Back to rooster_'s Profile rooster_'s Profile

Dragon Quest: Your Story is highly watchable simply as a briskly-paced adaptation of the much-beloved Dragon Quest V, a generational adventure story of familial love and friendship. It has gorgeous 3D animation perfectly-suited to Akira Toriyama's fantasy-world of cartoon monsters and rolling, green hills; some perfectly-timed gags; and runs at a fast-enough clip to gloss over the less-interesting moments of a lengthy JRPG campaign. Most of the controversy surounding this movie comes from the third-act twist, which reveals this picture-perfect world to be a virtual game simulation being experienced by an adult DQ fan seeking to relive his childhood, and being confronted for it by ... a condescending A.I. who breaks out of the machine to, I guess, mock him? It's a confusing climax that doesn't seem to commit to any particular message, as the protagonist fights back for his God-given right to experience nostalgia with the aid of cutting-edge VR technology. Is it telling DQ fans to grow up, or to not grow up? I guess it could be charitably interpreted as saying "you don't need to abandon your inner child to grow up," or something along those lines, but it's an ending that just leaves me weirded out. One of the more bizarre and abrupt tonal shifts I've seen in what is ostensibly a children's movie in a long time. You could argue that DQ: Your Story is symptomatic of a wider industry trend where toyetic, nostalgic IPs are being stretched thin to serve the needs of multiple generations of fans until they no longer mean anything at all. But I think that would be giving this movie too much credit. At least it looks great.

There are no great surprises to be had in SK∞; it's just a gay old time. Hot-headed, red-haired boy meets cool-headed, grey-haired boy and they bond over a mutual passion for dangerous, highly illegal, obstacle-course downhill skating. They meet a group of elite skaters with more fastidiously-crafted costuming than any given pro wrestler. A conflict is built up with a legendary, villanous uber-skater who flamenco dances and shares voice actors with Dio. He gives a supporting character brain damage and still gets invited to the cookout at the end of the show. There's a falling-out and a coming-back between the main duo, a metric ton ... of queer-baiting, and a healthy dose of ska-punk music. It's a fun, fantastically-animated time, though the strains put on the production team are evidenced in its abrupt clip-show episode. Still, SK∞ is another successful entry in the much-vaunted "homoerotic sports" formula of anime, and while there's no real depth or originality to grasp here (each character is color-coded for the audience's convenience), that's nowhere near the show's aims. If you ever wanted (bless your soul) something like Rocket Power with the sensibility of Blue Lock, SK∞ has your back.

Sonny Boy is decisively the kind of show that can change your life at the right time (probably as a teen). A Drifting Classroom-type setup where a group of almost-highschoolers are spirited away to a mysterious island, they soon discover that many of them have special powers in this new world, and use them in concert to construct a new society. What at first seems like it'll be a Lord of the Flies-esque social allegory quickly turns into one of anime's best coming-of-age stories: in this world without death or time, the laconic protagonist discovers that he can travel to other dimensions, and so begins ... a journey through increasingly-bizarre worlds which serve as life lessons with varying degrees of subtlety, leading towards a cosmic denouement that pulls no punches and offers no easy consolation. Sonny Boy belongs to the semi-rare category of Japanese media about entering the "real world" that doesn't present the real world as particularly appealing or fair, but rather as an existential inevitability; a category that extends from 5cm per Second to Final Fantasy Tactics Advance. What really puts Sonny Boy above other shows with its themes is an incredibly stylish, adventurous direction: smart, non-linear pacing that rewards re-watches; a clean, ultra-vivid art style that really brings these fantastical worlds to life; and an incredible soundtrack, featuring bands like toe and Mid-Air Thief, which is given time to shine through beautiful musical montages. Though the overarching themes and final message of Sonny Boy will be nothing new to someone who's watched (and internalized) anything from Neon Genesis Evangelion to Welcome to the NHK!, its near-perfect execution and utter confidence in itself make it a true joy to experience at any age.

Windy Tales is one of those offbeat, pensive, largely un-marketable shows that filled out timeslots and release schedules for anime distributors in the 2000s, when the Western anime boom encouraged them to localize anything they could get the rights to. It's about as far as one can be from the battle shounens, shoujo rom-coms, and loopy gag shows that dominated that decade. A largely episodic story about a group of schoolgirls who discover a secret ability to manipulate wind, this unexpected superpower is introduced into an otherwise un-fantastic world, albeit one with healthy amounts of whimsy. As the characters enter their last years of school, ... this "wind in the heart" serves as a symbol for untapped potential and childhood innocence (which most users lose at a certain age, but some rare adults manage to retain). There are no wind-based fights if that's what you're looking for, and this ability often takes a back seat to more low-stakes stories about the characters who fill out the show's neighborhood. As a coming-of-age show about the cusp of adulthood, Windy Tales is sometimes languid to a fault, and most inner conflicts are merely hinted at or left unresolved, true to the show's ethos of melancholy magical realism. No one in the show has any major problems other than the usual doubts and misgivings of a person wondering what their life is going to be like. This leisurely, muted tone is contrasted against a nearly-abstract, unique art style of sketched-out, disproportionate characters, and backgrounds--courtesy of Shichiro Kobayashi--that seem inspired by Expressionist paintings (the show's memorable depiction of the sun in particular strongly recalls Edvard Munch). There is a sense of unreality and timelessness to Windy Tales' world--compounded by Kenji Kawai's soundtrack--which fits the seemingly-endless summers of adolescence and the equally-endless days of school. It's not the kind of show you should binge, but one that should be taken slowly and casually, the kind of thing that could hypnotize you if you're ready to get on its wavelength. If you've ever wanted Dennou Coil's sense of urban mystery with Tekkonkinkreet's abstract-fantastical sensibilities, Windy Tales is your show.

War in the Pocket was the first time that the Gundam universe was approached by a director other than Tomino himself, resulting in a relatively smaller-scale, coming-of-age drama that's interwoven with the sprawling, galactic conflicts of mainline Gundam. The small stage of a Federation-aligned colony, the space-age equivalent of a sleepy small town, is delicately counterbalanced by sobering scenes of destruction and carnage, the likes of which would be glossed over in a standard Gundam product. Protagonist Al's precocious interest in mobile suits and the war effort sets off a chain reaction that pulls the adults in his life into a tragic maelstrom that puts ... a decisive end to his childhood. In the end, War in Pocket carries the same staunchly anti-war message as the greater Gundam universe, but its more intimate perspective puts us in the shoes of the civilians, lower-rung commanders, and anonymous drifters who fill out this cosmic war drama.

Nowadays Ideon may come off as a heavy-handed allegory for nuclear warfare and the apparent inevitability of human conflict, but Be Invoked--a feature film that provides the original series with a final arc and ending, instead of the rushed final episodes prompted by the show's cancellation--continues to be one of the most emotionally devastating and spiritually aspirational anime. The fact that Ideon began as a transparently toyetic mecha franchise, which is still reflected in many of its designs, doesn't detract from how seriously the story takes itself, its characters, and its message. The violence pulls no punches, even when children are involved, and this is ... still Tomino's rawest look at civilian casualties and collateral damage in war. All leading up to its rather open conclusion, Be Invoked is an experience, and a touchstone for later "psychological mecha" shows (most famously Evangelion).

Master Keaton is an episodic, dramatic thriller based on a manga series co-written by Naoki Urasawa. The titular Keaton is a half-Japanese, half-British investigator for the real-life Lloyd's of London, an unorthodox insurance company that works more like a betting house. Each chapter, which is largely self-contained, takes Keaton to various places (mostly in Western Europe) where he becomes entangled in criminal operations, suspicious murders, scholarly matters, and--sometimes--more lighthearted family affairs. The show's pacing and subject matter somewhat bring to mind American detective shows like Columbo: Keaton is intelligent, resourceful, and combat-proficient, though it's his deep well of knowledge which typically provides a solution to ... the matter at hand.

Urasawa's charming character designs and generally understated presentation are competently brought to life in this anime, though most scenes feel directly taken from manga panels, often lacking dramatic flair or inventiveness. Every episode directly or indirectly helps flesh out Keaton's character: as a failed husband, an absent father, an ex-military agent, an aspiring archaeologist, or just a man of the world. However, and despite the grim subject matter of most episodes, things are kept relatively light by Keaton's easygoing demeanor and an atmospheric, Celtic folk-inspired soundtrack.

Ultimately, Keaton can sometimes feel like a crash course in European and 20th-century history, as every single episode provides interesting tidbits on everything from the War of the Roses to the paintings of Degas to the inner workings of a rifle. While the plotting of each episode--whether it deals with a murdered heiress or with Keaton's plucky teenage daughter--is solid, the writing is often trite and heavy-handed, feeling like an expository lesson on whatever academic subject is relevant to the episode. The best stretch of this show deals with Keaton's family life and past, which provides a respite from the somewhat repetitive cloak-and-dagger fare of other episodes. Don't expect any sort of conclusion to the story, as it simply trails off wherever it stopped adapting manga chapters. Nonetheless, in a landscape of harem shows and shounen spin-offs, Keaton can be an enjoyably adult-feeling series.

Like Chainsaw Man, Fire Punch is a morally grey action series with heaps of black humor and the same indie sensibility that endeared shounen readers to Tatsuki Fujimoto's work. Both feel like bridges between the strictly-codified works of Shounen Jump and the high-concept sci-fi that tends to seep into more "underground" series in a similar vein. The characters of Fire Punch are living in an abjectly hopeless world where horrifying, graphic acts are commonly deployed to generate comparisons with post-war wastelands and historical atrocities, or grim, post-apocalyptic novels like Cormac McCarthy's The Road. Unlike traditional shounen, which is driven by single-minded determination and teamwork, the ... characters of Fire Punch are only kept alive by their (often irrational and/or destructive) personal goals, which intertwine to create social commentary on issues like discrimination, mob mentality, and religious fanaticism.

In the end, though, Fire Punch's message is similar to many "shounen-seinen" works: life endures, even when it shouldn't, even when it doesn't "deserve" to, and even when there's nothing to look forward to. Fujimoto's loose and crosshatch-heavy style fits the snow-covered wasteland of the setting, as well as the rough fight scenes full of charred bodies, which sometimes seem to intentionally recall real photographs of holocausts and disasters. All in all, it's hard to shake off the feeling that all this cynical preaching about humanity's fundamental ugliness and the world's indifference to life are being used to bludgeon an un-discerning reader into feeling awed by the cyclical, cosmic conclusion.

While Fire Punch attempts to arrive to its conclusion by virtue of its characters, Fujimoto's less action-heavy scenes are always dominated by silence and ellipses, long stretches of time elided between panels, which don't necessarily give us a look into the (often alien-to-us) minds of his main players. As such, most of them come off as rough sketches. As a sci-fi work, Fire Punch fares better, as it knows when to explain things succinctly and when to leave things to the reader's imagination, instead of delving into the self-indulgent overelaboration of so many similar works. All in all, Fire Punch announces Fujimoto as a distinct voice in the shounen world, but it's also an obvious early work with plenty to be polished.

Ai-Ren is a sci-fi elegy for humanity's last days. In the far future, humans have generally lost the ability to reproduce normally, and use technology to patch up the holes left by nature, with quietly mounting desperation. Meanwhile, nuclear war and poverty scourge the global south, until a mysterious stranger arrives to deliver us from total oblivion. This is all takes in place in the background of the main story, where the terminally-ill Ikuru acquires an artificially-made "end-of-life companion" named Ai whose own lifespan is intentionally made short. Their relationship is doomed to end soon, but, like the other characters, they continue to find joy ... in small things, children continue to be born into this cursed world, and life stubbornly lurches forward, determined to run out the clock. Ai-Ren is a succint and potent reminder that, in a very real way, love is the only thing that defies death.

You could say that Evangelion and Utena are sister shows: both take a heavily-codified anime genre (mecha and shoujo) and spin it into a symbolically dense drama where a teenager's burgeoning adulthood is directly linked to the fate of the world. While Evangelion frames the struggle for human connection as a series of grotesque battles against alien invaders, Utena's eponymous protagonist is a self-styled hero defying social convention and gender roles, and being constantly tested for choosing to live her life this way. (Utena is not an explicitly LGBT show, but its frequent use of homoerotically-charged imagery and traditional "shoujo" character designs, which are adjacent ... to BL and shounen-ai, is not subtle.) In Utena, the protagonist's quantum leap from the uncertain simulacrum of adolescence to the self-determination of adulthood is expressed through a series of primarily psychological duels with opponents whose traumas manifest physically upon the world, painting an aesthetically exhilarating, borderline-surreal portrait of youth at the height of its tumultuous powers. Much like Evangelion, what seems to be a supernatural coming-of-age story becomes a much larger-scope drama about existentialism and life in a world without "God," where accepting that you're responsible for your own life is key to the final liberation. It also has a more effective (if perhaps less memorable) conclusion than Evangelion, and an equally-catchy opening.