Of all the decades-long science fiction mega franchises in the world, Doctor Who is definitely one where I’ve long had little, if any exposure.
In my head, it was always this series where people got mad if I called the main character “Doctor Who.” It also had the image of being a relatively low-budget serial adventure that suddenly became big again around 2006 or so, had been going on since television was black and white, and somehow had still kept going. It was (somehow) a still-ongoing story whose various hiccups and plot inconsistencies can be hand-waved away with suspension of disbelief and time travel shenanigans—not unlike a mix of soap opera, pro wrestling, and Star Trek, with shades of the legacy of Buffy the Vampire Slayer in more modern times.
Oh, and I enjoyed seeing that one scene of Daleks vs. Cybermen. It works even without knowing a single bit of actual Doctor Who context.
But until recently, I don’t think I quite appreciated the lasting impact Doctor Who has made on culture and entertainment—not just in the UK, but around the world too.
I think there were two things that prompted me to start looking at the series more in-depth. First, I kept seeing people (including VTubers like Gawr Gura) make reference to the Doctor Who monsters known as Weeping Angels. Second, I read that the Doctor Who theme song is iconic, identifiable, and still very unique even after 60 years…and I couldn’t recognize it even if you played it in full for me. Knowing that this was a missing piece of television and pop culture education in my brain was my motivation to learn. And with a lot of help from a very well-maintained official Doctor Who Youtube channel, I started to just watch clips of iconic scenes from throughout its run going all the way back to the First Doctor. I read discussions about “who’s the best Doctor,” knowing that this debate has been going on for literal decades and across generations and waves of nostalgia. I learned that the aforementioned theme song is one of the two most continuously used theme songs ever (the other being James Bond), and even influenced Pink Floyd.
But one thing I held back on was watching actual full episodes of Doctor Who. Where do you even start? It’s a challenging question, even when compared to similarly old franchises like Gundam or Star Wars don’t have to face. In those cases, “go with some version of the original” does the trick, but with Doctor Who, there are literal episodes of the early era that were never archived, and by most estimations, Doctor Who didn’t hit its stride until at least a few years in.
I ultimately went with “Genesis of the Daleks,” a story from the Fourth Doctor era, because I read that it’s a widely beloved episode featuring one of the most popular Doctors of all time. I understood that it risked color my perception of Doctor Who to an extent, and that it would give me perhaps a different impression from the 21st-century “New Who” era that helped drive Tumblr discourse for over a decade alongside Supernatural and Sherlock (the so-called SuperWhoLock fandom). If this was the “peak” of Doctor Who, I tried to remember that the series is a range and not a single mountain.
I was impressed. Within the caveat of it still being fairly hokey, the basic plot is surprisingly serious and fraught with profound ethical dilemmas. The Doctor being forced to go back in time to try and stop the creation of the cruel, genocidal war machines that would become his greatest nemesis. He finds himself in a “would you shoot Baby Hitler?” scenario and a chance to convince the father of this army of Baby Hitlers to change his mind, only to realize that this creator is beyond all help. (And if the Nazi analogy wasn’t clear enough, all the soldiers fighting this forever war are all very SS-coded.) For a show aware of and expecting young viewers among its audience, these are heavy topics.
(I also can’t help but think about the fact that Nazis were still fresh in the general memory of humanity at this point. It’s perhaps appropriate that I’m watching this at a time when we are realizing once again that Nazism and fascism are clear and present threats that must be confronted.)
But even putting aside the weightiness of the topics, what truly makes “Genesis of the Daleks” work are the performances of the actors themselves. Tom Baker as the Doctor is so very convincing, both in terms of his portrayal of this eccentric protagonist around whom the series revolves, but also with the way he seems to really grapple morally and philosophically with the potential impacts of his decisions. Baker isn’t alone, either, as other actors (notably Elizabeth Sladen as Sarah Jane Smith) also bring a sense of sincerity to their performances.
The ability to make you believe that the characters believe their own words reminds me a lot of tokusatsu from Japan: The shows might look cheap, but the actors and presentation make the stakes feel real, and that’s something that can ring true on some level even if the writing, the visuals, or storytelling styles change. It’s also the case that, like Doctor Who, franchises such as Ultraman and Kamen Rider have themselves been ongoing for decades—with new protagonists coming in on a regular basis, and with continuous growing pains as they try to adapt to the changing times. Because of all this, I came to the conclusion that Doctor Who is basically British tokusatsu.
It’s actually more coincidence than anything else that I started watching Doctor Who during a time that I’ve heard about some wild things going on. I don’t pretend to have an opinion on all that because, well, I’ve just dipped my toes in. But it is funny and amazing to me that this work of fiction is somehow both massive and small, and that it has existed long enough to have made a mark on both the history of prog rock and Tumblr. I don’t know how much more I’ll end up watching, but never say never.
And did I write all that just to talk about watching a single Doctor Who story? Yes. Yes I did.
Cobra Kai finished earlier this year after six seasons, and it has me remembering when I started the Karate Kid spin-off. Back then, it really surprised and impressed me with how much it avoided being a regressive nostalgia fest and tried to put out new ideas, and all while having the old characters look over a new generation of karate students. But like with so many popular things, a bad ending can really sour a series as a whole, so I was still a bit cautious. There’s a reason I’ve never really written about Game of Thrones.
Thankfully, despite the later seasons dragging in places and sometimes forcing drama in certain places like there was an obligation to do so, Cobra Kai finishes strong both emotionally and thematically. It also understands something very fundamental: A show based on The Karate Kid needs to begin and end with karate.
Everything I wrote in my previous review still holds up. Cobra Kai stresses the importance of finding balance, but that there is no one-size-fits-all approach. Sometimes, the aggressive approach of Cobra Kai is exactly what a person needs, but following it to the extremes can cause more harm than good—something Johnny Lawrence (the main character of the series and original bad boy of the franchise) knows all too well. Miyagi-Do, the style and life philosophy of the “Karate Kid” himself, Daniel LaRusso, is more defensive and less likely to lead someone down a dark path, but it might not have the sheer force to break through to the hearts of those who aren’t receptive to it.
There are numerous moments in the show that stress this point, but I think one of the most powerful comes when the character Tory Nichols is facing Sam (daughter of Daniel) to see who will represent Miyagi-Do in the women’s division of the world karate tournament, the Sekai Taikai. Tory’s mother has just passed away, and the girl is distraught and emotionally unstable during the match. The LaRussos see this fact and try to stop Tory, but Johnny understands that Tory needs to let out her emotions through this fight. While Daniel’s heart is in the right place, it’s Johnny who better understands what Tory is going through, and the former’s failure to recognize that causes Tory to abandon Miyagi-Do.
Eventually, pretty much all the characters get their happy endings, which might feel a bit hokey, but the nature of each one really speaks to the unique qualities of each individual. With the setting of a tournament to determine the world’s greatest karate dojo, each person must achieve their balance.
Robby Keene (Johnny’s once-estranged son) has had a rough past with negligent parents and getting roped into the wrong crowd, and Miyagi-Do has helped him temper his anger. When his opponent in the semifinals, Axel Kovačević, purposely breaks his leg, however, Robbie is forced to forfeit. Yet, while he wishes he could have won in front of the world, he also knows in his heart that he had what it took to do so, even if a dirty trick stopped him.
Sam LaRusso decides to quit in the semifinals and give Tory a bye to the finals, it’s because she realizes that she never got into karate to prove that she was the best or the greatest. It’s helped her find good friends, a great boyfriend (despite some Teen Karate Drama), and even mend fences with her rival in Tory. Karate opened the world to her, and she ends up going to college in Okinawa (the birthplace of karate).
Tory Nichols, however, is not like Robby or Sam. She has a chip on her shoulder, guilt over causing so many problems, and a burning desire to beat the crap out of Zara: the arrogant, man-stealing, social media darling waiting for her in the finals. Zara knows how to get into Tory’s head, but an “I love you” and a kiss from Robby brings her back to take 1st place. What Tory needed was to realize that she had people on her side no matter what. When she and Robby also get offers for karate sponsorships, she gains the stability she’s always been searching for.
Miguel Diaz, Johnny’s first student and in many ways the heart and soul of the Cobra Kai series, finds balance in bringing together all the experience he’s gained from not just karate but bonding with everyone. He’s no longer the weak, bullied kid he once was. At the same time, all the challenges he’s faced and the lessons he’s learned from both Cobra Kai and Miyagi-Do unite in him to win the finals against Axel.
As for Axel, he might have been responsible for Robby’s injury, but he ultimately refuses to let the toxicity of his own sensei control him. Despite having strong romantic feelings for Sam (who is Miguel’s girlfriend), as well as being told that his life is worthless without victory, he chooses to be the better man and fight honorably. He helps highlight another key aspect of Cobra Kai: The purpose of teachers and mentors is to pass on the good lessons and understand what should remain in the past. And this isn’t just subtext—it’s stated outright.
Nowhere is this idea more ironically poignant than the original big, bad villain of The Karate Kid: John Kreese. He is responsible for so much of the misery brought forth by the Cobra Kai dojo. The Cobra Kai series delves into his past as a traumatized Vietnam veteran who tried to instill in his students the mantra of “strike hard, strike fast, no mercy” as a way to make them invincible, and it isn’t until the very end that he realizes how much damage he’s caused in the process.
I find the moment of Kreese’s inner revelation interesting, because it doesn’t seem to click until he sees the real master of the Cobra Kai style (an elderly Korean man) using his weaker students as fodder to train the stronger. Even Kreese wanted only to drive weakness out of his students, and not to sacrifice them on the altar of strength. When he remembers his own commander in the Vietnam War (and the one who originally taught him Tang Soo Do) allowing his subordinates to fight to the death as POWs instead of acting as a leader, Kreese decides to end the cycle of abuse, albeit decades after he already traumatized Johnny, LaRusso, and many others. However, he can’t stop being the man he’s been, so his ultimate act of closure is to stop his former friend and literal comrade-in-arms Terry Silver from kidnapping Johnny’s family by fighting Silver and blowing up his yacht. (Whee.)
It all comes to a head when Johnny has to face another teacher, the Iron Dragons’ Sensei Wolf, to determine the overall winning team of the Sekai Taikai. Wolf is younger, stronger, faster, and more skilled, making Johnny the complete underdog, and he’s overwhelmed by fear during the match. But Daniel, knowing Johnny all too well, goes against his normally gentle demeanor and tells him that fear does not exist in Cobra Kai and to “stop being a pussy.” When it comes down to the last point, Johnny sees himself in the same position he was in when he lost to Daniel back in 1984. This time, however, Johnny takes a defensive stance. He looks like he’s about to perform Daniel’s move, the Crane Kick, but instead sweeps the leg and uses the advantage he gains from that to finish Wolf and win it all.
Daniel came to realize that the crass and aggressive philosophy of Cobra Kai was what he needed to successfully communicate with a panicked Johnny, but he used it to communicate a lesson Mr. Miyagi taught him: You can lose the match, but you must not lose to fear. Johnny, in turn, used the patient defense of Miyagi-Do but adapted it to his own style, changing the context of the iconic “sweep the leg” line that is one of the most lasting pieces of pop culture from The Karate Kid.
Overall, through the ups and downs, Cobra Kai sticks the landing magnificently. It understands that it has old fans watching, but also a new audience who don’t know anything about Karate Kid. It stresses that the young can learn from the old, and that the old can learn from the young.
As a final note, I think one thing that really gets across the positive vibes of the series is the sheer number of cameos from the old movies. They seem to be there to give props to as many people who were involved with The Karate Kid, no matter how big or small their roles were. It’s a celebration in the best way: One that knows that when the party ends, there’s still more to do to make life better.
When I first saw the opening of Blue Comet SPT Layzner, I was blown away. The music, the animation, the dramatic flair, the giant robots—it all worked together to make me want to see the show for real someday.
This was my introduction to Layzner, and it would be a long time before I was able to watch the series. Now that I have, I’ve come away feeling that this Cold War relic is not only an excellent work despite major setbacks, but actually more relevant than ever, for better or worse.
Before actually watching it, I continued to encounter Layzner in different forms. In the first TV series of my beloved Genshiken, there’s an episode preview narration where the characters are talking about anime that got their runs cut short. The character Madarame (i.e. the nerdiest of the nerds) posits the curious notion that it’s not so much that great shows often get canceled but that getting canceled is the very sign of a great show. One of the series he mentions is the thinly veiled title Dizner, which taught me that Layzner was an anime that got kneecapped.
Was this abrupt end a case of a show burning bright and then fizzling out? Or maybe the merch simply didn’t sell; that happens all the time. But the truth is more bizarre, and tells the story of a series cursed by circumstances beyond its control—a faulty kerosene heater made by the primary sponsor of Layzner, Sanyo Electronics,meant funding ended up being pulled.
Later, I would command the characters of Layzner through my import copy of Super Robot Wars GC, but because my Japanese was not all that great at the time, my understanding of the story was limited, as was my awareness of how exactly it was rushed. (Having Shin Getter Robo and Mazinkaiser show up doesn’t exactly reflect the story of Layzner with great accuracy either.)
But now, in 2025, I can say I have watched all 38 episodes of Blue Comet SPT Layzner, plus the three OVAs made to give the series some semblance of a real conclusion. But before I get to the end, I need to talk about the beginning and all the potential this anime held and indeed lived up to, until things went sideways.
Watching Layzner
In the future year of 1996, the Cold War between the US and USSR has expanded into the stars. During a visit to a space station by a youth culture club, a mysterious figure appears. His name is Eiji Asuka, and he has come to warn the Earth of an impending invasion by his home planet, Grados. Eiji is half Earthling, and he does not want his father’s world destroyed by war. The advanced giant robots known as SPTs are far superior to anything humankind has created, but luckily, Eiji has an SPT of his own: the powerful Layzner. However, his abhorrence towards killing weighs heavily on him when he might have to turn his weapons on the very people from his home planet. This is made doubly troublesome because the A.I. of Layzner seems to hold a dangerous secret that makes it much less merciful than Eiji himself.
Layzner drew me in instantly with its compelling story, its characters’ political and philosophical conflicts, and its overall animation and style—80s “real robot” anime at its finest. Every episode brims with drama and intensity, and the action is consistently exciting. Central to it all is Eiji himself, who definitely has a place in the Mecha Angst Hall of Fame. Unlike the stoic Chirico Cuvie from director Takahashi Ryousuke’s Armored Trooper VOTOMS, Eiji is deeply passionate about his love for both Grados and Earth, and the determination he must hold while his heart aches makes for one of the finest (and indeed angstiest) protagonists ever. His compassion also helps win over some of the more skeptical Earthlings, who go from mistrusting him to being some of his closest allies. One of those humans, a 14-year-old girl named Anna Stephanie, acts as the narrator for the series.
The Mid-Series Tonal Shift
Like with so many anime that are set to run for an entire year, the “halfway” point for Layzner comes with a massive shift and changing of the status quo. Whereas the first 26 episodes are about Eiji trying to reach the Earth in the hopes of preventing or at least slowing down war, the second part sees the plot jump forward a few years to a time when the Earth is dealing with a brutally regime that is trying to stamp out all nearly aspects of human culture, including books and art. Given our current political climate—where right-wing leaders who are largely fascists, racists, and grifters who are trying to force their backwards view of humanity onto the world and bilk us for all we’re worth—I found myself taking a bit of psychological damage. Seeing the main New York Public Library being set on fire hits a little too close to home, and it makes me all too aware of the fact that I might have viewed this series differently if I had watched it even 10 years earlier.
Eiji himself changes during this time, abandoning some of his more pacifist tendencies in favor of outright opposition against the powers that be. He also goes from that angsty young man with a thinner build to a brooding and brawny freedom fighter. While he isn’t Fist of the North Star Kenshiro levels of being a barrel-chested Greek god, the difference is noticeable.
However, the biggest transformation goes to Anna Stephanie, who grows into a strong 17-year-old girl and has basically learned what it means to fight in the face of oppression from her time with Eiji. Anna might be a sticking point for viewers, as her younger self seems designed to appeal to lolicon fans, and they set up a burgeoning romance towards the end of the first 26 episodes that’s made more blatant after the timeskip (including an ending theme talking about love and longing). While Eiji is supposed to be 16 (later 19), his design is such that he looks much more mature than Anna, and I have to wonder if the timeskip designs are meant to make the pairing more generally palatable.
The Early Finish
It’s fairly clear around when the sponsorship got pulled because the show begins to make giant leaps forward in time with only the briefest explanations as to what has changed. The final episode answers next to nothing, functioning like a canceled manga’s non-conclusion. The third and final OVA episode basically replaces Episode 38 and gives a greater sense of closure to Layzner as a whole, but still has to suffer from the fact that the series was originally forced to rush through its story by the end. That said, it’s truly fascinating to see what a work of fiction prioritizes when it suddenly doesn’t have enough time left, and Layzner chooses to up the political and emotional drama of its characters.
If there’s a significant flaw of the series that is not wholly related to having its year-long run cut short, it’s that Lazyner sometimes doesn’t seem to know what to do with certain characters. For example, the initial image of Eiji’s sister comes from the ending sequence, where it implies that she is some kind of gentle soul draped in a white dress. However, when we finally meet her in the series, she is a focused warrior intent on revenge. Then, after the timeskip, she becomes more like a messianic religious leader whose pacifism gives hope to the people. Another character whose purpose seems to change over time is Le Cain, the talented and powerful son of the Gradosian commander who is leading the assault on Earth. Introduced later in the series, he swings from arrogant and brutal antagonist to honorable rival to naive noble desperate for his father’s approval, with some romantic sparks between him and Eiji’s sister. I get the sense that Le Cain ended up being a popular character, and that the show tried to lean into this.
Final Thoughts
Hobbled by aspects outside of the production’s control, Blue Comet SPT Layzner is nevertheless an all-time great that tragically could have been even better if it was allowed to tell its full story. It has the characters, the story, and the thematic messages to be a timeless classic, and unfortunately for us, it is perhaps more relevant than ever before. I’m very glad I watched Layzner after all these years. While it might have taken forever, the timing might have been perfect: In the world we live in now, Lazyner makes me feel more invigorated to stand up for human dignity.
Recently, I watched Akira Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai for the first time. I’ve long been aware of Kurosawa’s reputation as one of the greatest filmmakers of all time, and that Seven Samurai is often seen as his magnum opus, but only in the past few years have I actually begun to engage with his work.
Having now seen the film, I feel it deserves every bit of praise it has ever received. Its storytelling, cinematography, acting, and themes all hold up extremely well. The word “timeless” is thrown around often, but little to nothing about Seven Samurai feels dated in its presentation, and that helped me to understand why this was such a pivotal work in the history of film. Given that this is one of the most discussed movies of all time, there’s not much (if anything) I can add to the conversation. Nevertheless, I still want to say something.
Seven Samurai is set in feudal Japan, where a poor farming village is the victim of bandits. Left with next to nothing, a group of villagers go into the city to try to hire a samurai to protect them from the next impending raid. However, most samurai are either too expensive to hire, and most of the ones who would be okay with merely receiving food as payment aren’t exactly the best. But when they see one samurai go to great lengths to rescue a girl being held hostage, they know he’s the one. After some desperate pleading, this veteran agrees to help, but he must first gather six other capable allies if they have any chance of repelling the bandits.
Reading about Seven Samurai, I’ve come to learn that it is not just any film about bringing the band together—it is the film. While there are precedents in other forms of media (notably the Chinese classic Water Margin and its whopping 108 heroes), it is the grandfather of this ever-popular genre in cinema, and shines strongly against its descendants after all these years. The utterly unique personalities of all seven warriors, and the ebb and flow of harmony and discord created by their interactions amidst the mission at hand is just amazing. That influence can be felt in the fact that its characters and their archetypes are still referenced in media to this day, like the stoic (yet deceptively kind) figure dedicated solely to his swordsmanship, the young noble who wishes to be one of the down-and-dirty heroes so unlike his upbringing, and the brash and bearded rebel who eschews all the etiquette and formality of the elite.
The only thing that makes the film feel of an entirely different time is its portrayal of women, which reminds me more of Golden Age Hollywood with its dramatic closeups of fluttering eyelashes and the like, as well as the relatively reductive roles of the female actresses.
If anyone is daunted by the age of Seven Samurai or its 3 ½ hour run time, don’t be. It doesn’t require its viewer to be a dedicated student of cinema or to have a particular fondness for the classics. Kurosawa’s most famous film remains compelling, exciting, and filled with important messages about how things are achieved through mutual aid and cooperation.
“This is the nature of war. By protecting others, you save yourself. If you only think of yourself, you’ll only destroy yourself.”
As an anime and manga fan, I enjoy checking out the big fan favorites of yesteryear. It helps broaden my perspective on these artforms, and gives me an opportunity to form my own opinions on a work and not rely solely on the views of others. And who knows—maybe I’ll get a new favorite. In this spirit, I recently familiarized myself with a manga that is not only beloved worldwide for its portrayal of soccer but also the father of the modern shounen “team sports boys” format. Before Blue Lock, Yowamushi Pedal, Haikyu!, Prince of Tennis, and Slam Dunk, there was 1981’s Captain Tsubasa by Takahashi Yoichi.
Regarding reading older major titles, Shounen Jump has been a consistent resource of works for me to tap, such as Saint Seiyaand Hunter x Hunter. But while these titles are huge in their own right, Captain Tsubasa’s influence is really something special.
In Japan, Captain Tsubasa helped propel the popularity of soccer nationwide, even being published in a time when “World Cup” wasn’t even a commonly known phrase. Abroad, it gained popularity anywhere soccer was. On my most recent trip to Japan, I watched an episode of Why Did You Come to Japan?, a well-known program that interviews foreigners who are in Japan. This particular episode followed a German fan who made a pilgrimage just out of love for the series, during which he got to visit the real inspiration for the school in the series, among other things. There’s also a famous story about the occupation of Iraq by the US military, where water trucks were covered with images from Captain Tsubasa to show that they were friendly vehicles.
Creating love for soccer at home and garnering praise internationally for its portrayal of the sport are parts of the legacy of Captain Tsubasa. But it was also important in another area that has become a prominent part of anime and manga culture: doujinshi. In my review of the giant robot anime God Mars (also from 1981), I described it as one two series fundamental to the establishment of the fujoshi fandom as we know it today—the other wasCaptain Tsubasa. Having read the entirety of the first manga series, I now feel that I understand exactly why this story of young soccer athletes achieved the hat trick of domestic influence, international acceptance, and subculture proliferation.
Let’s talk about the actual story: Captain Tsubasa kicks off with a hell of an introduction to its main character, Ozora Tsubasa. As a small child, Tsubasa is literally saved from a truckby a soccer ball (avoiding the isekai protagonist fate, in the modern parlance), and his life is forever changed. The boy falls in love with the sport, treating the ball like an extension of his body. And as Tsubasa grows from impetuous kid to adult with soccer in his heart (though I only read up to the point where he finishes middle school), he influences every other player he meets, be they friendly or adversarial or both.
Those looking at Captain Tsubasa, especially from a modern perspective, might be surprised by its aesthetic, expecting a title known for its various fandoms to either have characters who look impossibly cool or incredibly beautiful. Instead, Takahashi’s designs feature ridiculously long and stilt-like legs, squashed craniums, and bird-like eye placement that makes it seem as if the characters can see in two different directions at once. How could this possibly be the series that helped spark soccer fandom and spawned shounen sports BL shipping? Yet, despite the odd look of the characters themselves, two things become clear even from the very beginning.
First, the manga is fantastic at depicting action and tension. When portraying things like passing, dribbling, and goal attempts, the art is very clear and easy to follow while still creating excitement. When the athletes use their ridiculous signature moves (that aren’t meant to be supernatural but still play fast and loose with the laws of physics), there’s a satisfying sense of weight and emotion. The paneling frequently takes advantage of the double page spread to portray very wide shots, especially when points are being scored. It almost feels as if Takahashi made some kind of pact that made him a genius at depicting characters in action in exchange for being bad at drawing them standing still.
Kojiro as a gigantic grade schooler
They’re also all weirdly mature-looking. Some 10-year-olds look like they’re 16, while some 14-year-olds look like they’re 30—something we see in later titles like Prince of Tennis.
Second, many of the tropes of the shounen sports boys genre—namely having a wide-ranging cast of passionate guys engaging in intense forms of camaraderie and rivalry—are on full display here. Wakabayashi Genzo the goalkeeper starts off as Tsubasa’s first antagonist while later developing a nagging ankle injury that stymies him at dramatic moments. Misaki Taro is a student from out of town who becomes Tsubasa’s most reliable partner on offense, but who can only play for their school for a year before his family has to move away. Ace striker Hyuga Kojiro sees Tsubasa as the man he must take down, and his violent, win-at-all-costs mentality comes from a heartfelt desire to support his family. Wakashimazu Ken is a reliable goalkeeper for Kojiro who utilizes his karate background to defy what should be possible in soccer. Matsuyama Hikaru emphasizes teamwork above all else as the captain of his team. Misogi Jun is a handsome and noble all-around genius who would be the greatest youth player in Japan if not for his congenital heart disease that limits his playtime. And there are other characters.
If you were to ask who is Tsubasa’s greatest rival/partner, there really is no clear answer, making the series ripe for explorations of the imagination of various kinds. All the ingredients are there, whether one is reading for the competitive soccer or the bromances, and it’s doubly powerful when you realize how these very characters fueled their archetypal descendents in the following decades.
It’s also worth noting that all the female characters are the kinds of managers and sideline supporters typical of sports boys series, except that this was an era when they were clearly intended to be romantic partners down the line instead of mainly audience-perspective characters. For example, Tsubasa’s main love interest, Nakazawa Sanae, starts off as a tomboyish ouendan-style cheer squad leader but becomes more “feminine” over time. I actually got a little miffed that the story couldn’t even keep that fun aspect of Sanae’s character. It’s no wonder why the female fans gravitated towards guy-guy pairings, regardless of their inclinations towards BL in the first place.
But when Captain Tsubasa is at full strength, the excitement jumps off the page. The matches start off as exaggerated depictions of actual soccer before transforming into something that looks more like a battle manga at times. Many scenes feature opposing players clashing in mid-air like they’re Fist of the North Star characters who happen to have a soccer ball between them, and while it does start to feel ridiculous, I can’t deny the infectious energy. Though its tropes are old hat in the realm of sports boys at this point, the series holds up very well. There’s so much manly passion in this manga that it’s no wonder it formed so many different fandoms and even played a part in making soccer a national sport in Japan.
Personally speaking, the ball is not my friend, but maybe Captain Tsubasa is now.
Thunderbolt Fantasy 4 aired a few months ago, with Crunchyroll making the series available to English speakers after it concluded. The season is the penultimate entry before the movie finale, and I wanted to just get some thoughts out before I finish it all. Everything I said in my first and second reviews still applies, and Thunderbolt Fantasy is still something that I hope everyone checks out, whether in spite of its medium (epic puppets) or because of.
More eyeballs on it! More!
Thunderbolt Fantasy is the story of Shāng Bù Huán, a mysterious wandering swordsman who is trying to collect and seal the mystical weapons that once helped humanity beat back an invasion from the Demon Realm, but are now dangerous remnants that are sought after. He meets many eclectic (and often dangerous) personalities—some friends and some foes, but always larger than life. This most recent season finally brings the story to the Demon Realm itself, and while it’s as eerie and dreadful a place as one might expect, there are some surprising twists about what it’s really like, and the powerful figures who run it. Reunions and revelations are plentiful, but there are also new characters who make a hell of an impression (pun only somewhat intended).
Without going into spoilers, this is a series where truly anything is possible and it hits on so many different levels of entertainment. You’re mainly interested in shounen battle anime? The fights in this series are amazing and the characters are some of the coolest I’ve ever seen. Oh, you love witty reparté by a large cast of charismatic characters? This is writer Urobuchi Gen (Madoka Magica, Saya no Uta) at his very best. How about a narrative with robust world building that rewards viewers but doesn’t take itself too seriously? Ample opportunities for shipping both queer and het? Great portrayals of characters not limited by gender stereotypes? All satisfyingly covered. Heck, are you really into yandere? Take your pick, because there’s more than one.
Thunderbolt Fantasy may be over in Japan, which means now is a great time to just sit down and watch through it. I hope to see you on the other side!
Wonderful Precure! is the 21st anime series to carry the Precure name, and it continues a trend of breaking unspoken rules of the now decades-old magical girl franchise. But whereas the previous series broke age and gender barriers, Wonderful Precure! defies one of the most core aspects of its predecessors: how it approaches violence.
The story of Wonderful Precure! centers around Komugi, a Papillon Dog and resident of Animal Town who wishes she could communicate with her owner, Inukai Iroha. When the town’s mystical Mirror Stone grants Komugi the ability to speak human language and even transform into a person, her friendship with Iroha grows closer than ever. She also gains the ability to transform into the magical girl Cure Wonderful and face off against monsters called Garugaru—once-peaceful animals who have been twisted and corrupted into dark creatures. Later, she’s joined by Iroha (as Cure Friendy), as well as Cure Nyammy and Cure Lilian.
Komugi is not the first combination of magical girl and mascot in Precure, with characters like Milky Rose and Cure Parfait coming before her. However, she’s the first to be the main heroine. This in itself is a notably different angle taken by Wonderful Precure!, but even bigger is the fact that Wonderful Precure! is the first Precure to all but eschew combat as a fundamental part of the Precure experience.
When Futari no Pretty Cure hit Japanese airwaves back in 2004 and kicked off the Precure franchise, something caught the eyes of viewers about the way its heroines fought. Action-focused magical girls had been a thing since Cutie Honey in the 1970s, and Sailor Moon was home to heroines who could shoot lightning and cause earthquakes, but Cure Black and Cure White threw hands. They’d punch, kick, back fist, throw, and when the time came, shoot a massive energy beam to finish monsters off. (The original director also famously worked on Dragon Ball Z). Though never portrayed in a bloody manner, violence became a key element of Precure. Later entries would follow this to varying degrees, some preferring to concentrate more on elemental blasts and mystical energies, while others continuing the fisticuffs with gusto.
In contrast, outside of a few episodes where it’s a point of character conflict, the heroines of Wonderful Precure! don’t ever try to hurt the Garugaru. Rather, they try to corner them like, well, animals so that they can heal and restore the poor transformed critters. The approach is understandable: The creators probably wanted to discourage kids from punching animals. I also can’t tell if removing violence from Precure is a brave move or a conservative one, but it does make for a much less action-packed anime as a result, for better or worse.
Precure has always primarily targeted young girls (with things for older fans to appreciate), but Wonderful Precure! has a more childish feel than all previous titles. That said, this series isn’t entirely toothless. The animal theme emphasizes cuddles and fun, but the series also brings up the harm humans have inflicted on animals and the environment. The reality of people being responsible for the extinction of entire species becomes a vital part of the narrative, especially towards the end. It’s just that Wonderful Precure! approaches its pacing more like episodic anime from decades past, saving all the heavy stuff for the final stretch. It also has what I think is the best execution of an actual heterosexual romance Precure has ever seen, as well as possibly the best main villain ever.
One other thing that I believe is particularly cool about the series is that it tries hard to counter gender stereotypes. Iroha’s dad (who as far as we know is straight) is a mountain of muscle who dresses in frilly pink and shows tender kindness to all the animals he takes care of. Iroha’s longtime friend, a boy named Toyama Satoru, is a gentle soul who uses his dedicated study of animals to support the girls. And funnily enough, Satoru has a pet rabbit named Daifuku, who you might expect to be an adorable cinnamon roll. But when Komugi translates Daifuki’s speech, it turns out the fluff ball has the most badass manly speech mannerisms in the entire series. Trust me that the last aspect pays off.
While Wonderful Precure prefers it heroines to not kick ass and take names, that isn’t the case with the next series, You and Idol Precure! This may very well be the first and last time Precure decides to take a more peaceful approach, but it makes for a series that stands out all the more as a result. Wonderful Precure! can be profound in its own ways if you give it the chance to tell its story.
hololive 6th fes—the latest edition of the largest VTuber live concert in the world—happened earlier this month, from March 8th to the 9th. Watching it online, I came away feeling that this event was potentially a pivotal moment for hololive and its talents.
As an agency, hololive has come a very long way. What began as the off-shoot of a small tech start-up of around 10 employees named Cover corp has become a massive corporation of over 500, as well as the first name in VTubing. In other words, a lot has happened, and the performances seemed to reflect the various contrasts that come with this change: the simplicity and instability of the past versus the complexity and stability of the present, the advantages and disadvantages of playing it safe versus taking risks, and looking back to remember the good times but also to show how far they’ve come.
Performances with Extra Meaning
Related to this sense of history and where it might lead, the biggest story going into 6th fes happened only a few days earlier: Murasaki Shion of hololive Japan’s 2nd generation announced she would be graduating at the end of April, meaning this would be her last fes, and thus one last chance for the fans who gathered there live to show her their appreciation.
Thus, Shion’s performance became a major focal point for the whole event, where she performed her latest single: “Gomen ne Medicine.” The song’s lyrics talk about trying to create a medicine to heal, that she’s sorry if it ends up doing more harm in the process, and how she’s not able to properly convey her gratitude—a message that hits differently in hindsight. Moreover, she received one of the coveted spots in the concert venue’s new center stage contraption, putting her even more in the spotlight. The result was a highly emotional performance that was both a celebration of Shion’s 6.5 years at hololive and an acknowledgment that this was the beginning of the end.
Kazama Iroha’s participation was also a big deal. Afflicted with a psychological condition that prevented her from speaking, she managed to find her voice again sooner than her doctor had anticipated, and she’s been gradually streaming again. However, Iroha’s speech has become a bit halting and noticeably different from the boisterous and rapid-fire style she once had, so the question was how this might affect both her singing and potentially her MCing. But she managed to perform her original song “Mahou Shoujo Magical GOZARU” with little trouble, and while there was a few moments of hesitation in her talking, these were only minor hiccups
Iroha recently mentioned that her appearance at 6th fes almost didn’t happen. Now, she’s taking another hiatus in the hopes of fixing her speech and preventing her current way of speaking from becoming the standard.
The Center Stage
I need to talk about that center stage pod Shion (and others) used before proceeding further.
hololive fes has gotten increasingly huge over the years, and now the Makuhari Messe convention space appears to be at capacity for how many people can attend the concerts. There also weren’t differently priced tickets, so having a stage on just one end would be unfair to the people sitting all the way in the back. Last year, the solution they came up with was to have three different stages in different spots, so the “front” of the audience changed, depending on the performance.
This year, they went with two stages and a pod in the middle of the space. The two stages were similar to 5th fes’s, but the pod was so unusual that at first, I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. Essentially, it was a three-sided structure that rotated continuously, with a single performer displayed on the screens and additional walls blocking certain angles. I think the idea was that it gave a chance for everyone in the 360 degree space to get a decent view, but because the stream view could only ever see one screen, I couldn’t tell if the other two were showing the performer at different angles (for a kind of pseudo-3D hologram view), but I’ve seen others online say that was the case.
On the one hand, I was a little disappointed that this wasn’t a true 360-degree hologram like I thought it might be when hololive first shared the venue diagram. On the other hand, I appreciate that they tried to improve on 5th fes, even if their answer was a little ridiculous.
The ones who appeared on center stage in addition to Shion were Houshou Marine, Hoshimachi Suisei, Nekomata Okayu, Takane Lui, Sakura Miko, Tokino Sora, Ayunda Risu, Natsuiro Matsuri, and Moona Hoshinova (note that I may have missed some). There is no singular thing they all have in common, but many are pillars of the company, known for their excellent vocals, and/or have recent (or upcoming) solo concerts/album releases.
6th fes Debuts
This year, two generations made their first hololive fes appearances: English’s Advent and DEV_IS’s ReGLOSS. The two are kind of like sister groups, even covering each other’s music. And while neither group has a long history with hololive (around a year and a half for both), their group song choices already seem to reflect slightly different approaches.
Advent went with their debut number, “Rebellion.” However, compared to their initial recording and even their multiple previous performances for their 3D showcase and the live concert Breaking Dimensions, Advent has improved noticeably. Nerissa Ravencroft and (actual) twin sisters FuwaMoco were already strong singers, but Nerissa’s voice seemed more stable and FuwaMoco’s harmonies sound wonderful as ever. Shiori Novella continued to benefit from switching to a lower register where she has more control (as opposed to the higher notes of the original recording), and Koseki Bijou had more strength in her vocals. It’s the best “Rebellion” has ever sounded.
ReGLOSS, instead of picking their first song, went with their fourth: “Feelingradation.” To be fair, ReGLOSS just has more music they’ve done as a group compared to Advent (and even most generations in hololive, for that matter), but I still think it was a noticeable decision to not choose “Shunkan Heartbeat.” Much like Advent, however, their progress isn’t an illusion. Todoroki Hajime is still an impeccable dancer (easily top 2 or 3 in hololive) and Otonose Kanade is the heart of the group with her amazing singing, but Hiodoshi Ao, Ichijou Ririka, and Juufuutei Raden all took steps to improve their weaker areas for this performance. Listening to it, I’m reminded how much I love their music; it’s exactly up my alley.
Remember the Big Hits?
Compared to every previous year, I felt that 6th fes emphasized how long hololive has been around. It was like a combination of nostalgia trip, a desire to celebrate personal legacies, and an attempt to capitalize on major successes. For example, this year saw six medley performances—double what was at 5th fes.
In a concert event that is often about mixing things up, it’s also notable that three of the older and more beloved pairings were featured. Shirogane Noel and Shiranui Flare of JP’s 3rd gen (from 2019) once bought matching rings. Shishiro Botan and Yukihana Lamy of JP’s 5th gen were also a close duo when they first started in 2020. Nekomata Okayu and Inugami Korone have a friendship that actually predates hololive, and their song of choice was “If…” by Da Pump, calling back to one of their most viral karaoke moments from four years ago. As if to show off how much they’ve improved, the two performed the song straight instead of breaking into giggles, Okayu covering the singing parts with her buttery voice and Korone handling the rap portions while busting a move and literally doing cartwheels.
Additionally, this year’s fourth concert was called the Creators’ Stage, and it was promoted as a highlight of notable music makers who have worked with Hololive talents. But in light of previous years, which featured concerts promoting full collaborative albums with groups like deco*27 and Honeyworks, the Creators’ Stage felt more conservative. The most unusual thing was seeing what combination of girls sang together. Moreover, the Creators’ featured three songs from Houshou Marine, and while she is one of their most famous members, it felt like either 1) a case of last-minute substitutions or 2) the company really wanted to get the popular songs in. One song was even performed twice, namely Marine and Kobo Kanaeru’s “III” (which I’ve learned is pronounced “Ai-Ai-Ai” and not “Three”). While repeating songs had the advantage of allowing people to hear these songs without purchasing multiple tickets, I suspect this was not the main motivating factor.
I don’t think playing it safe or referencing the past is inherently bad. The medleys can exist because the individual talents have enough songs to make them possible at all. All of it was also still very entertaining, and some of these performances were among my favorites of the weekend. Nevertheless, it came across to me as at least partly an exercise in caution.
The Dancers Grow Ever Stronger
The number of skilled dancers increased and the established ones continued to improve, treating us to some astounding performances.
Hakos Baelz covered Ado’s “Show,” and displayed the intense energy and skill that her fans have come to know and love. While it didn’t have the striking movements of “GEKIRIN” at Breaking Dimensions or the daringness of the interpretive contemporary dance from 5th fes, something about the routine felt like it was specifically designed to accentuate her strongest attributes and to showcase improvements she made in the past year.
Later during an MC section, Bae revealed that she came up with her choreography for “Show” herself. In a post-event stream, she also mentioned that her zombie-like rise from the floor (a move she learned when she was five!) was something she tried to put into last year’s performance, but the technology they used couldn’t handle it. The girl literally pushed the limits of what was possible with Cover’s motion tracking and helped cause it to improve.
The rat wasn’t the only one to put on an amazing dance show. Todoroki Hajime’s smooth confidence showed why she and Bae are seen as the very best. I adore Takanashi Kiara’s “Mirage,” and the adaptations she made to dancing a solo version worked well. Vestia Zeta’s snappy hip and movements are etched into my memory. Aki Rosenthal was originally known as possibly the best dancer early on, looked the best she has in a long time.
Roads Less Traveled
Usually, La+ Darknesss is a part of that list of dancers, and she did make for a great idol dance trio with Matsuri and Momosuzu Nene. However, for her solo performance this year, the leader of holoX eschewed a complex choreography for a greater focus on singing. As a fan of hers, I find this noteworthy because La+’s voice has struggled some ever since illness forced her to change the way she speaks and even laughs. But here, singing “Tokyo Teddy Bear,” she sounded maybe the best she has outside of a studio recording in a while. And while she didn’t have a fully structured routine, she brought her characteristic energy and impeccable sense of poise when posing.
La+ wasn’t the only one to mess with expectations. Korone usually picks an older obscure song (like the opening to a 1990s horse-racing anime), but this time, she actually went with one of her originals (and threw in a one-handed cartwheel). Matsuri jokingly refers to herself as “the pure one (seiso tantou)” when she’s extremely upfront about her horniness, but her performance of her newest original, “Love Letter,” could easily convince listeners that she’s telling the truth about herself. Ouro Kronii—known for her mature, sardonic personality and her equally mature figure—was perhaps the last person anyone expected to sing “Loli Kami Requiem.”
Other performances saw talents go outside their comfort zones. Nanashi Mumei usually focuses mainly on singing but this time danced a fairly elaborate choreography. Kaela Kovalskia is one of the least “stage”-oriented members of hololive, but her cover of Digimon Adventure’s “Brave Heart” was a real crowd pleaser. In this way, there were definitely places where experimentation contrasted with the reliable approach of the concert as a whole.
“Familiar” Doesn’t Mean Bad
While not everyone was about taking on wild new challenges, that doesn’t mean the more expected ones were by any means bad or disappointing. In fact, a lot of these “expected” performances were among my favorites. IRyS sang “TwiLight,” which has become my favorite original song of hers, and gave me exactly what I was hoping for. Oozora Subaru hyped up the crowd through her contagious energy. Tokoyami’s deep voice is still a thrill to experience. Airani Iofifteen went for something cute and poppy, and while her two genmates are better known for their singing prowess, Iofi really played into her niche well. Gawr Gura is already known for having a soothing singing voice, but her cover of the sorrow-laden song “Dango Daikazoku” from Clannad left me with emotions welling up.
And then there’s Haachama, whose orthodoxy is being unorthodox. She came in with her new metal-influenced song titled “Who2” (a play on futsuu, or “normal”), and she expressed a chaotic fervor reminiscent of her duet with Kureiji Ollie from two years ago. If it weren’t for the impact of her surprise return at 5th fes, this would probably be my favorite showing by her yet.
The New Idol Uniforms
The last thing I want to talk about is the fact that almost all hololive members at 6th fes received a new outfi (the exception is ReGLOSS, who already have unique idol outfits). It was the first in two years, and unlike at 4th fes, there’s one general template across all regions instead of having specific designs for Japan, Indonesia, and English branches. I think the design both looks good and stands out as unique compared to all the previous idol outfits, and I particularly enjoy the little aspects that individual talents can customize. The only drawback is something that has applied to all the shared outfits: The bodies are often generalized and don’t necessarily capture the look and proportions of their original models. I hope hololive can make that accommodation someday.
Final Thoughts
hololive 6th fes felt like a victory lap that was also a cautious straddling between the old and the new. In last year’s review, I mentioned how the dramatic rise of hololive made the difference between the older fes events and the most recent ones very apparent. Six events in, we’re now firmly on the side of “grand and polished”—perhaps to such an extent that we can’t ignore its sheer weight as the biggest VTuber company in the world.
When it starts up the engine, hololive has more momentum than anyone else, but it can be hard to change course. At the same time, having a diverse talent pool each with their own strengths means that even if the company as a whole can’t be as nimble, they can still create in-roads to other possibilities. I am fairly optimistic that they can find a decent balance between the two while thinking about the long-term wellbeing of both the company and the people working in it.
Next year will be Justice and FLOW GLOW’s turns to take the big stage, and I’m excited to see how they shine. I get the sense that both groups are going to excel in 3D performances.
When the DX Soul of Chogokin Mechagodzilla figure was announced last year to celebrate the 50th anniversary of Godzilla’s mechanical nemesis, I was drawn to it immediately. The 1974 film Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla (awkward English dub and all) was a part of my childhood, and seeing this ultra-high-quality representation of the robot menace brought to the surface the realization of just how much I love its design. Between a strong dollar to yen exchange rate, a relatively low cost compared to other figures from the deluxe line (the DX Mazinger Z from thirteen years ago cost twice as much!), and the fact that this Mechagodzilla actually plays its own theme song, this was a must-buy.
Now that I have it in my hands, it makes me think about why exactly I love the classic Showa Mechagodzilla design so much.
Before I elaborate, I want to briefly talk about my experience with the figure itself. This DX SoC Mechagodzilla is so hefty and filled with diecast metal that it was initially cold to the touch. The paint job is intentionally done to give it a bit of shading and depth, and to make it look unpolished, just like in the movie. The articulation is a bit limited, but the head rotates 360 degrees just like when it’s creating a barrier, and it comes with the requisite sound effects (plus many others). About the only thing I wish it had was the song that plays when the monster first drops its disguise and is revealed in all its terrifying chrome glory, in addition to the main theme. Just playing with this toy affirms how fantastic it is.
The Showa version is also my favorite Mechagodzilla iteration ever, and it’s not just nostalgia at work. As an iconic Godzilla villain, Mechagodzilla has appeared in every era of the movie franchise, and it gets updated to match the times. The Heisei, Millennium, and Monsterverse versions are all cool in their own ways. Yet, they don’t have the same charm. The first two are almost too sleek, and the way they replicate the chest and arm muscles of Godzilla kind of detracts from the aesthetic for me. The last one, I’m not as much of a fan of the silhouette and the Michael Bay Transformers–esque bits and dongles.
In contrast, the Showa Mechagodzilla has just the right balance of “imperfection” to me, both in its 70s-era idea of “futuristic technology” and the fact that it’s not actually trying to closely adhere to the actual Godzilla’s appearance. This version looks like hunks and sheets of metal riveted together. The cybernetic behemoth mimics the broad strokes of Godzilla’s body but not the finer details. Even the fact that it doesn’t try to match its inspiration’s approach to fighting is something I find appealing—the original Mechagodzilla comes with its own arsenal of rays and missiles, yet it doesn’t even bother to have its own version of Godzilla’s signature atomic breath. And it definitely has my favorite face of them all, one that’s distinct and menacing with its pointed and angular shape. The result is that Mechagodzilla is less about appearing “perfect” and more geared towards the goal of destruction and conquest.
I really do think that the Showa Mechagodzilla design is eternal. It’s identifiably of its era, but I find it to be more timeless than any of its descendants.
Mecha-Ude: Mechanical Arms is a series that went under the radar and deserves attention. In an industry that can often play it safe, here is an anime that first began as a Kickstarter project before being turned into a full-fledged TV series.
In Mecha-Ude, mysterious otherworldly sentient beings resembling mechanical arms arrived on Earth, and were found to be able to fuse with humans and grant them new and powerful abilities. In the present, these Mecha-Ude are still something of a secret, but they’re integrated into a number of organizations each with their own aim. But when average middle schooler Amatsuga Hikaru discovers an amnesiac Mecha-Ude named Alma who is on the run from the wealthiest corporation around, Hikaru’s decision to save Alma brings him into this world he never knew about.
Mecha-Ude is not amazingly innovative in terms of story or setting, but it just does a lot very solidly. The simple gimmick of the Mecha-Ude makes for fights and action scenes that aren’t overly bloated like what one might see in a shounen battle anime. Hikaru and the main cast of characters are endearing because they’re a bunch of silly dumb-dumbs who nevertheless have to deal with serious problems that range from the personal to the Earth-shattering. In this sense, it actually manages to portray its middle schoolers in a way that’s both wish fulfillment for younger viewers and an accurate portrayal of the way youth can be both empowering and limiting.
(Also, there’s a ninja character who shares a voice actor with Volfogg from Gaogaigar).
The result is a series that successfully mixes the dramatic, the silly, and the heartfelt into a short-yet-sweet work of SF action.
The people behind Mecha-Ude are Studio TriF, and this is actually the group’s first anime. It’s about as good a start as I think a fledgling studio can possibly have, so I really hope they have a bright future ahead of them.
OGIUE MANIAX 