Category Archives: review

The Unbearable Weight of the Past: Space Battleship Yamato 2202

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I consider Space Battleship Yamato 2199 to be perhaps the best franchise remake ever. Outside of legacy and possibly 2D vs. 3D animation preference for battles, it improves on the original Space Battleship Yamato in virtually every way. A more interesting and diverse cast of characters, greater complexity in the politics and messages, and a more cohesive narrative all come together with the benefit of decades of hindsight.

Space Battleship 2202 is the direct sequel, and is based on the second TV series, Space Battleship Yamato 2. It centers around the battle against a massive militaristic force from beyond the stars: the highly destructive Gatlantis, also known as the White Comet Empire. Per the title, it takes place three years after the Yamato’s desperate and harrowing voyage to the far-off planet Iscandar to obtain a technology that could restore the Earth’s environment. 

Unlike with 2199, I have never seen the Yamato 2, and thus have no direct comparison for what 2202 adds to the story outside of what I can read online. As I started (or rather restarted) 2202, I had my worries. It had been around 10 years since I watched 2199, and due to numerous major world events, my philosophical beliefs have changed in various ways. Given that the series is literally about a gigantic Japanese battleship fighting aliens, might it carry some questionable ideas that I’d notice more easily now? As I kept watching, however, I found that 2202 assuaged these fears. Every time there was something that made me raise a proverbial eyebrow, the series would approach a topic with nuance, give no easy answers, but also criticize outdated ideas about things like race and gender.

The biggest example of the show taking on topics smartly is in its handling of the Wave Motion Gun, the ultra-powerful signature cannon of the Yamato that is capable of devastating entire planets. At the end of 2199, the crew of the Yamato made a promise to Starsha of Iscandar to never use it again. However, the greater Earth forces see things differently, and are revealed to have been building more vessels with Wave Motion Guns. And while the protagonist, Kodai Susumu, believes strongly in their promise to Starsha, keeping it in the face of an overwhelming enemy becomes increasingly difficult—especially when the lives of his allies and their loved ones are at risk. 2022 portrays the fact that this dilemma is anything but black and white, while also pointing out that even if such decisions can be justified, it can still take a mental and emotional toll on those who have to make them.

I also had concerns that Gatlantis, an alien civilization for whom the word “surrender” literally does not exist, might be portrayed as savage barbarians. But when they’re revealed to originally be created as pretty much military livestock—soldiers thrown on the battlefield to keep their masters safe—it’s clear that the Gatlanteans are themselves part of a cycle of victimhood and exploitation that has robbed them of their humanity. And far from treating this as the problems of others, 2202 also shows how the Earth is very capable of making the same terrible moves when they begin developing AI-powered armed forces.

And then, when the show tries to give more background on Desler, the former supreme leader of Gamilas and the main antagonist of 2199, I was worried that it might fall into the trap of redeeming an imperialist dictator just because he had a tragic past. Yet even here, 2202 avoids that pitfall. While we already knew from 2199 that the Gamilas homeworld was dying, we learn that based on the highly racist Gamilan culture (where the pure-blooded rule society under the assumption of inherent superiority), Desler made the decision to become a conquering force for a significant reason: he believed it was the only way his people would accept finding and migrating to another planet. It does not absolve Desler of his crimes, but it has parallels with Susumu’s struggles with whether to use the Wave Motion Gun.

My only complaint about the series is a very biased one: There wasn’t enough Niimi Kaoru, the bespectacled science officer from 2199. She makes a few appearances but is mostly a non-factor, aside from being a small part of a later plot point involving a special battleship and a weird plan to prioritize childbearing women in case of an emergency. Here as well, I was concerned 2022 might be pushing some sexist agenda about the importance of women as mothers, but even that panned out better than I feared.

Space Battleship Yamato 2202 ultimately ends up being a narrative centered around difficult ultimatums. At the same time, however, it also questions why sentient civilizations (whether terrestrial or otherwise) keep putting themselves in situations where people have to make such soul-crushing decisions—might the root causes be matters more systemic? Could something not be done about that instead? Much tragedy could be avoided if we cherished one another’s humanity.

I Imported Japanese Curry Because of a VTuber

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When a Virtual Youtuber you like is mega popular, it’s not hard to get their merch. But when they’re not in the big leagues, it’s a different story. So when the chance came to support one of the smaller VTubers I follow—by buying instant curry, of all things—I decided to do just that.

Sena Aimi (nickname: Ivy) is the last remaining member of Shiritsu Virtual Joshi Gakuin, a Japanese indie VTuber group. She loves to drink, enjoys Pokémon Unite, and has a strong Kyoto accent. So when food maker launched a collaboration with travel guidebook publisher Rurubu to sell instant curries based on regional styles, they decided to promote it using VTubers across Japan and have Aimi represent Kyoto Japanese dashi curry.

I imported the curry from their promotional website via a third party. The package contained two boxes (one serving each), along with two Aimi-themed buttons. The buttons are nice, though: One has official art of her with the words “I am a Fan-Gyojin” (the name for her supporters), and the other has a drawing by her with the words “I love curry!” As someone who indeed loves curry, this makes me realize that I don’t have enough paraphernalia declaring that fact. This is a start.

In terms of the actual taste, I was pleasantly surprised. I didn’t know what Kyoto curry was like, but if this is a good representation, I’d be eager to try more. It’s got a strong bonito flavor with a bit of a spicy kick (labeled “medium spicy” per tame Japanese standards) that I mostly felt in the aftertaste. Notable ingredients include tofu and lotus root, and according to the ingredients it uses beef and pork extracts. It’s definitely a cut above your typical instant curry of the pouch variety (as opposed to blocks). 

I will not say that I paid a fair price for it because I definitely did not—I had to get it at a time when shipping options were limited. The campaign was also over by the time I received the curry, so this is a bit of a futile review on my end. Even so, the Kyoto Japanese dashi curry is solid, and I would eat it regardless of any virtual spokespeople. Given the opportunity, I probably would have sampled the other regional curries as well (and maybe discover some VTubers along the way).

And at the end of the day, that “I love curry!” button can’t be beat.

Attack on Titan: The Final Conclusive Ending Denouement

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“Why I Like Eren Jaeger.” That’s the title of a post I wrote 10 years ago. 

A lot of things sure have happened since then.

The anime Attack on Titan recently concluded after what seemed like an eternity, and we the viewers have been left to interpret Eren in his entirety, from the hotheaded protagonist he was at the beginning to the apocalyptic villain he becomes by the end. Given all that has transpired, not least of which includes mass genocide, can I still say that I “like” Eren?

WARNING: SPOILERS OF THE END OF ATTACK ON TITAN AHEAD

Obviously, I can’t condone genocide no matter how it might have come from a place of wanting to protect his friends, or even if the alternative was a different form of genocide. But the reasons I was fond of Eren as a character ten years ago had little to do with anything like moral and ethical values or good decision-making. Instead, it was because he’s a deeply flawed character with some genuinely positive traits—namely his ability to motivate others through the sheer force of his ceaseless drive to press ahead. 

In 2013, this is what I had to say:

I see Eren as the kind of guy who makes people better than him feel worse for not accomplishing as much…. This is mainly what drives his relationship with Jean, as Jean is clearly smarter, wiser, and comparable in physical ability to Eren, but lacks his ability to throw himself into danger. On the other hand, Eren’s narrow-mindedness is the reason he can’t accomplish everything on his own, and…if he were a leader of men…he would probably send them all to their deaths just by being himself….

The result is that the Scout Regiment (or Survey Corps), a group infamous for being full of eccentrics with death wishes, gains and benefits from one of the most rational and reasonable individuals. At the same time, it means Eren has always been someone who needs others to keep him from being a living train wreck.

This is not a defense of Eren but an understanding of his relationships and the effects he has on people who are better than him. He inspires others to do what they thought impossible or inconceivable. Nowhere is this more relevant than with his closest friends, Armin and Mikasa. He pushes them to achieve greater heights through the example of his will, and this remains true even as Eren turns them against himself.

Eren, Mikasa, and Armin are parts of a whole, and it’s a relationship that persists even in opposition. I think that Eren purposely pushes his friends away because he knows they have what it takes to stop him. Similar to Dr. Manhattan in Watchmen, Eren becomes able to move in four dimensions, and this ironically makes him unable to challenge fate. But Mikasa and Armin are not beholden to such cursed omniscience, and they ultimately defeat him and help remove the titan ability from the entire world.

Mikasa killing Eren is not only one of the most powerful scenes of the finale, but a key moment in the series as a whole. The presence of titans in their world for 2000 years is because Ymir, the Founding Titan, is trapped by her undying and contradictory love for King Fritz, her longtime master and abuser. Despite knowing how much Fritz saw Ymir as nothing more than property, her feelings keep her loyal out of a desperate need for human connection. Seeing Mikasa behead the love of her life for the sake of the world shows Ymir that it’s possible to break the mental and emotional chains binding her. And all of it comes back to what made Mikasa fall for Eren in the first place, back when they were children: When others would have said to run, Eren implored her to fight. He pushes others to not give up, even if it means he himself becomes the enemy. 

So the answer is yes: I still like Eren Jaeger for the mess that he is. I can’t support the consequences of his actions, but the story of Attack on Titan is very much about the ugliness of humanity, and in many ways, Eren exhibits some of its worst qualities. However, much like how there are glimmers of hope that flicker in and out amid despair, he casts a light on others and gives them power, however great or small, to do more—even as he himself is subsumed by darkness. Ultimately, he ends up being a unique protagonist turned antagonist, a child given far too much responsibility and burden, a cautionary tale of why you don’t have to automatically cheer for someone just because they’re the main hero, and a figure remarkably complex because of his profound limitations.

Lego’s Monkie Kid Draws on the Past in More Ways than the Obvious

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What if there was a sequel to Journey to the West, the story of Sun Wukong the Monkey King, and it was set in the near future? And what if all the characters were Lego people? That’s the basic premise of Lego Monkie Kid, an Asia-focused media franchise featuring toys, a cartoon, and more. I first noticed Monkie Kid thanks to clips on YouTube, and found myself impressed by the surprising quality of its animation. I recently got the chance to watch the actual series, and find it to be a kids show that, while modern, is also reminiscent of action cartoons from decades past.

The premise of Monkie Kid is that a noodle delivery boy named MK discovers the legendary staff of the Monkey King and becomes his successor. Now, he must fight against the now-freed Demon Bull King, who was originally imprisoned by Wukong himself, with the help of a close group of friends.

One of the first works that Monkie Kid reminded me of was American Dragon Jake Long, and not simply because of the connections to Chinese culture. Rather, MK is a very similar character to Jake, from his impetuous nature to his constant use of “hip and popular” vernacular. That said, while Jake’s use of slang could get obnoxious (something the show runners on Jake Long noticed and dialed back in its second season), I find this isn’t really the case with MK.

Another cartoon that came to mind was Thundercats, and with it all the 1980s action cartoons of that variety. Specifically, in the storyline, the Demon Bull King is weakened after his revival, and is forced to rely on cybernetics that are powered by artifacts. Items of sufficient rarity (from ancient treasures to exclusive sneaker drops) can restore him to his former might, but only temporarily. This kind of Mumm-Ra/Silverhawks MonStar villain hasn’t really been a thing for a very long time, which makes Monkie Kid’s decision to include such a gimmick oddly nostalgic for someone my age.

The approach to storytelling is mostly episodic (as opposed to outright serial) and full of toy-shilling antics, but it does build towards major events here and there while featuring actual character growth along the way. Again, I liken it to 80s fare wherein a few episodes and a season finale are more focused on the overarching plot, and the results are usually pretty satisfying if one doesn’t mind this format. One big edge Monkie Kid has, however, is that it doesn’t feel as aimless as Thundercats or He-Man, and even displays shades of Avatar: The Last Airbender in the way it gradually turns into a grander and more epic story. 

It’s also obvious that the show creators are more than aware of Avatar when Monkie Kid throws in gag references to Aang’s spinny hand trick. In fact, this is just one of many shout-outs to past animated works.

There’s one fun detail about Monkie Kid that I think is worth mentioning: The casting choice for the Monkey King. In English, he’s actually voiced by Sean Schemmel, the current dub voice of Goku from Dragon Ball Z—in other words, a guy famous for playing a Sun Wukong derivative is voicing the original! And then in the Cantonese and Taiwanese Mandarin versions, the role is performed by Dicky Cheung, a Hong Kong actor who rose to fame portraying the Monkey King in the popular and beloved 1996 Journey to the West TV series!

(He also sang the openings for those versions too.)

Overall, Monkie Kid is a children’s cartoon with real legs. Though it may be based on Legos, and it’s not the most sophisticated thing, there is an undeniably high quality to the whole thing. It’s one of those works where the creators definitely did not need to go this hard, but they chose to elevate their project into something greater. I come out of this now curious to watch whatever comes next, and maybe try to finally read Journey to the West.

Killing Them Hard with Her Golf: “Birdie Wing: Golf Girls’ Story” Season 2

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I don’t know if there’s a wrong side of ridiculousness, but I definitely know that Birdie Wing: Golf Girls’ Story is squarely on the right one. And with the series now finished, I wanted to do a review of Season 2 to wrap everything up.

(Warning: Season 1 Spoilers)

The plot of the first season is like something from a fever dream: An orphan girl named Eve participates in her country Nafrece’s illegal underground golf scene, where big money is on the line. One day, she encounters a Japanese girl destined to become her rival/romantic interest Amawashi Aoi. In order to fulfill their dream of truly playing against each other someday, Eve has to overcome all the crime lords involved through the power of her brute force approach to golf. During this time, the list of things that happen include: a rocket launcher assassination, an airship with a transforming golf course inside, and even a cyborg golfer. Eventually, Eve winds up in Japan and attends the same school as Aoi, an academy for people with dreams of going pro.

At the end of Season 1, we were left with a question of what kind of series Birdie Wing will be overall. It has so many components that it could lean just a little in any direction and become something wildly different. Now that Season 2 is done and the series is complete (for now), we have the answer: Birdie Wing is all about Maximum Drama, and it will use every tool in its arsenal to achieve this goal. These include: a disease that kills you if you play too much golf, convoluted family trees that boggle the mind, and special abilities passed down from mentors and long-lost figures from the past. What we have is not so much a sports anime or a drama, but a series that asks, “What if a soap opera had tournament arcs?”

I will give one small spoiler about Season 2: My prediction about them going into space to play golf never came true, despite the fact that “Amuro Ray” and “Char Aznable” essentially both exist in this anime. Nevertheless, it’s an enjoyable roller coaster all the way through, and how the series ends is actually brilliant in its own way. While I’m not going to say that Birdie Wing is perfect, or that it’s for everyone, I do believe that we need more anime of its kind in the world. 

Putting the “Origin” in Original: Shin Kamen Rider

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When it comes to Anno Hideaki’s Shin Japan Heroes Universe movies, the meaning of that first word, Shin, is left ambiguous. Usually, depending on how it’s written in Japanese, shin can either mean “true” (as if whatever iteration we’re seeing is either an entity in its greatest and purest form) or “new” (a reimagining, a version yet unseen). After watching Shin Kamen Rider, it’s increasingly clear to me that it’s meant to be both, and maybe more.

Based primarily on the original 1971 Kamen RIder series, Shin Kamen Rider tells the story of Hongo Takeshi, a man captured by the organization SHOCKER and made into a part-bug living weapon. However, thanks to a sympathetic scientist, he manages to escape and he decides to fight against SHOCKER using his newfound powers and his strong sense of justice.

Seeing as how I’ve never even watched a single full series, I can’t call myself a big Kamen Rider fan or expert by any means. But when Shin Kamen Rider was first announced, I remembered something Anno said in an interview: He thinks the world of the first three episodes of the original Kamen Rider due to their darker nature. I also have seen comments about how Shin Kamen Rider is unusually violent, which lends credence to the notion that this would somehow be different.

Shin Kamen Rider turns out to be even bloodier than I had expected, even with the aforementioned warning. It is brutal and visceral in a way that none of the other Shin movies are. That’s not to say the work is overly gratuitous—but rather, it’s one of many factors that make the story very human and personal. On some level, this is probably just due to the fact that Evangelion, Ultraman, and Godzilla all concern giants, giving an inherently different sense of scale. 

But even more than the violence, Shin Kamen Rider feels like it’s trying to be something that the word “fundamental” doesn’t fully describe—as if the work is tapping into the essence of its source material so deeply that it ends up bringing forth a version from within that had not seen the light of day prior to this. What we see is a Kamen Rider if the series had continued on with the energy from those earliest episodes that Anno cherishes so much.

I watched Shin Ultraman not long before this, and there are some noteworthy differences that I think speak a lot to what each franchise embodies. For example, the monsters in Shin Ultraman appear to be much more essential—who and what they are doesn’t stray far from the source material. All the monsters in Shin Kamen Rider, on the other hand, are portrayed with much greater liberties in terms of motivations. In contrast, the main human character in Shin Ultraman is a completely different person compared to the original TV series, whereas Shin Kamen Rider still maintains the character of Hongo Takeshi, even if he isn’t 100% the same. Ultraman has more memorable monsters; Kamen Rider has more memorable humans.

To skeptics, Shin Kamen Rider would very likely come across as hokey in a way that no amount of ultra-violence could make it more palatable. However, the portrayals of its characters, from their emotional pain to their sheer awkwardness really grounds the film. I think it’s no coincidence that the costumes for Shin Kamen Rider are actually pretty cheesy—the production could have easily made them sleeker and more modern. Instead, they’re weird and cumbersome, as if the bit of messiness is important. Shin Kamen Rider is, at its core, a work that is both “cool” and “uncool,” and the two sides merge together to reveal something incredibly human.

Gattai Girls 14: “Sakura Wars” and Shinguji Sakura

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Introduction: “Gattai Girls” is a series of posts dedicated to looking at giant robot anime featuring prominent female characters due to their relative rarity within that genre.

Here, “prominent” is primarily defined by two traits. First, the female character has to be either a main character (as opposed to a sidekick or support character), or she has to be in a role which distinguishes her. Second, the female character has to actually pilot a giant robot, preferably the main giant robot of the series she’s in.

For example, Aim for the Top! would qualify because of Noriko (main character, pilots the most important mecha of her show), while Vision of Escaflowne would not, because Hitomi does not engage in any combat despite being a main character, nor would Full Metal Panic! because the most prominent robot pilot, Melissa Mao, is not prominent enough.

— 

This is an unusual “Gattai Girls” entry. Sakura Wars is one of Sega’s most beloved video game franchises in Japan, and doing a review/analysis of it based on an animated TV adaptation will inevitably mean I can’t fully capture everything that makes the series what it is. Nevertheless, we have a solid example of an anime that fulfills the criteria of a mecha series with a centrally prominent female pilot, so here we are. As far as I know, the TV series follows much of the same plot, but there are some cases where major events (such as a certain heel turn) do not play out as they did in the game.

Sakura Wars takes place in an alternate Taisho-era mystical-steampunk Japan where people and technology thrive, but where horrible demonic forces also threaten the peace. The only people capable of fighting them on relatively even terms are the members of the Imperial Combat Revue: a group of girls who have the dual roles of being performers in musicals in the vein of the Takarazuka Revue and fighting as pilots of special spiritually powered mecha known as Kobu. 

One of the points of appeal of Sakura Wars is that these girls are all interesting and memorable characters, but the face of the franchise is undoubtedly its namesake, Shinguji Sakura. To understand her general popularity, one need only look at Sega’s 60th anniversary popularity poll wherein Sakura got 3rd place behind only Sonic the Hedgehog and Opa-Opa from Fantasy Zone. What makes her so appealing is that she’s essentially the ultimate yamato-nadeshiko—the classical Japanese beauty—but without being a regressive character bound by conservatism.

(SIde note: While I acknowledge that the series is full of excellent female characters, the focus will be on Sakura as the main heroine).

When Sakura first arrives to join the Combat Revue in Tokyo, she’s like a fish out of water. Clad in a kimono, everything about her screams “traditional.” However, this is the Taisho era, a time of increasing embrace of certain Western values (such as marrying for romantic love). Much of Sakura’s growth over the series involves adapting to the cosmopolitan nature of her new environment and her teammates—allies who come from different parts of Japan and the world, and who hold different values—all the while still honing the swordsmanship and spiritual energy that has made her a recruit for the Combat Revue in the first place. 

I don’t often devote space to discussing the voices behind the characters in these “Gattai Girls” entries, but I have to make a special exception here because Yokoyama Chisa is simply exceptional. Her voice carries such a range of emotions, from strength to vulnerability, from joy to sorrow, sometimes all at the same time. She’s the main singer in the Sakura Wars opening for this anime (as well as many of the games), and it really does feel like Shinguji Sakura is bringing the song to life. 

I understand that romance is actually a significant part of the Sakura Wars games, as the player usually takes the role of a male captain who’s in charge of the squad. In the case of the earliest games and related media, that would be Ogami Ichiro, and I believe Ogami and Sakura are the most popular pairing. However, romance isn’t really a huge factor in the anime, and much of the story is focused on Sakura and the others developing bonds that help them to grow as people and warriors, as well as unraveling the secrets of the demons that are plaguing Japan. In this regard, Sakura is shown to possess immense inner strength, focus, and courage, all of which end up translating to becoming a great Kobu pilot over time. 

The Kobu themselves look fantastic, their round shapes and steam valves capturing the setting’s aesthetic better than anything else. They’re distinctive, and their unisex designs means that no specific attention is drawn to the Kobu being piloted primarily by girls. Every character fights in their mecha with weapons similar to what they’d use on foot, and Sakura’s is a single katana. The power, will, and resolve to defend the innocent is actually part of Sakura’s appeal as a yamato-nadeshiko, but this is again presented less as a facet of an ossified woman and more an anchor she can use for stability when she needs it.

Shinguji Sakura is the kind of female protagonist who is often imitated but never duplicated. To be able to embody seemingly contradictory values of progress and tradition while truly betraying neither is a juggling act that can fall apart all too easily. She’s the surest sign that just because a character falls under a dominant archetype doesn’t mean they have to be boring or bland.

A Heroic Endeavor: Shin Ultraman

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If you ever talk to fans of episodic, monster-of-the-week shows, a common refrain is that inevitably not all episodes are winners, but that there is also a flipside: Often, some stories are so good and memorable that they elevate the work as a whole. Whether it’s a particularly poignant moment, an interesting monster, a surprising level of maturity, or even a contribution to the greater overarching plot, there are times when that otherwise simple kids show rises to the occasion. Following this thought, a question often arises. What if all the “excess” was cut out, and you were left with all killer, no filler? 

Shin Ultraman is a film that embodies such an idea. A kind of homage/return-to-roots/reboot all in one, it tells the tale of the original Ultraman TV series in a modern setting. The premise sees Japan invaded by powerful monsters that necessitates the creation of a specialized task force to fend them off. Just as the monsters start to be too much, however, a mysterious giant warrior (later named Ultraman) arrives to help. What ensues is a look at how humanity interacts with Ultraman and vice versa as greater threats emerge, leading to questions about the essential elements of the people of Earth. The film highlights the essence of this classic tokusatsu hero by compressing an entire TV series into an almost two-hour experience—or at least it comes across that way.

My exposure to the Ultraman franchise is sparse at best. While a young me did wake up early every weekend to watch the English-original Ultraman: Towards the Future, much of what I know is though (sub) cultural osmosis and Ultraman’s proximity to anime and manga. Of particular significance to me is the fact that it’s a huge influence on Evangelion—not only does Eva feature similarly giant light-based heroes with time limits, but the director Anno Hideaki is also responsible for Shin Ultraman as part of a pattern of uniting various Japanese pop culture staples (see Shin Godzilla, Shin Kamen Rider, and indeed Shin Evangelion). In the hands of other creators, I might have greater skepticism, but having Anno at the helm at least piqued my curiosity from the start in a way that has since been rewarded.

The fact that there is no established antagonist might make the film seem strange to those who are used to more conventional feature-length storytelling, but I found myself enjoying the range of foes in Shin Ultraman. The basic progression is that every adversary presents an escalating challenge, starting with tougher and tougher monsters that pose increasingly dire threats before making way for dangers that seek to exploit the flaws of humankind: fear, greed, mistrust, and so on. Ultraman is also similarly alien to humanity, but contrasts with the invaders as he gravitates towards and cherishes humanity’s positive qualities, e.g. trust, cooperation, and curiosity. 

Because I’m not an Ultraman fan, there are many references I simply could not catch on the first viewing. Sure, I know about things like Zetton, the monster that ranks as arguably the most iconic final boss in all of tokusatsu, but not much more than that. But when I did read up, I further realized what a love letter Shin Ultraman is. For example, at the very beginning, a brief history of various monsters are shown, all of which are successfully dealt with by humans. I found this curious because normally the monsters in a work like this are simply too much—that’s why you need Ultraman. It turns out that all of these initial monsters are originally from the predecessor to Ultraman, a TV series named Ultra Q. There, it’s about the people of Earth dealing with phenomena, with no alien giants to help. The fact that Shin Ultraman makes this reference to Ultra Q while also using it to establish both the world of the film and the general competence of the human task force is very clever in hindsight.

Without knowing its source material well, I can tell that Shin Ultraman seeks to both bring out and then distill the very core of Ultraman. In that sense, there are many things that could have been done to make it a “better” or “more cohesive” film, but I also think doing so could very well have blunted the effect of Shin Ultraman as a work that tries to capture the essence of a childhood icon and remind everyone of its inherent relevance. Shin Ultraman is both rooted in nostalgia and timeless in its message: There is light in humanity.

Boy Meets Girl Meets Tick-Throw Spinning Piledriver: Hi Score Girl

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I’m happy and grateful that the full Hi Score Girl manga series by Otoi Rekomaru is out in English. It’s one of those manga where, once upon a time, a US release would have been a pipe dream. A nostalgic nerd love story premised around Street Fighter II and the 90s Japan arcade scene? As significant as that era was in Japanese gaming history, it’s a niche among niches. And yet, here we are.

I first discovered the series eight years ago, and was immediately won over by two things. First, there was the eccentric nature of its main duo: the obnoxiously loud gamer kid Haruo and his friend/rival/love interest, the reticent and rampaging Akira. They initially meet at an arcade and feud over a Guile vs. Zangief matchup, and though they never stop butting heads, it’s silly and sweet how they essentially communicate through gaming. That’s not metaphorical either; Akira pretty much never talks. Second, the portrayal of the 90s games and the way Haruo based his very outlook on life on them could have only come from a genuine place. Otherwise, jokes like “messing up the secret select code for Akuma” and “Akira having sympathy for big grappler characters because she feels bad about how little they get chosen” wouldn’t land so well.

The characters age over the course of the 11 volumes, going from elementary to high school and growing alongside the rapid developments in gaming technology. Their transition into adulthood is concurrent with continuous upgrades to Street Fighter II, the advent of 3D fighting games like Virtua Fighter, and so on. A nice narrative device to be sure, but it’s actually surprising seeing how much Haruo actually matures as he comes to understand responsibility in his own way. He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, but his convictions are real.

Hi Score Girl reminds me a lot of one of my all-time favorites, 81 Diver. The art is similarly rough, and the core relationship is as much a rivalry as it is a love story (if not moreso). That’s actually pretty rare in manga focused on het romance, and is usually the domain of fujoshi-adjacent works. But it’s convincing here because of how Otoi portrays the genuine desire for connection, and the way that gap is bridged through gaming. Sure, the premise of a boy meeting an ultra rich mega gamer girl is unrealistic in many ways, but the portrayal makes me want to believe in their love.

In addition to the authenticity of the passion for fighting games, I think what ultimately makes Hi Score Girl work is that while Haruo kind of exists primarily in his gaming-obsessed mental space, the life lessons he draws from games are ultimately his own. He’s a guy with an imaginary friend who gives him pep talks and acts as his conscience, and that friend is often just Guile. Haruo and Akira imbue greater meaning into games, and the games reciprocate by providing them the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat, the comfort of friendship, and the joy of love.

Nostalgia Is Overrated: The Tunnel to Summer, the Exit of Goodbyes (Otakon 2023)

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This film premiered in the US at Otakon 2023.

It’s not uncommon for people to dwell on what might have been. “If only I could get back what I lost, then everything would be better.” The Tunnel to Summer, the Exit of Goodbyes is an anime film that explores this feeling, told through the lens of a summer romance with a spark of the fantastical.

The Tunnel to Summer explores the lives and relationships of two teenagers, a boy named Touno Kaoru and a girl named Hanashiro Anzu, who end up finding an actual urban legend: the Ryuuguu Tunnel that is said to give you your greatest desire but at the price of losing everything. Touno has to deal with an abusive father who blames him for all their troubles and trauma. Hanashiro has something to prove and an attitude to match—one that says, “I have neither the time or patience to deal with stupid crap.” The pair discover that time passes much more quickly in the tunnel, and even a few seconds in there translates to hours in the real world. But the two have wishes they want to fulfill, and so they work together to figure out its secrets, all the while growing closer.

Time dilation isn’t a new premise in Japanese fiction. Both Aim for the Top! Gunbuster and Voices of a Distant Star explore how human relationships can be affected by the uneven passage of time within science fictional settings. Even beyond anime, the Ryuuguu Tunnel itself is a reference to the fairy tale Urashima Tarou, which is about a guy who visits the underwater Ryuuguu-jou (Dragon Palace) for what he perceives as three days but is actually 300 years. As a trope, I actually enjoy time dilation quite a bit because of how it messes with our minds so simply and easily—and The Tunnel to Summer adds another emotional dimension because it’s not just about how they are passively affected by it but also how their active decisions have consequences. The characters must consider how the past (or future) they long for might very well be distracting them from finding happiness in the present. 

Something else that stands out to me is the central relationship between Touno and Hanashiro because of how much the two feel like equals. It sort of brings to mind BL shipping in shounen series, and how often it happens simply because all the boys are involved in the same competition—which often engenders visibly greater passion than whatever interaction the hero has with a female love interest. Here, Touno and Hanashiro feel very much like they’re in it together as they learn and experiment about the Ryuuguu Tunnel. In terms of how this plays out in the overall story, I like how each character is very invested in their mutual endeavor in their own way. The similarities and differences between the two ultimately enriches their relationship and gives the film a nice emotional anchoring.

Because of the subject matter and the seasonal setting, The Tunnel to Summer, the Exit of Goodbyes ends up having a very nostalgic feel while at the same time questioning the value of nostalgia itself. It’s more than just another summer-themed anime movie, carrying a memorable identity all its own.