Category Archives: philosophy

Dragon Ball Kai and the “Sacred Original”

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Dragon Ball Kai, if you haven’t heard, is the newly redone, newly voiced, high-definition re-airing of the Dragon Ball Z anime starting April 5, 2009. And this time, according to Toei, they’re going to cut out the filler to make it more like the original manga.

There’s a certain level of importance placed on the “original” in anime, manga, and of course art and entertainment in general. Walter Benjamin’s “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction” discussed the changes mass production could influence upon art and the concept and authenticity of an “original.”Star Wars is already a massed-produced work, but fans cry foul whenever George Lucas decides to revise the original trilogy, whether it’s deciding who shot who first, who appears in the sky as a ghost, or whether the Death Star should meet its end with many tiny explosions or one giant shock wave. Fans will argue that the plastic, rubbery look and the decisions made then, seen perhaps as weaknesses by some, are actually strengths of the movie. Originals, for better or worse, are often considered to be “sacred.” But what does one consider the “original?”

I bet a lot of people are fine with editing down Dragon Ball Z to remove a lot of the filler which bogged down the pacing of the series, and I am among them. In one sense, it is not the “original” because there’s a manga to base it on, a vision of what should have been. But what if Dragon Ball Kai was not a revision of Dragon Ball Z but the entire original manga retraced and made to look better than ever with “unnecessary filler” cut out? We know that Toriyama originally wanted to end the series at multiple junctures: the defeat of Piccolo, Jr. at the Tenkaichi Budokai; the death of Freeza; the death of Cell. Is the original his intended plan which never was carried out due to Shounen Jump editors wanting to keep making money hand over fist? If so, then surely the manga would have a huge chunk of its content cut out.

Now I’m not arguing against the concept of Dragon Ball Kai and its desire to tighten up the anime and remove the excess. I’ve established myself as being in support of the idea. However, when you sit down and try to consider what the “original” could be, it opens up a whole can of worms.

Today’s homework assignment is that I want you to think over the following two things. First, is the idea that the original creator(s) may not necessarily know what’s best for his own story, and that external factors which seem like limitations may sometimes produce better results (see First Gundam). Second, is taking the concept of “cutting out the boring and unncessary” parts and comparing it to dubbing practices of the 80s and 90s.

Have fun, though. That’s what’s most important.

And Then Emperor Palpatine Fell Into an Explanation

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The other day I went to see the movie Fanboys, about a group of Star Wars fan one year before the release of Episode 1: The Phantom Menace. I won’t say much about the movie itself except that I thought it was hilarious, but it reminded me that there’s a lot of Star Wars “lore” out there. I had borrowed a Star Wars character guide from a friend long ago, and I enjoyed it thoroughly, so I decided to hop online and take a look at the compiled information on the universe that is Star Wars. Upon reading I began to feel this sense of dread.

One of the very important lessons then Western Art took from Eastern Art was the concept of negative space, that leaving spaces blank can be just as effective a tool as filling in every detail. Essentially, it means less can be more. When applied to storytelling, it means that not every detail has to be explained and that in many cases the more explanation that arises the less effective the storytelling becomes. This is what I saw with the information on the  Star Wars Universe. I saw unnecessary explanation after unnecessary explanation, as if making sense of the world and filling in the gaps is far more important than maintaining the feel of the story and characters.

The idea of fans filling in the gaps is not something that’s necessarily bad. In fact many times I consider it to be a good thing as I feel it’s a very important foundation of fandom, whether it’s imagining stories in between major events, inventing new characters, or even fleshing out one-dimensional characters. One can argue that having these complex technical explanations is one type of fan’s way of exploring the universe of the story, but once it reaches a point where it becomes some kind of hybrid canon/fanon that influences or restructures the original story, I can’t help but feel that it is done at the detriment of core vital elements of a story. Obi-Wan and Yoda learned how to maintain their identity in the Force. Why does this need an explanation? Obi-Wan is a magical old man, and Yoda is an even more magical and even older man. There, that’s your explanation.

I think one of the many reasons why I like anime so much is that it seems to understand this idea of effectively using the gaps in storytelling. It’s not just about fueling imagination so that we the viewer may fill in the blanks, but using that sense of ambiguity to excite and drive us forward. Gurren-Lagann is an excellent example, because the characters utilize this vague, ill-defined power to achieve victory after victory. They are literally powered by a lack of common sense that keeps them from questioning if anything they’re doing is truly possible. “Do the impossible, see the invisible,” as the saying goes. One does not need to explain what doing the impossible entails or how it works other than that it was driven by the hero’s desire and the support of his friends.

A more apt comparison might be Star Wars and Gundam especially given the way they’ve influenced each other, but for all of the detailed explanations and added material that has been placed into the Gundam Universe, I feel that Gundam has handled it far better than Star Wars. What even its most hardcore fans ultimately enjoy appears to be more the story and the characters and the way great tales are told, rather than little details.

Wasn’t Star Wars once in its own in a way similar to Gurren-Lagann? There was the Force as a vaguely defined aspect of the universe with vaguely defined skill sets available to its users. What’s the difference between a normal man and a Jedi? That one is a Jedi and one is a man.

History

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We are connected to it. But we are not beholden to it. And those reasons are why we can make it.

Inconsistency in Iconographic Character Design and the Aging Audience Mind

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It was winter, around New Year’s one year when the Naruto anime in Japan aired an episode that acted as a set up to the long-anticipated Sasuke vs Gaara fight in the Chuunin exams. During this episode the characters were all terribly off-model, and not just for a few frames as the internet so likes to point out, but throughout the entire show. Taking a gander at the ending credits, it was very clear that this was some animation studio’s E team working on it. It was New Year’s after all and the New Year is a big deal in both Japan and Korea.

As a college-age student, I was not the primary audience for Naruto, as much as all college-age fans of Naruto might like to believe. Now, thinking back to my own childhood and knowing some of the things I’ve learned about animation, I have to wonder if I would have been so keen to pick up on inconsistency in character design, and if it would have mattered to me at all.

I’ve recently had the opportunity to watch many episodes of the old Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoon, the one that began in the 80s and ran for close to a decade, and it was then that I realized that for the Shredder, nothing was ever actually consistent. There was the helmet, the claws, the cape, the overall outfit, but from one shot to the next the thickness and curvature of the helmet would change, the arm guards would just do whatever, and it looked like each scene was drawn by a different person. And they probably were! But I didn’t really notice, or at least not that I can recall. I remember sometimes the Shredder looking more awesome than other times, but that’s about it.

World Events licensed the Japanese robot anime King of Beasts Golion and Space Musketeer Bismarck, and transformed them into Voltron: Defender of the Universe and Saber Rider and the Star Sheriffs respectively. Both shows were popular enough with kids that they ended up creating extra episodes from scratch. Without the guiding hand of the original Japanese companies though, the shows just did not end up looking the same.

If you look at a lot of cartoons animated in Japan in the 80s for American audiences, such as Bionic Six or Galaxy Rangers, many of the openings are much more visually impressive than the actual episodes. Of course, openings being superior in quality to the show they precede should not be unfamiliar territory to anime fans.

Decades before Voltron and Bionic Six, the anime 8-Man was brought to America as 8th Man. At Otakon 2008, Mike Toole in his panel “Dubs That Time Forgot” pointed out that in the custom American intro for 8th Man, the character design used for the titular character didn’t even resemble the original Japanese design beyond a basic level.

Now, I watched both Voltron and Saber Rider as a kid but as I was very young at the time I barely remember anything about them, aside from the fact that smaller robots combining into a single mighty robot was the best idea ever (see also: Transformers, Gobots). Did I catch any of these extra episodes? I really don’t know. As for 8th Man, I wasn’t even born yet. But somehow I don’t think most kids were angry that the show tried to trick them into believing two different designs were the same character.

Kids need only a few iconic things to identify the character. With Shredder, it’s a mean-looking metal helmet ninja guy (something you can also see in the more recent TV series). With Voltron, it’s some people in color-coded outfits and a robot with lion heads for limbs and a sword that blazes. With 8th Man it’s a giant 8 on his chest.

I’m not asking whether companies right or wrong to rely on these aspects and hoping kids wouldn’t notice the difference, or whether or not they insult children’s intelligence by doing so. And I am not defending inconsistency in animation or saying that it is totally okay to just forget what your own characters look like. At the end of the day, Yashigani doesn’t help anyone, and there are times when characters are so off-model that they break even the important iconic features of a character. What I am asking instead is, what is and should be prioritized when it comes to presenting a character to children? And then, how does this affect media for older people that grows out of these preconceptions?

American superhero comics were once the domain of children, and it’s there that you see the strength of symbols and in characters. An S on the chest, a blue outfit with red cape, and a confident stance, and you’ve got Superman. Individual artist differences don’t matter as much as getting the basics of Kal-El down. But then over the years superhero comics became more and more geared towards adult readers, as they are today. Since then, the practice of having different artists and writers on the same character has become a staple of the genre, but now with this older readership this practice is celebrated. It is touted as one of the unique features of comics, where for better or for worse an Alan Moore Swamp Thing-level revamp can be conceived and then taken away months later, but with the record that the same character has many different approaches both in terms of story and subtle visual changes.

And now we have anime which, like comics, started off in the realm of children and grew to encompass adults, adults who were once those very same children. And then when watching anime for at least a certain subset of adults (otaku) became more commonplace, anime started gearing towards them to a certain degree, and with every passing year we see more of this. Scott McCloud in Understanding Comics talks about how he considers of the great strengths of manga to be its use of characters as iconography, which I’m extending towards anime as well. But how has icon usage in character design changed if at all in this journey towards adulthood?  One of the long-standing strengths of anime I feel is the way in which it provides material for adults to enjoy even within children’s shows. Is more consciously consistent (or intentionally inconsistent) character design a higher necessity when the target audience is older? Is an older audience what’s needed to truly appreciate a Shinbo-style unorthodox approach to a show? These questions don’t necessarily need answering, but I feel they may lead to finding out parts of the truth about how anime and its audience interact.

It’s All in How You Look At It

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The 2000s have been an unusual time in anime fandom. It’s achieved greater popularity and notoriety than ever before, but it’s also been characterized by  claims that the people who create anime have lost their adventurous spirit, that shows are too dumb, creators are too cynical, and that what made anime great isn’t there or isn’t there in sufficient amounts.  I don’t believe this to be the case, but I occasionally have trouble convincing naysayers otherwise. How can you talk about the subtleties of experimentation within genres that people refuse to watch in the first place?

The other day I was reading the animation blog AniPages Daily when his post on what makes animation interesting caught my eye.

“Five or six years ago, I discovered something that kind of renewed the waning spark of my enthusiasm for anime: a set of Japanese animators creating flamboyantly stylish animation that was exciting like no animation I’d ever seen. It was the discovery of the existence within the anime industry of a coterie of animators with a deeply creative spark like Masaaki Yuasa, Shinya Ohira, Satoru Utsunomiya, Atsuko Fukushima, Yoshinori Kanada and Takeshi Koike – each working within the industry, yet managing to carve out a stylistic niche of the kind that elsewhere might only be attainable in the capacity of an independent animator – that renewed my faith in the power of animation, and showed me that some of the most exciting animation being made today was being made by these people in Japan. These animators heightened my awareness of the animated element in animation, and expanded my appreciation of the importance of movement in animation. But more than that, the sheer audacity and brashness of their individuality opened my eyes to a rich vein of creativity in the Japanese animation industry. There have been many great animators over the decades in Japan, and these animators continuing that tradition opened my eyes to a hidden narrative of anime history that broadened my appreciation of anime and renewed my faith in its potential.”

This post was written November 7, 2008.

Now, the man behind AniPages Daily is not your typical blogger. When I say it’s an animation blog, I mean it’s an animation blog. AniPages Daily is concerned with quality of animation above all else, and he’ll seemingly watch any show for it, from Naruto to Tiger Mask. He doesn’t talk about character designs, writing, story, giant robots, or fanservice, unless it concerns how a scene was animated. I really don’t watch animation like he does, and I’m not sure if I could completely agree with the idea of watching animation for the animation. However, I can appreciate his approach and the fact that it’s different from mine, and it left an impression on me that he could look at today’s anime, often criticized for lack of experimentation, and from his relatively unusual perspective see ideas and techniques being pushed towards greater heights.

It makes me wonder if it’s actually possible for anime to truly stagnate. Yes, there are disappointing shows, and ones that you could call better than others, but even in those shows which do not manage to succeed artistically or financially there are hands at work, and they may be achieving something special, just in an area that you or I don’t expect or pay any attention to. Maybe it’s in the soundtrack or even the use of the soundtrack relative to the animation. Maybe it’s daring risk-taking with forms of storytelling. Maybe it’s highly unorthodox mecha designs. And all of this is within the confines of an industry which is concerned with appealing to larger audiences.

Narrow Scope vs Limited Involvement

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The fact that I love looking at anime’s history should be no secret to anyone who’s kept up with this blog since its inception. I’ll watch shows new and old in a desire to understand better anime’s history. At some point I’ll spout facts about some show that aired 30 years ago and the effect it had on the industry and the fans, but then I’ll take a step back when I realize that as hard as I argue about the strength and influence of a show 30 years old, the fact that I was not alive 30 years ago means that my words lack personal involvement. I can watch Evangelion. I can read about how significant it is to Japan from the words of a Japanese person intimately familiar with it and its effects. And yet, I was not actually there.

“You had to be there” is a phrase which implies that the idea that hindsight or observation from the rails of history cannot accurately convey the totality of an experience. If someone posts a video of the Otakon 2008 JAM Project concert on Youtube, and doesn’t think much of it, I’d probably say the same thing. The problem here however is that when I’m deep inside the fandom, when I’m keeping up with shows as they come out and experiencing things firsthand, I feel it difficult to step back and simply observe. The classic example as it relates to me is that while I can talk about my experience living in Japan, I cannot talk about anything i did not do there. I can relate my personal feelings on a topic, having seen what I’ve seen first-hand, but the scope can seem narrow. Sure I can talk to friends and friends of friends and ask online about something going on right now, but it’s hard to get any indication of what’s actually going on.

And yet, when people talk about the anime of year’s past, the information seems most real when it is relied by the people who were knee-deep in it. Their words and stories are fueled by recollections of their own emotional involvement. At the same time, it’s difficult to actually get an accurate image. I guess it’s the task of those of us observing from afar to piece together various sources into something resembling a sensible answer. Still, I can’t help but feel that doing so detracts from the authenticity of my voice.

How does one argue about an anime from 30 years ago with a person who watched that show 30 years ago?

I COULD Get in Trouble for This: Christopher Handley and the CBLDF

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Today I decided to donate to the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund (CBLDF) to support Christopher Handley, a man who has been charged with possession of “obscene” material, in this case a certain unspecified manga. I was already convinced that I should support the CBLDF weeks ago when Neil Gaiman posted an illuminating essay on the matter, one which reinforced beliefs I already hold, but I hesitated. With the additional passionate calls for help from respected anime industry members Carl Horn and Jason Thompson, what began as good intent on my part became a concrete action.

If you’re unsure as to whether or not it’s worth helping out the CBLDF, the arguments given by Neil Gaiman, Carl Horn, and Jason Thompson are all far more convincing than anything I could say. I am not going to argue that porn reduces sex crimes, or the difference between a 2D fetish and a 3D one, or any of those things which are missing the point. Instead, what I am going to describe below are the reasons why I made the decision to donate, and my fundamental feelings on the matter.

It is my belief that art, which I’m using as a general term for creative works, exists to express ideas and emotions, and that art’s strength is directly related to its diversity. No matter the quality or intent of the artist, their work matters because it contributes ideas. They may be wrong, they may be completely misguided, but they still have the right to express themselves, especially if such things are kept in private. Obtaining art, be it by your own creating hand or by the wallet in your pocket, whether you are the maker or the taker, is an extension of this idea.

Let’s disregard the actual content of the manga in question, and just pretend that it is the most vile, disgusting thing you can imagine. It affects you negatively on both an emotional and ideological level, and you wouldn’t be caught dead taking so much as a glance at it. And let’s say that, given the reprehensible content, this manga could influence someone to make a big mistake. It could be the catalyst which drives someone to endanger human lives. There is a difference however between “could” and “did,” and “could” and “will.”

If you’re allowed to punish someone for something they could do, then where do you draw the line? What factors go into determining whether or not someone is capable of committing a crime? And even if you could determine a method that would differentiate those who “can” from those who “cannot,” how are you to tell someone to simply stop how they feel?

Human beings are emotional creatures, and we often cannot help how we think or feel, even when we know those thoughts and emotions are unhealthy. And while you can tell someone that their feelings are wrong or dangerous and be right, you also cannot force someone to have the emotions you expect them to. Yes, if someone acts purely on their emotions without regard for others, then it is a problem. This is why humans are also rational creatures: reason tempers emotion. But if we punish someone because their thoughts are troubled, or that their emotions and ideas have been put to paper, then we give no opportunity for reason to play its role in human thought. We are punishing someone for what they could do, and humans being what they are, that would mean that we are all already guilty of something.

If Only We Could Become Fans of Moderation

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Dave Merrill recently posted a survey and history of the seedy, unwashed, giant underbelly of anime fandom in the US. In it, he gives examples, taken from various anonymous contributers, of the people who are often referred to as “that person.” Each anecdote leads me to be grateful that I did not turn out to be the one to take others down through ill personality or whatever, but at the same time I find myself reflecting upon each description. I can see a bit of myself in pretty much every person described, but I also realize that it’s because of the fact that I can only see “a bit” of myself in them that makes all of the difference.

I can relate to the guy who carries his video game consoles with him to every meeting. I can see a person bringing his precious consoles along constantly, hoping for someone to say, “Wow, is that a Neo-Geo?” And then the person would gladly pull it out and a good time would be had by all, and they’d think that console-carrying guy is pretty swell. But then if console carrier never has the initiative to simply propose that they play some of his games, then he’ll still be waiting passively. When presented with someone like this, we’d probably say something like, “Get some confidence, chum.” Lack of confidence and drive is a hallmark of dorks everywhere, after all. It’s dangerous advice, however, when you consider the example of the guy who gives out his own Inspector Gadget porn to everyone.

Inspector Gadget Porn Distributor is what can happen when you tell someone with deep shame that it’s okay to be shameless, that it’s okay to be confident in what they do. The problem isn’t that he draws the images, it’s that it becomes the singular focus of his interaction with fellow anime fans. I believe that not only fans but people in general should not be defined by a singular purpose, as no person is that devoid of depth. And yet, are fans not defined by their obsessions, their ability to take things further than others? How far is too far? It’s a strange dilemma in that we have to learn to constantly set and then break our own limits.

I know that it sounds weird for the person who writes Ogiue Maniax, a blog with obsession in its very title, to be talking about things like tact and reservation, but I think it’s the combination of obsession/devotion and desire for variety in me that has brought me to this place. And while I don’t have the confidence to say that I have the patience or ability to help those fans who are truly in need of an awakening, what I can say is that I hope we can all help to moderate each other.

An anime industry in a terrible economy

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As disposable income decreases for anime fans across the country, it becomes increasingly tempting to resort to alternative, less legitimate methods of obtaining our fix. This hurts an industry which is trying its best to stay alive in an increasingly volatile environment, but ultimately a person with no money to spend on entertainment will choose free entertainment over no entertainment. It’s an absurd level of Catch-22, with both and neither side to blame.

Anime companies want to take as much of our money as possible, and it’s only fair that they do so. I may often say that “I want to support the shows that I like,” but I also know that in the end, no matter how friendly the higher-ups and the employees are, a business is a business. Anime companies want to maximize their profits, but we fans have limits on how much money we’re willing to spend, especially as of late. The issue then becomes finding an amount that’s agreeable to both sides.

I know this sounds incredibly obvious, but we’ve seen at least one company (Bandai Visual) eat dirt because it didn’t even consider compromise.

So let’s take a script, and then build a table out of it

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Today I realized just how much bad writing can hurt an animation. When a script is late, or poor in quality, or both, as in the case of SEED Destiny, it seems to impact the entire production. There’s this disheartening feeling that no matter how much it’s worked on afterwards, no matter how much wax is applied, its fundamental flaws will still be there. And sure, greatness might be achievable, but to start off on the wrong foot like that just makes things all the more difficult.

I wouldn’t say that writing is more important than art in animation, but it’s a simple fact that it’s easier to animate based on a script than to write a script based on an animation.

Also keep in mind that when I say poor writing, I don’t mean using too many cliches or bad use of vocabulary, though those can hurt. The kind of poor writing I’m talking about is more along the lines of not understanding the very characters you’re writing. Again, like Seed DESTINY.