leaves everything feeling far more comprehensible, even if a little truncated. Additionally, the inclusion of the song "G" by Dreams Come True acts as this great emotional motif for the trilogy as a whole, helping it stand out from the original whilst promoting a sentimental continuity completely unique to this version. In particular, the reuse of the dance eyecatchers here for the credits was the icing on the cake. There's one more thing I want to touch on: it's generally well-known that Tomino is on the way out, so to speak. He has future endeavours planned for after this pentalogy, but with him recently turning 80 and his worsening spinal issues, it's safe to assume that these films will probably be the last of his career. Of course, I could be completely wrong—in fact, I want to be proven wrong. But in the unfortunate eventuality that this is Tomino's last rodeo, I find it a bit disheartening that this titan of the industry, "Kill 'em all" Tomino, will have his swan song echo out to the applause of so few. The fact that the second G-Reco film still doesn't have a staff listing on Mal is telling of this. Tomino's core message with G-Reco was that he wanted the current and next generation of young people to adapt to the incoming future and solve the global problems caused by their progenitors. I think it would be nice for his legacy and that message to continue to be felt even after this last project comes to its close. I have no doubt Tomino himself will be cherished as a national treasure, but the positivity of G-Reco is something dearly needed and something I think the world would ultimately benefit from—a return to Genki.
Reviewer’s Rating: 8
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Jul 28, 2021
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The Sky Crawlers is my favourite Mamoru Oshii film, neigh, my favourite anime film of all time, which is surprising as I’ve only seen the movie twice as of writing this. It’s just that the first time wowed me in ways no other media, anime or otherwise, had done in the past. Hell, I didn’t even know who Mamoru Oshii was when I discovered it. I just thought I had found a rather interesting, obscure piece of anime cinema. So, only after watching it a second time, a little over a year later, I’m now able to grasp at why I was so enamoured with
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the film in the first place, and why I can now claim it be my favourite.
The tone of The Sky Crawlers is cold; it’s bitter, it’s methodical, and it’s meticulous, but in that cold reservation of character and narrative, I find more comfort and solace than I have with any other form of media. It’s incongruous and artful whilst remaining reasonable and grounded; I don’t feel an iota of pretension coming from it whatsoever. Though, unfortunately, 'pretentious' seems to be the word this film gets stigmatized with the most, despite being perhaps the most straightforward film Oshii's ever directed. There's very little Ito geo- socio- enviro-political discourse splugery going on. See, The Sky Crawlers is interesting; it’s interesting in the way that it never divulges much information pertaining to its central narrative (play the game or read the book if you were looking for any), instead, it lets the viewer piece together relevant information subjectively, as informed by the one-of-a-kind surrealist tone. This creates a unique situation wherein the viewer must find their own meaning from where there may be nothing. I feel the film is purposely vague in that regard. So much so, that I think Oshii’s point may have been to present a life without meaning at all, just decay and stagnation, propped up by meaningless conflict. That isn’t to say the film has no meaning or thematic point whatsoever though—because it does. The usual Oshii themes are all there: the commodification of war, false peace, cynicism, existentialism, basset hounds. But what the film is great at is pushing all that to the side and letting you ruminate with the characters, soak in the setting, feel the atmosphere like a cold breeze blowing against your face, and reason your own interpretations informed by those aspects. Right down to the composition, this movie is fascinating. Oshii throws the three-act structure out of the window, favouring a more non-linear, cyclical approach to the narrative flow, leaving normally climactic, emotional moments for the middle of the film rather than the end. Thus, complementing the aforementioned dry and cold pacing he seems to revel in, all of which is further complemented to perfection by Kenji Kawai's most hands-off compositions to date. Out with the blood-pumping, 80s synth anthems of Patlabor and the experimental, theistic insanity of GITS, and in with the drifty, sporadic, lilting, calm, contradictory explosivity of TSC. Visually, this movie is more than unique. It's a near-perfect marriage of CGI and cel animation. A fully realized product of I.G’s DGA style that they’d been perfecting since the mid-’90s. So, in addition to the breathtaking fidelity of this film, bringing onboard someone like Tetsuya Nishio to provide character designs was ingenious. His reinterpretation of Tsuruta’s designs brings a whole new dimension to their portrayal. Nishio imbues the characters with subtle idiosyncrasies most films would skip over: like oddly specific levels of pupil dilation and realistic body fat. Their designs truly make this film one-of-a-kind, and just looking at their faces gives you a sense of the often duplicitous ambience Oshii is trying to convey in any given scene. They’re simple and grounded—which are, surprisingly, qualities arthouse films often forget to incorporate—however not so simple that they lack depth. I.G brings the characters—and by extension, the film—to life thanks to the highly animated attention to detail the studio prides itself on, like a specific way in which a character lights a cigarette or folds a newspaper. The way I interoperate this film is imparted mostly from its characters. I see this movie as a story about trying to find a direction, a reason, a meaning to your life. It’s a concept that connects with me so much because of the stage of my life I’m at now. A stage where I’m having to move forward and solidify my future, but without a cause, I ultimately feel directionless. So watching this film just puts all my feelings into words perfectly. The Killdren live in a world where they don’t have a reason, not one to fight, nor one to live. At the end of the film, Yuichi finds his: protecting the one he loves. Kusanagi, on the other hand, spends the whole film lamenting the maternal position she’s put herself in, ultimately coming to terms with the fact she must live for the child she has brought into this world. Yuichi and Kusanagi found their reasons and came to terms with their lives. But that begs the question, when am I going to find that something to die for, so I can make it beautiful to live. *Bam* *Mic-drop*. What'ya make of that?
Reviewer’s Rating: 10
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Jun 17, 2021
Bouken Elektriciteit-tou
(Manga)
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Recommended Preliminary
(9/? chp)
Tsuruta Kenji’s paramount best work by far! When people say "a picture can tell 1000 words," it's art like this they’re referring to, and as dramatic as that sounds, I don’t think another manga has ever managed to expound so much rich characterization and intrigue over the course of just four chapters, which comprise the first of, unfortunately, only two volumes.
Tsuruta’s highly artful approach to storytelling is realized to an uncompromised extent throughout the pages of this masterpiece. It’s clear to see the deliberation, thought, research and meticulous attention to minutia he put into this manga to help it feel so lived-in. Similarly to Emanon, ... something about the general tonality of Tsuruta’s work evokes a very misplaced, odd feeling of nostalgia. It’s an adventure manga through and through, but an atypical one, rid of the trite that so often comes with that genre tag. Wandering Island feels incredibly subdued, and at the same time, awe-inspiring. And there are no better words than that to describe our protagonist—well, there probably are better words, but who has time for that? Amelia sure doesn’t. She immediately leaves an impactful impression with her instantly striking character design, and despite the design in question being fairly underclothed, it never comes off like Tsuruta’s capitalizing on sex appeal—well, he is, but it's not patronizing, or pandering, or some other word starting with "p" that I can't think of. The way Amelia carries and prostrates herself is so stoic that it dispels any notion of shallowness on the part of the reader. She reminds me of a character from a Taniguchi Jiro manga in that regard. It’s easy to make comparisons to Miyazaki's rather similar Castle in the Sky, which is comprised of a similar conceit. The key difference here is the relationship between the protagonists and the arcane legends they pursue. Whilst Sheeta and Pazu seek out and involve themselves in a grandiose quest of adventure, Amelia, in her ever-abundant curiosity, is consumed by obsession and develops a neurosis of sorts, as seeking out this elusive island comes to define itself as her life goal, which she is determined to fulfil, seeing as she's finally found something to give her life purpose. Even down to these legends I speak of, Laputa is enchanting in its own way but feels like an anticlimax somehow; it's not as mystical as I envisioned, whereas, Elektriciteit Island really feels like someplace I’ve been before in a dream. The island's architecture is so vivid, but at the same time, impossibly vague, and it's that carefully balanced line between vivid and vague which elicits this, illusory quality, making the island's atmosphere seem so ethereal and idyllic, without somehow coming off as passé or banal, or purposely dreamlike. As the newest edition to my favourites, I felt somewhat obligated to write at least something so I could solidify my thoughts and feelings after catching up with its tragically short catalogue. But to be honest, I don’t really mind how long Tsuruta takes to publish the next chapters, that is, if they're actually coming at all. He can take as long as he needs to flesh out and explore the mystifying, enigmatic nature of Elektriciteit Island—because really, that’s what’s required for a manga of this calibre.
Reviewer’s Rating: 9
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