Good news for fans of 1990s giant robot fans: plastic model and figure maker Kotobukiya is looking into making plastic models from the Yuusha/Brave series, and they’re holding a survey to get customers’ opinions.
The survey is in Japanese, but for those who can’t read the language but still want to participate, I’ve translated the prompts, which you can see below.
Please select your gender. (Choices are male, female, and no answer)
Please select your year of birth.
Among the options below, please select your favorite work in the Brave series. (Options are in order of release date)
Please select the Brave series products you hope to see. (Pick 3)
Please write any opinions you have pertaining to Brave series plastic model kits
Please tell us your favorite plastic model purchase from the last six months.
Please tell us why the answer in #6 is your favorite.
Please choose any of your favorite plastic model lines from Kotobukiya. (Frame Arms series, Frame Arms Girls series, Hexa Gear series, M.S.G. Weapon Unit series, M.S.G. Heavy Weapon Unit series, M.S.G. Gigantic Arms series, M.S.G. Mecha Supply series, M.S.G. miscellaneous, Other)
So happy survey-filling-out (?)! I for one will be voting for Shadowmaru (J-Decker), King J-Der (Gaogaigar), and Gaogaigo (Gaogaigar vs. Betterman novels). Survey ends May 31.
To tell a story about competitive running is to instantly conjure up images of winners and losers. Even “The Tortoise and the Hare,” with its moral of consistent hard work reaping rewards, is framed as “slow and steady wins the race.” But the anime Run with the Wind emphasizes a lesson different from the old folk tale and even many other sports anime: while there will always be those who are faster and stronger, ultimately the true race is the one you run against yourself.
Titled Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru (“The Wind is Blowing Strong”) in Japanese and based on the novel by Miura Shion, Run with the Wind centers around the dream of one Kiyose Haiji. A senior at Kansei University, he wants to win the Hakone Ekiden: a 10-man relay marathon that pushes the limits of its participants. However, the group he’s managed to assemble is about as rag-tag as it gets–from a literal prodigy to a manga otaku who hasn’t experienced a real sweat in his life. Even qualifying for the event seems like a pipe dream, let alone winning.
Because the characters come from such wildly differing circumstances, each has a personal challenge to overcome. Kakeru, the aforementioned savant, is far and away the best of the group, but a troubled past leaves him conflicted about both running and being a team player. The geek, nicknamed “Prince,” is on the far opposite end, and is unable to even imagine running 20 kilometers. There’s practically a 0% chance that Prince could ever catch up to Kakeru even if he trained for a decade, but the series emphasizes an idea: it’s less important to prove superiority over others than to grow as an individual and to help others grow as well. Fujioka Kazuma, a character introduced later as the #1 college athlete, views his running not as an opportunity to triumph over others, but as a way to push himself to greater heights. The use of the Hakone Ekiden in the story itself beautifully reinforces this concept, as individual runners must overcome their own section and the expectations both internal and external set out for them.
Speaking from a personal perspective, I am ostensibly a runner. I go running once a week with a group, though I’m nowhere near the fastest person, and my times haven’t gotten better in a long time, but I can look back at my old self and say, “I thought I could never run this much, but here I am.” “I used to think I couldn’t keep going, but now I know I can do it.” I never finish first, and I doubt I ever will, but challenging myself to keep at it, and then beating it, always tells me I’m going somewhere.
I believe that Run with the Wind’s lessons are extremely relevant to people today, as I increasingly see people both young and old who are paralyzed by the fear of competition and comparison. In their eyes, there’s no point in building up the stamina to climb a hill when others have successfully scaled Mt. Everest, no point to learning martial arts because they’ll never defeat a world champion, no point in working on personal appearance because they’ll never be as handsome or beautiful as movie stars and celebrities. But what Run with the Wind says is that the race to be #1 is not the only race worth running. Those who have given up before even trying, and those who trivialize their own improvement simply because they’re not better than the rest, should take this to heart and find their confidence, however small.
I believe strongly art and entertainment meant for kids that isn’t afraid to challenge them. It shows respect for the emotional complexity and growing intelligence of children, while still understanding that guidance is important. With respect to that sentiment, Okko’s Inn (Wakaokami wa Shougakusei! in Japanese) is an anime film that flits between the light-hearted and the somber, successfully channeling both in ways that resonate with young and old alike.
After a life-changing event, grade schooler Oriko (nickname: Okko) ends up moving in to her grandma’s traditional Japanese inn. There, she discovers that she can communicate with a few local spirits, and winds up becoming a junior innkeeper. Learning and laughing alongside both the ghosts and the humans she meets, Okko matures little by little.
Okko’s Inn is cute and heartwarming both on the surface and deep down to its core, but it doesn’t mean its story is all fluff. While the portrayal of the humble everyday bustle of a Japanese inn provides an almost meditative atmosphere, Okko’s internal and external conflicts are made all the more poignant by the way both joy and sorrow touch her life.
There’s one character who steals every scene she appears in: Okko’s classmate Matsuki, whose family is also in the inn business. Both wealthy and refusing to conform to expectations, she’s a wonderfully gaudy princess-type who is actually anything but shallow. Okko and Matsuki’s rivalry/friendship is a thing of beauty, and one of many relationships that make the film fulfilling.
While Okko’s Inn is an emotional ride, it’s never to the extent that it feels incongruous or conducive to whiplash. Whether you’re 5 or 95, its story, and all the little moments that make that story up, are hard to forget.
The new season is well under way, but I’m still trying to catch up on giving my thoughts about the last season! There’s always a price to pay in terms of trying to keep up with the season, but I prefer the slow and steady approach. Many thanks to my supporters on Patreon and ko-fi for letting me take my time as I have.
General:
Johnny Trovato
Ko Ransom
Diogo Prado
Alex
Sue Hopkins fans:
Serxeid
Hato Kenjirou fans:
Elizabeth
Yajima Mirei fans:
Machi-Kurada
I mentioned last month that I was traveling to Asia, and now that I’ve come back, it’s lit a fire under me to improve my fluency in Chinese. Ogiue Maniax will still ultimately be about anime and manga, but my continued learning and renewed exposure to Chinese culture (including comics and music) might bleed into my posts every so often. I might also write a thing or two that more directly addresses some elements of intersection between Japanese and Chinese pop culture, but I have no concrete plans as of yet.
I’m unsure of what kids’ marketing research took place, but I doubt it’s a coincidence that both Precure and Aikatsu!—two major girls’ anime franchises—somehow both ended up on a space theme this year. But while Star Twinkle Precure is kind of expected given how every season has a gimmick or three, it’s much more surprising that Aikatsu Friends! Kagayaki no Jewel would establish the concept of “Space Idol Activities” in its own universe. Fitting, perhaps, but surprising nevertheless.
There’s a certain level of absurdity that permeates Aikatsu! as a whole—more than enough to make “Aikatsu in space” not seem like such a bizarre direction. In fact, I think it’s what has allowed the franchise to stand the test of time as a work of art and media, independent of the arcade game it’s based on. Aikatsu Friends! Kagayaki no Jewel leans into that, whether it’s maintaining old traditions (e.g. scaling cliffs) or trying something new. So when the first episode begins with an astronaut entering the stratosphere, the main reaction from me is “sure.” In a way, it feels more fitting than something like, Yu-Gi-Oh!, which now has a history of highlighting card games in different settings—in ancient Egypt, in school, on motorcycles, in space, and so on.
The new season also takes place in a new semester where the Aine and friends are now in the high school division, and I always enjoy seeing the signs of progress that come with such transitions. In this case, it’s seeing the underclassmen pale in terms of aerobic an anaerobic training alike, as well as…idols in spaaaaace.
My only wish is that they push this concept as far as it can go. Why limit it to space-esque idol performances? Why not have an idol school aboard a shuttle? Why not have zero-g dancing? Please take this to the absolute limit, Aikatsu!
P.S. Did you know the best Aikatsu! characters introduce themselves by parachute? It’s true.
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This post was sponsored by Johnny Trovato. If you’d like to request a topic for Ogiue Maniax (or support it in general), check out the Patreon.
With the first season of The Promised Neverland anime over, and having personally caught up to the manga as it’s throwing around major revelations, I thought it would be a good time to write about why I think Emma is one of my favorite protagonists in recent memory. I’m going to keep details vague to avoid spoilers for both anime viewers and manga readers, so hopefully everyone can enjoy.
By virtue of being a female protagonist in a Weekly Shounen Jump manga, Emma is an exception in a magazine that is, at least on the page, overwhelmingly male-dominated. In this position, it would be all too easy to make her a passive character who supports others, but what she contributes to The Promised Neverland makes her the heart and soul of the series.
Emma’s character is cut from a more traditional shounen hero cloth: she’s idealistic, compassionate, prefers actions over words, and is unusually good at making friends. But while this attitude is often a surface point for a lot of characters, Emma’s attitude runs directly into the central conceits and challenges of her own series. To believe in “helping everyone” in a harsh world can seem hopelessly naive, yet that conviction is what gives her strength.
The important thing, however, is that as much as she seems to possess a “have your cake and eat it too” puppies and rainbows mentality, she’s not unrealistic or devoid of pragmatism. She understands that her path isn’t the easy one, but at the same time believes that being all too ready to sacrifice others “for the greater good” leads down a much darker path. In maintaining this view, she brings those who would otherwise dwell in the murkier areas of humanity into the light.
Because of her outlook, she somewhat reminds me of Eren from Attack on Titan, albeit with a relatively cooler head on her shoulders and less proclivity for violence. Emma, like Eren, prompts and motivates others to go beyond their comfort zones through her actions. Unlike Eren, however, Emma is motivated less by anger and more by love.
Emma doesn’t do the impossible. Rather, by pushing her own limits and maintaining her compassion, she makes clear to herself and everyone around her that their perceived boundaries (whether internal or external) can be challenged. In a world seemingly made up of constant dichotomies, she strives to find a third, fourth, or even fifth path.
Adapting comics into animation involves taking images which, at most, hint at or represent motion, and filling in more of the gaps that or imagination would have otherwise. While how faithfully an animated work tries to adhere to its comic can vary, I’ve noticed that even those that try to follow the source material can at times “over-animate,” providing what is perhaps too much flair and thus changing the overall fee of a given title.
Over-animating isn’t an established terms by any means, but they’re convenient for my purpose. The way I’m defining it is the degree to which added material not found in the original can make a given scene feel noticeably different. This is often done by taking the source material and then exaggerating what’s there, either through the sense of motion or by adding additional elements. Think of it as the opposite of those times when a show fails to capture the splendor of a good fight scene from a manga—when it comes to over-animating, the spectacle can potentially wind up either being a distraction or changing how we even think of particular characters or moments.
Three examples come to mind in this respect: Mysterious GIrlfriend X, Dagashi Kashi, and Laid-Back Camp.
Mysterious Girlfriend X, about a boyfriend and girlfriend who literally swap spit. Whereas the manga portrays saliva as a simple white, the anime drool glistens and drips like honey, giving it an extra dimension that makes it feel less ethereal compared to the original. When I read the manga, the saliva seems like a means to an end. In contrast, the anime seems hyper-focused on that particular fetish.Dagashi Kashiis similar. While both comic and cartoon feature attractive female characters and a degree of titillation, the first season takes it one step further every time. Suggestive moments like eating tube-shaped snacks called fugashi while blindfolded are exaggerated by the addition of a massive, super-sized version. A flashback featuring kids playing doctor as a way for the character Saya to get closer to the boy she likes has an accidental chest-touching scene thrown in. The manga is fairly racy, but the anime is hyper-horny.
Unlike the other two, my use of Laid-Back Camp (aka Yurucamp) has nothing to do with perversion. Instead, it has to do with how the character Nadeshiko is made to be extra ditzy compared to the manga. At one point, Nadeshiko notices her new friend Rin, only to run into a window like a bird not knowing how glass works. This isn’t especially different from how Nadeshiko is portrayed in the manga, but it’s almost not quite the same either. She’s not especially bright and she’s ruled to a large degree by her instincts, but Nadeshiko is never quite so dumb as to literally run into glass.
While I have my own preferences, it’s not as if I’m saying that sticking faithfully to the manga should be the way to go all the time. The drool of Mysterious Girlfriend X might resonates more with fans if it’s thick and viscuous. The girls of Dagashi Kashi might make a greater impact when the suggestiveness is turned up a couple (dozen) notches. And perhaps Nadeshiko being a little dimmer makes her a more endearing and humorous character. Even so, I want to emphasize how these changes can transform how we view a title and its characters, despite having so many similarities between versions. It’s the little things that can make all the difference.
ComicsGate, or what remains of it, has been a thinly veiled campaign to bully women out of comics, and the “movement” itself is hardly worth talking about as anything more than unjustified harassment. However, I find that it pulls its energy from a profound change occurring in readers of the superhero genre: the ever-increasing presence of women as both readers and creators, and with it, a change in how the comics-reading community determines what is worthy of praise. I’ve seen it on a personal level, as I went from understanding comics fandom as a boys’ club filled with casual sexism and jokes about Hal Jordan’s punches to one where a mutual understanding and acceptance of such things can no longer be assumed.
I previously wrote a blog post exploring the interaction between canon, fanon, and headcanon, and in it I used those terms the way one would when talking about narrative continuity. However, I think the contrast between those concepts still exists if we use the other definition of “canon”: the commonly accepted masterpieces of a given medium. The challenging of “canons” and “fanons” in that sense is what I’ve seen as a result of the changing demographics of superhero and comics fandom. Over the course of many years, women and girls have come in with their own ideas about which artists to respect and what ideas should be taken away from a given comics, and those deeply entrenched in the older ways feel the ground shifting beneath them. Guys like that can be vulnerable to a smooth-talking neckbeard snake whispering to them, “They’re changing the rules. They’re outsiders. What happened to the things that matter?” Losing the place they belong can be more important to some than trying to address political issues in communities.
Fandom is built in partly on passion, partly on accruing knowledge and experiences. This combination lets fans both embrace that which they love—be it a book, musician, film, or anything else—and perhaps even take it to places that the work by itself would never travel. Fandom creates communities and communication, and it encourages fans to pool their resources together and establish some common ground. But when that common ground is challenged, or finds its foundation shaken by newer generations eager with different preconceived notions of what’s good or acceptable in both people and works, it can create schisms between fans.
In a way, it reflects the world’s politics at large, as previously established majorities have seen their numbers slowly dwindle in ways where numbers alone will not let them hold onto power, and a loss of influence can be downright frightening for those accustomed to always being on top in their own universes. Even if there’s an intellectual understanding that the actions of today are meant to address certain past injustices, it can be a bitter pill for those who assumed a stable foundation in their comics fandom.
Precure as a whole is known for its fantastically animated transformation sequences, but I’ve been especially impressed by the current Star Twinkle Precure. They feel especially strong and consistent, and both the attention to detail and little design flourishes make each character stand out from the others.
As the main character, Cure Star is the standard from which the others are contrasted. She sets up the basic premise of the series’ transformations–waving around a pen and drawing while singing about who she wants to be–but there’s also a spring and a bounce that highlights her personality in full. Her dancing feels very loose and casual, and at the same time conveys her eagerness and curiosity. Cure Star already embraces who she is and who she wants to be in her daily life, so she doesn’t seem especially different before and after changing into a Precure.
While all the other girls draw their symbol and stand next to or in it, Cure Milky stays offscreen. She then surfs on top of the heart along a flow of green water, playing off the Japanese word for Milky Way: ginga, or “silver river.” Milky seems to express the most joy over transforming into a Precure, which makes sense, given that she’s the only who even knew about the legend of Precure already. Her outfit has a number of elements that suggest her extraterrestrial origin, but my favorite are the clear, bubbly shoulders. They’re reminiscent of old-fashioned portrayals of aliens at the same time that they adhere to the general Precure aesthetic.
The first really noticeable thing about Cure Soleil is that as he continuously traces a circle, it gets brighter and more intense, almost like you’re staring into the sun. It’s the only initial drawn shape to create a fully rendered image (a sun, of course), which she then emerges out of, as if the flames are transforming her. Soleil’s Precure outfit resembles a flamenco dress, calling back to her Spanish/Latin cultural background, without making her feel like a “token” foreigner character.
Cure Selene’s transformation whispers elegance compared to the others, which are more energetic. Her initial drawing is the only asymmetrical one, and the way she stands inside the crescent moon without being inside of the shape itself leaves an impression—especially with the way her feet are planted apart, toes in. Unlike the other girls, she actually rides the crescent moon she draws, and the arrow she shoots is based on her archery background. Her transformation feels the most “freeing,” as if she’s finally not being held back by her upper-crust upbringing.
Overall, I love how much personality and individuality these transformations have. They really emphasize the idea that these girls are trying to transform into who they want to be.
OGIUE MANIAX 