Ever since Dragonball Z hit my teenage years, I've been an appreciator of anime. (I'm hesitant to call myself a fan, if only because I'm one of those trendy people who only watches what's popular and I know comparatively little about the vast quantity of content out there.) I've talked about a couple of different anime series/seasons that I've watched on here before, so it's clear that, while I do have some experience in the medium, I can't say that I'm an expert.
Still, I know the basics: Japanese-animation, called anime, is the broad term for a whole slew of different types of animated story. If it's animated, then the Japanese word for the thing is anime. In the case of RWBY, it's considered anime in Japan…but what is it, exactly? The thing about RWBY (which has a good synopsis here) is that it's not Japanese. Sure, it has a lot of conventions often seen in anime--boarding school for gifted kids, lots of girls in outrageous costumes, bizarre hair styles, and over the top fighting styles--but is it anime? (A similar question can be asked about Avatar: The Last Airbender series.) It sure has a lot of admirers in the anime fandom. Even anime-exclusive online streaming service Crunchyroll has RWBY on its site, with both English and Japanese dubs. If I had to choose, I'd say that RWBY is an anime in that broader sense of being enough within the parameters of anime tropes. I don't know if it's me being too precise, but I feel that, since it wasn't made by a Japanese studio (it's made by an American company, Roosterteeth) nor was it originally distributed in Japan, RWBY is more of an American-anime than pure anime. But that's something that is open for debate and I think it's healthy if others feel differently. But what drew me to the magnum opus of the late Monty Oum, an American of Asian descent (according to his Wikipedia page, he claimed a host of Asian countries as part of his heritage) who created and directed the series until he died of an allergic reaction during a medical procedure. Oum's sense of scale, pacing, and action was something that drew me to him before RWBY came out, as I watched his Dead Fantasy animations often. When I learned* that he had made RWBY, I was interested immediately. Though the first volume was rough from an animation standpoint, the writing, world-building, and characterizations were all intriguing. In fact, that's part of why I love RWBY (and Ruby, the main character, is one of my favorites, too): It's a long-form story told with confidence and panache. The action sequences are fun, of course, and they're crucial to the style of the franchise, but Oum made something enjoyable when he shifted from cartoons fighting each other for no reason and started giving his attention to the characterizations and motivations of his girls. And that's absolutely where the strength of RWBY lies: In the way the story about the girls unfolds. It's a very large story--the cast is huge and a lot is going on--but because Oum originally focused on Ruby herself as the linchpin of her crew, the world is shaded by her unflagging optimism. If Ruby loses heart, it's clear that there's something really wrong with what's happening. Ensemble stories are never easy to write. When done well, they are some of the most powerful stories we get--think of the success of Game of Thrones or the first Avengers movie--but they can also fall apart (think of the second Avengers movie) more easily than others. There's a reason why Wolverine is in most of the X-Men movies, even when it doesn't necessarily make sense (looking at you, Days of Future Past): He's a single character on whom we can focus, despite being part of a team. With RWBY, there's a strong sense that it's about the world that Ruby inhabits, yet still manages to make the plot demonstrating how world events are affecting Ruby and her three main friends. And that's another thing I find really great: I like stories wherein women are in the lead, especially when there's a lot of fun world building and action to go along with everything. As my friend said of me, "It's all girl-power, or whatever you call it." "I call it good stories with women, but yeah…" Ruby is unique among the girls for her endless optimism. Yang, her sister, has a fierce competitive streak that doesn't interfere with her caring about others. Weiss is the rich snob whose drive to improve makes her cold to others, warming up to her friends as the series progresses. Blake is the goth of the group, more removed and distant emotionally, yet still anxious to prove herself. Each girl has separate motives that coalesce into a logical whole, and they always show themselves at their best when they work together. But because of their different personalities, they sometimes forget how to do that, which leads to additional conflict--and, as we all know, conflict fuels stories. That kind of dynamic is always fun to watch. It's why the Teen Titans (and, to a lesser extent, Teen Titans GO!) works so well--the characters are distinct in style, design, motivation, and abilities. The same goes for RWBY, which is no small feat, considering the scale of the series and how many different characters are similarly rendered. I guess what I'm saying is that, if you've any interest in well-told stories, you could do much worse than watching RWBY. It's fairly family appropriate--very rarely do they say a mild swear, and there's almost no blood, with all of the violence stylized--and incredibly well done. I recommend it.** --- * I was watching the ScrewAttack YouTube channel series, Death Battle, in which Yang of RWBY and Tifa of Final Fantasy VII fought to the death. Yang beat Tifa (a verdict I still disagree with--why wouldn't they let Tifa use her materia?) but I was interested in this world where every weapon doubles as a gun. I poked around and that's how I found the series, which was only two volumes deep at the time. ** I probably should point out, if only in a footnote, that I'm not finished with the series yet. I've watched the first three volumes and I'm about a third of the way through the fourth as of the time of this writing. Each volume is two to three hours long, so there's a lot of content to get through. ==== Hey, friends. I have been releasing essays on my website for a couple of years now at a pretty steady rate. I'm happy to do so, as it benefits me as a writer and (I hope) you as a reader. I also think that, as a writer, it's okay if I believe that my work has some value monetarily as well as emotionally. To that end, I've created a Ko-Fi account, which is basically a way to give an online tip to a creator whose work you appreciate. The idea is, you can buy them a cup of coffee. (That's what the name of the website sounds like, if you're curious.) I'm not charging for any of the content on my website; instead, if you'd like to toss me a cup-le (see what I did there?) of bucks to show your gratitude, that would be cool. I'd totally appreciate that appreciation. If you don't? No problem. We can still be friends. As always, thanks for reading! Yesterday, Gayle and I went to our first anime convention. The local one is called Anime Banzai, which is an interesting name for historical reasons. The entire experience was fun--not on the level of Fan X/Comic Con, as the scale was much reduced--but it was still enjoyable. I didn't recognize a great many of the costumes--when it comes to anime, I have a handful of shows that I really enjoy and I leave the rest alone. (There are a lot of reasons for that, not least of which the fact that there's a lot of content I'm not really sure I want to see.) Gayle and I watched a series a few months ago called Sword Art Online, which we both enjoyed a lot. Gayle decided to make costumes from the series--a choice more than a little influenced by the fact that the two main characters are a dark haired guy and a red-headed girl, I daresay--so we were able to go as Asuna (Gayle's costume) and Kirito (my costume). A dozen or so people asked for pictures, which act acts as a barometer for Gayle about how well she made her costumes. We attended a few panels, played some Dungeons and Dragons, and basically had a good time the whole day. This morning, as I was thinking about what I'd experienced and learned, a conversation I overheard a couple weeks back came to mind. One student was talking to me about Attack on Titan, another anime that I really enjoy (so much so that I couldn't wait for the anime to catch up with the story, so we've purchased all twenty-six volumes of the manga). Another overheard me and said with a kind of scorn and dismay that I'm familiar with--since I have, after all, been interested in the geek scene since I was little and, on top of that, also played quidditch for half a decade--as someone who doesn't agree with another's particular passion tries to make a reasoned argument about why the area of interest isn't worthy pursuit. "Why do you watch so much anime?" asked the chider. "Because I like it and there's a lot to watch." "But there are things besides anime. A lot of it is really good," said the chider, imagining that he was being reasonable. "But I like this. Why should I watch something else?" asked the other student. The bell was about to ring, so I had to leave and not hear the rest of the conversation, but there was something that bothered me about what the chider was after and I wasn't able to put my finger on it until now: Chider thought that anime was a genre, not a medium. The criticism of watching "too much anime" is the same as "reading too many books" or "viewing too many films". There is a conversation to have about how much time a person puts into entertainment, but that conversation isn't about the type, it's about the time. And that isn't what's at stake when someone gets after an otaku who loves her anime. Instead, it's attempting to swap a medium for a genre--a case of apples-to-oranges fallacy if ever I've seen one. Anime is the Japanese term for cartoon, so there's already a generic expectation inside a Western audience. Though we have a handful of cartoons that aren't for children, they are almost entirely comedies (which receive less critical consideration than drama/tragedy). When we Americans think of cartoons, golden age Looney Toons jump to mind, or maybe some Saturday morning fare from when we were kids. Cartoons are what children watch when mommy needs a lie-down. And though there are affecting cartoons that adults love (see: Most of the Pixar film category), there is a nostalgic/reductive tendency--almost to a level of irony, I would say--that moderates the reason for an adult to like what is considered "kid stuff". That prejudice is pretty strong in our culture, but it's particularly misplaced when it comes to another's. In this case, anime isn't for kids--like, hardly at all. Sure, there are some kid-friendly anime series, and they can be a lot of fun. But anime isn't a genre, it's a medium. Within anime there are types of stories that reflect almost every facet of storytelling. There are larger-than-life titles within science fiction (Neon Genesis Evangelion is the example par excellence for that) and high fantasy (my personal favorite was Record of Lodoss War), dystopian (Attack on Titan) and urban fantasy/horror (Death Note), as well as series from much more specific interests. There are J-Pop anime and porn anime and cooking anime and--I just learned about this one--marching band anime. That's right, there's an entire series about some girls who want to be in a marching band and their struggles in the unique dynamic of band camp. (It's called Sound! Euphonium if you want to check it out.) What I'm getting at is there's as much diversity of tone, style, and substance within anime as there is inside of live-action TV, scripted dramas, and basically all other modes of visual storytelling. So why the eye-rolling response when a kid says he likes anime? Again, I think it's part of the knee-jerk disdain for children entertainment. Not all of it is very good, of course, but the idea of actually liking what is intended for a younger audience seems to be bothersome to a lot of people. And the idea that cartoons can't be anything but childish entertainment seems a given. Another reason for a lot of people's dismissal, I believe, is aesthetic. Yeah, Japanese animation and manga have a distinct style. And, to an unfamiliar eye, it can all look the same. But there's a huge difference between what you can see in Dragon Ball Z and Robotech, for example. All of this is to say that I don't think the criticism of anime can stand on as slender a branch as aesthetic/generic critiques. Is there something to say about aspects of the medium? Certainly. There is a tendency to stretch out stories beyond their scope (done for many reasons, not the least of which is that the source material isn't complete). The violence, nudity, sexuality, and swearing can sometimes be so extreme as to distract from the story. Stories often end in tragedy--particularly for the more adult-oriented series--which reflects the Eastern sensibilities that may not be palatable to some in the West. Translational errors can make already overly-complicated tales impossible to follow. Animation quality can vary a great deal, sometimes enough that the ability to enjoy the series is hampered. In other words, there's plenty of reasons to dislike certain anime or genres inside of it. There are areas of critique and consideration. But they're all within the medium, rather than external to it.
I don't believe it as perfectly axiomatic to say "Don't knock it 'til you try it," particularly when there are some things that don't need to be tried to know they're a bad idea (drugs and adultery are two ready examples). But when it comes to anime, I think that there has to be some exposure to multiple types before a full-fledged rejection of the medium is justified. ==== Hey, friends. I have been releasing essays on my website for a couple of years now at a pretty steady rate. I'm happy to do so, as it benefits me as a writer and (I hope) you as a reader. I also think that, as a writer, it's okay if I believe that my work has some value monetarily as well as emotionally. To that end, I've created a Ko-Fi account, which is basically a way to give an online tip to a creator whose work you appreciate. The idea is, you can buy them a cup of coffee. (That's what the of the website sounds like, if you're curious.) I'm not charging for any of the content on my website; instead, if you'd like to toss me a cup-le (see what I did there?) of bucks to show your gratitude, that would be cool. I'd totally appreciate that appreciation. If you don't? No problem. We can still be friends. As always, thanks for reading! In keeping with the (apparent) theme of the week, I'm going to talk about a manga that I finished reading the day I started it, Attack on Titan Vol 24.
This manga is long running, and it's also the kind of story that has compelling characters and lots of plot twists. Very few people I know have kept up on the manga, preferring instead to watch the very well done anime. I get that. In fact, I would be in that camp m'self were it not for the fact that, when season 1 ended, my wife immediately set about purchasing every volume of the manga so that she could see what happened next. Since then, her reading has tapered off…but mine hasn't. I still make mental notes about when the next one is coming out (July!) and often use the release of the newest volume as an excuse to go to Barnes and Noble. In the case of AoT #24, it came out a couple of days before my birthday, so I picked it up when I went there to relax after one of the more stressful days of teaching. I don't reread the series every time a new one comes out--there are too many volumes for that--but I'm pretty sure I'm going to reread the whole thing before July. Make sure I remember everything ere the new (and last?) one comes out, you know how it goes. Okay, that's probably enough introduction to keep from accidentally spoiling anything. S P O I L E R S Early on in the Attack on Titan story, Commander Erwin Smith claps Eren on the shoulder and asks him, "What do you see? Who do you think the enemy is?" At first I thought this was a weird question: The answer is obviously the Titans. They're enormous giants that live only to eat humans and don't have any other motivation. They're worse than zombies, for they're almost impossible to kill, save by cutting out the nape of their neck. Easy. What I didn't realize was that Hajime Isayama, the creator of the series, was trying to warn me that I shouldn't remain too focused on the Titans. Much like The Walking Dead, the existential threat is the backdrop of what is happening in this world, not the main focus. It's how other humans react to a pending apocalypse that is the seedbed for the real story. And that makes sense. Most audience members would probably tire of yet another contrived excuse to pit the dwindling strength of the Survey Corps against the Titans if the series were only concerned about the humans defeating the Titans. But the purpose of the series is to look at how the humans defeat the humans who wish to remain in status quo with the Titans…and those who wish to devour them all. I think my largest gripe--and this is a personal one--is that the idea that there's a world outside the walls, destroyed by the ravenous hunger of the Titans turns out to be false. There's a much larger world, and the people out there are responsible for sending the Titans to the island on which the story primarily takes place. In other words, the story isn't about the fate of humanity after all: There are more humans elsewhere. That's a disappointment, if only because it gives a false sense of the stakes. That isn't to say that the people on the island aren't threatened, or that the fight against the Titans isn't terrifying and thrilling and worrisome, because the action is happening to characters I care about. The larger picture, though, shows my earlier anticipation as distorted, and that's kind of frustrating. When it comes to Vol 24 specifically, though, there's a lot of backstory, explanation, and clarification. One of the largest questions that I had, once I learned that the Colossal Titan was Bertolt, was why he would have started the attack on Wall Maria in the first place. Well, Vol 24 answers that, and it makes a lot of sense. I have to admit, if Isayama is pantsing his way through this series, I'm majorly impressed. While I don't always like the twists he throws in, he always makes it fit into the new logic. I don't know if it's the Japanese mode of telling stories or what, but in animes like Death Note, I've noticed that there is always a subtlety to the logic that I don't anticipate. Perhaps it's a cultural difference, I don't know. Anyway, seeing the past explained is exciting, but what really took me by surprise is that the future is given out, too. At some point, Reiner returns home, his mission of destroying the people behind the walls a failure. At the end of the volume, we see an older amputee who turns out, in the very last panel, to be Eren. Years have passed…but again, with that gap of time, we don't know what's actually transpired. The thing about these volumes is, I'm so interested in knowing what happens next that I read in a massive rush. The artwork is consistently good, if a little messy (which is just Isayama's style), and though the translation makes sense, the bubbles sometimes fit poorly--which is to be expected when it comes to translating a comic from Japan. Even reading it right to left is something that takes a couple of pages to get used to again. Yet despite these observations, I sprinted through this book. A lot of the details are lost in my eagerness to see what happens next, and though I wished that some of these later volumes had less talking back and forth and more building punching, I can appreciate the story (and storytelling) to keep that criticism from mattering too much. On the whole, I was shocked and excited by what Vol 24 has to offer. It looks like the final volume will be released this summer. I'll finally see the Titans attacked--and, I hope, my favorite characters make it out alive. The first part is here.
When Sword Art Online ends the first season, it feels completed. Yes, Kirito and Asuna will have to figure out a life post-SAO, but that's doable. That's an epilogue that the viewers can write themselves. The conflict of the story is essentially over. Even if there's supposed to be justice to the guy who turned an MMORPG into a death game, that justice doesn't require our main characters to be there. It's done. So when season two starts up, I didn't know what they would be exploring. Maybe how to rebuild after immense trauma? Kind of a look at PTSD in the kids who somehow survived two years stuck inside a game? Maybe the difficulty they have with coming into a real world when they'd been living inside fantasy where they had so much of their lives taken care of? I mean, when I discuss video games in a critical setting, I always like to focus on the idea of the ideal: The game is the ideal in sundry ways. In an RPG, the entire world relies and awaits the player. There's nothing going on that isn't instigated and solved by the player. That's the point of those games. And though an MMORPG is different in some ways, there are ideal things about them. For example, players in Sword Art Online (and real-life counterparts like World of Warcraft) don't have to physically carry around anything. Their menu system lets them haul around weapons, money, items, and anything else they want. With a single movement, SAO players can conjure up food, look at their equipment, and any number of additional things. Even Asuna points out when she's making a dinner for her and Kirito that cooking is easier in the game than real life. She pulls out a kitchen knife, touches the ingredients, and they morph into perfectly prepared slices, ready for the pot. To me, that's what season two should have been looking at: How do the kids adapt to real life when they've gone through this deep trauma that, in some ways, was superior to reality? How do the adults reacclimate to society after being in a digital coma for two years? There's a lot to explore, a lot to consider, a lot to build upon. In fact, what I thought would be the real conflict would be internal: That Kirito, despite everything he'd been through, still found the allure of VRMMO games too strong to resist. Like a junkie going in for another hit, he would be found in the next VRMMO, playing again despite the potential risks. And season two does see Kirito in another game, ALfheim Online. This one's different because there's magic and they can fly, and their avatars have elf ears. It's…cool. Alfheim itself isn't as interesting as the previous world, and it's less well developed, which works against the investment of the second part of the story. ALO has more logic to it--like, people can log out and they don't die in real life if they die in the game. But the stakes feel reduced. That's not really surprising--it's just a game, not a life that people have tried to carve out whilst held hostage inside a game. In order to up the ante, Asuna's been kidnapped. And that's my main problem with the entire second season. Even though there were a lot of interesting ideas that they ignored, I could have forgiven that if Kirito and his adopted sister's relationship were the primary focus. ALO could have been the playground in which some of their relationship issues are worked out. That would have been fine. But they had to have Asuna kidnapped. Ugh. It's so frustrating. Asuna's character goes from an intriguing, powerful, capable, multi-dimensional woman in the first season to a to-the-T Damsel in Distress. She's literally locked in a cage for the majority of the season. Yeah, she gets out once--and the way she does it is cool and much more in line with her character from before--but she just…isn't interesting as a character. At all. To try to make the danger against Asuna real, an actual villain comes into play, a creep of a guy who is despicable from the outset and has no real motivation except that he's a perv and likes having power--which is why he's in charge of an MMO. And he wants to be a god in the game. I mean, anime, as a genre, is kind of weird to an American sensibility. So that preceding paragraph is, generically speaking, not too bizarre, as far as anime goes. But there's weird and there's bad: this second season was bad. I'm glad that there's a season three just to wash the taste out of my mouth. Why? Well, at the end, the villain chains up Asuna, rips off her clothes, and moves in like he's about to rape her in front of a defeated Kirito, only to lose when Kirito--a la Neo from The Matrix, except less convincingly--gets access to the code of the game and turns the tables. I'm going to pause here for a second and say that Kirito, as a character, has often been shown as thoughtful, compassionate, and, despite his own hang ups and loner attitude, concerned about other people. So, when he defeats the villain (whose name I never bothered to remember) and spends a couple of minutes talking smack and posing with his sword, I got really upset. He's in charge of the game: He should get Asuna out of her chains and generate her clothes immediately. Like, she should have been his first priority…but she isn't. Gah. It bothers me so much. Not because it happened, but because of who it happened to. I really enjoyed both of the characters in the first season, and to see them so terribly reduced, to have their nuance stripped away for a tired and troubled trope--it just makes me sad. I don't think the writers meant for it to come off this way, but it did. You know what else is strange? To be so frustrated with a franchise and eager for the next installment anyway. Part of it is that I hope SAO II will redeem itself. I've watched the first couple of episodes, and I think it's on its way. But more than that, I want to have some of the bigger implications, the larger questions that the premise introduces explored. I want to give it another chance. Here's hoping that season three leaves me with a better feeling. Whoo-boy.
Anime. Okay, so, on Netflix, they have twenty-five episodes of an anime called Sword Art Online. The series started in 2012, so I figured that, with two seasons worth of episodes, I would wait until I finished the series before writing about it. Turns out, there's a third season that's out now, so the story isn't really done. That's kind of frustrating because, had I known, I would have written up some thoughts about just season one (which is vastly better than season two, spoilers spoilers) instead of having to deal with both. Oh, well. That's my life, I s'pose. At this point, if you're not interested in having the story spoiled in any way, you'd best skip out on this essay. If you're not interested in the series at all…well, you'd probably spend your time better elsewhere, for obvious reason. We all set? Okay. Tl;dr from the get-go: Season one of Sword Art Online raises all sorts of questions, and though it falls into The Chosen One trope a bit too much by the end, there are enough subversions and interesting premises that it can be forgiven for some of those storytelling barbs. Season two is a frustrating reversal of all the progress of the first season, with a Damsel in Distress motivation and an embarrassing ending that's one part deus ex machina and another part rape-as-plot point. I'm surprisingly frustrated with SAO. Long form goes like this: The premise of Sword Art Online is to take the obsessive nature of MMORPGs and their addictive properties, the thrill of VR gaming, and pushing it to (pardon me) the next level. Before the first episode is over, we have spent a handful of seconds in the "real world" where the main character, Kirito (yes, I know he has a real life name, but I always think of him with his avatar's name), plugs into SAO with his "deep-dive VR", which essentially hijacks a person's nervous system and makes it so that whatever happens in the game is directly controlled by the player--but the outside world is kept out. In other words, the thought of running with your legs would mean your in-game self would run using those normal mental commands, while your real life legs are stationary in your bed. That is an interesting idea. Because we're heavy on the idea of immersive realities (just look at the premise of Ready Player One, for example) even now, this in-the-near-future is a tantalizing glimpse at what could be. By the end of the first episode, however, Kirito and the other 10,000 players learn that their systems have, much like their nervous systems, been hijacked. The creator of the game has sabotaged it so that all of the players are stuck inside the game. If their NERVGear (the deep-dive VR system) is removed by, say, a parent or spouse, it will fry their brains, killing them. And if their character dies in the game, they die in real life. That premise is fantastic. Well, not for anyone stuck in it, but as far as a story goes, that's pretty interesting. The logistics of what's happening to the "real world" people's bodies isn't answered until the end of the first season, but the story's less interested in establishing how this could work, but what would happen if it did. Season one shows Kirito go through personal growth and trials as the virtual world becomes more and more his actual world. He's an exceptional player, and he gets to be good enough that there are very few challenges. Nevertheless, he decides, because of a trauma early on in his time in Sword Art Online, that he won't join a guild. Themes of isolation as a form of protection for someone's feelings are underscored by the way that Kirito is physically isolated from his entire life, yet he's integrated fully into a fictional world. But within that fictional world, he chooses to isolate himself, as well. He mentions at one point that playing games was where he felt like he had an identity, where he felt as though he fit in. Kirito's struggles to help beat the game through escalating levels of difficulty shifts when he meets Asuna. Asuna is a strong fighter in the game, and as a character she's an excellent foil. Their relationship and personalities are also opposite-yet-complementary. While Kirito is interested in working alone, Asuna is an integral part of her guild. Asuna is fiery (a standard redhead in that sense), while Kirito is more cool and aloof. Heck, Kirito wears black and Asuna white. Despite their differences, the two soon begin working together and discovering that they have grown to care for each other. And that's what I liked so much about season one. The two characters grew together--both as a couple and as characters--to the point that they end up getting married "in game". This is an interesting point, because it raises questions about what a relationship means. There are plenty of people who meet in real life, have courtships online, and end up meeting, marrying, and having happy relationships. But that isn't an option for Kirito and Asuna. While they live close to each other--they both go to the same high school (meaning they're teenagers when they get kidnapped by the game--because anime), for example--they never knew one another before Sword Art Online. The person they fall in love with is a digital manifestation of a true self, but because the game world is so convincingly rendered, they're falling in love with almost the person in real life. While the legalities of saying they're married are obviously less than germane here, it intrigues me to consider the implications of what this kind of connection means. Often, people poo-poo high school relationships as being trite or trivial. I won't deny that many--perhaps even most--high school couples are that: They're based upon mutual attraction, an overabundance of hormones, and often rest more on physicality than any depth of love. But there are exceptions: I've been in love with my wife since we were in high school, way back at the turn of the millennium. It's possible for a relationship to be substantial and real, even at a young age. So what does that mean for Kirito and Asuna? They are in one of the most traumatic experiences that they're ever like to face (until the next season, of course) and they're not only surviving, but finding love in what is, essentially, a protracted, digital Hunger Games. They're forced to fight to survive, with real life death on the other end of their digital mistakes. They're kidnapped and having to navigate a complicated, complex world, complete with politics, game rules, and a requirement to push ever onward if they ever hope to get free of the game. That is a deep trauma that they're pushing through. Little wonder they turn to each other to find consolation, hope, security, and, yes, love. The end of the season comes along and, sure enough, Kirito manages to defeat the final boss and free everyone from the game. He's killed in the process, but through some random twist that's not explained, he manages to survive dying in game and not actually dying in real life. Maybe it was because he killed the boss at the same time, so the death algorithm didn't count it? I don't know. The point is, Kirito becomes the savior of Sword Art Online, both the game and the anime series, and he's a stronger, more interesting character at the ending than he was at the beginning*. Then season two happened. Well, that's a critique for another day. Would I recommend it? Yup. As far as animes go, it's not particularly bizarre, and though there are some distinctly Japanese sensibilities within it, the story is so competently done (for the most part) that it's quite enjoyable. The voice acting is a little better than I'm used to with anime--it's an acquired taste on that front, to be sure--and the animation is always great to look at. I really enjoyed it. So…yeah, check it out, if that's your bag. Um…sorry about the spoilers if you're going to watch the series. Then again, if you are, why did you read through this essay? Your fault, yo. Not mine. --- * Kirito is a good kid from the outset. Yeah, he has his quirks, but, despite his goth getup, he's not a brooding, moody hero. Asuna is spunky and high-spirited, but she doesn't give me the Manic Pixie Dream Girl vibe that some love interests have. She pulls him into a partnership…but he also takes her out of her guild. In other words, they both leave their comfort zones in order to be together. That's an enjoyable story arc, in my mind. Hideo Kojima: "Ghost in the Shell has continued to inspire new creative works since it first burst onto the scene in 1988, nearly 30 years ago. Rupert Sanders' 2017 Hollywood live action film Ghost in the Shell starring Scarlett Johansson is just the newest incarnation. A new shell for the same basic ghost of an idea." I saw the live-action Ghost in the Shell when it first released in theaters. I was eager to see it, having seen the anime as a teenager and remembering that it blew my mind (also, nipples*), I was curious to see if the film could copy that essential, fundamental question. As Kojima points out in his essay, it doesn't quite succeed. But I wanted to see if maybe I was holding up the live action to the anime in an unfair way. I decided to watch them both in the same week. I watched the anime first. There was more swearing, worse violence, and a lot more topless Major in it than I remembered, but I tried to put aside my tutting nanny voice and see it as the art that it is. The composition of the film is less opaque than I remember--I seem to recall the conversation between Motoko and the Puppetmaster took longer than it really was--and I enjoyed it a lot. Anime is difficult art in the first place, since Japanese sensibilities can be quite different from American, and the strange and esoteric concepts very often get lost in translation. I should have watched it with subs instead of dubs (I don't know if the DVD I rented had that option, honestly), but Ghost in the Shell was not as unapproachably philosophical as I had expected. This was nice--it means that I'm smarter than I was in high school--but it also gave me a chance to chew more fully on the greater questions the anime poses. The live action film is not as good as the anime on a lot of levels--though the technical level isn't one of them. The anime's animation is shockingly good (ignoring the eye-gouging, 1995-era computer generated stuff), with tiny movements carefully and beautifully illustrated. For the film, Weta (of Lord of the Rings fame) handled the visual effects. I know that Industrial Light and Magic is supposed to be the standard bearers for special effects, but my money's always on Weta. They have a grounding to their thinking that really resonates with me. The film is gorgeous to look at, and there's always little pieces to focus on. It's a similar philosophy--if different execution--than the anime. Some of the most iconic moments of the anime make it into the movie, and sometimes they're more enjoyable on film. The early action scene when the Major is breaking through the hotel's glass is significantly more exciting to me than the equally exciting (but not quite as cool) moment of Motoko breaking through and turning people into goo. That's a matter of taste, of course, but I think that the film Ghost in the Shell had a lot of moments that were really neat to see in live action. That being said, I certainly preferred the depth of the anime. Kojima's right when he says the anime asks "What does it mean to have a ghost (soul)?" while the film is a cyberpunk version of The Bourne Identity's "Who am I? What can I trust if I can't trust my memories?" I see why there's a change on the Hollywood front--a risk-averse community isn't likely to tackle a harder question when a profound (but frequently explored) theme is similar and less problematic. Still, there's a sense of a missed opportunity with film versus anime here. I can't pass without talking about Scarlett Johansson's role in it. She's a very capable actress, and the way that she stomped about the movie, rarely comfortable in her own skin, was a good choice. It looks strange, yes, but deliberate choices make for stronger stories. Her version of the Major was good at killing, but very little else. The Major of the anime was smooth, competent, and confident throughout. Even the "boss fight" against the tank has the anime version more adroit than the film version. But that's not necessarily a negative critique: The character is being explored in different ways. However, there is the distinct problem with whitewashing. The fact that Johansson, who is one of Hollywood's biggest actresses, took the role in which the story literally has her shell taking the place of the ghost of a Japanese girl is…a touch on the nose. The story could have just as easily been told with Rinko Kikuchi (who played Mako Mori in Pacific Rim) in the lead role. It would have avoided this unpleasant whiff of cultural insensitivity and still given the filmmakers the ability to tell a story of a heavily multicultural future in which women--even cyborg women--take a strong position in society. I mean, the cast is great, if under-utilized, throughout the film. Why not draw stronger connections between them? While race- and gender issues matter a great deal, I'm not saying that the movie was wrong to cast Johansson…but it's also not above being criticized for that decision.** Because I wanted to watch these films earlier but didn't have access to them (hooray for libraries!), I watched some of the other Ghost in the Shell films (not Stand Alone Complex, as I couldn't get my hands on any of those episodes). Those episodes provided a backstory to the one before the main anime takes place. Seeing the characters--and why they're a part of the Major's team--was neat, and it helped inform some of the decisions of the film. For example, during the (apparently obligatory for an action movie) dance club, stripper-pole scene, Motoko is wearing a red suit--a fashion choice that she wears throughout the Rise series. There are similar themes explored in all of the other anime options of Ghost in the Shell that I think fit very well into the world that's been created--which makes the shortcomings of the film all the more stark. Would I recommend the film? Yes, I think so. On its own merits it's an enjoyable, thoughtful film--not without its flaws and problems, but entertainment on a basic level with just a bit more at the edges if you're willing to take a deep dive. Would I recommend the anime? Absolutely. It's gorgeously constructed, thoughtfully executed, and worthwhile as an exploration of what we consider consciousness and humanity. Also, nipples. --- * Despite my best efforts not to be distracted by the amount of nudity in the anime, I found my attempts to put my critical lenses on distracting. So while the naked robots weren't necessarily a problem, my analysis of my response to their nakedness was. ** I should say, though, I thought it was awesome every time Johansson was in her high-tech morphsuit. I have a character in a book I wrote who wears a similar piece of hardware, so it was cool to see "my" idea on screen, as that will most likely be the closest that I ever get to that feeling. |
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