Category Archives: thought exercise

The Slow March of Mawaru Penguindrum

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Mawaru Penguindrum was probably the best anime I watched in 2011, and yet at the time it aired I didn’t write anything about it on the blog. This was intentional, as from the beginning I had a rough idea of what the show would be like, one where the surface didn’t quite match what was lurking underneath, the type of anime that would slowly feeding both legitimate clues and red herrings in such conjunction that it would become difficult to distinguish which is which. I didn’t want to jump the gun. On top of that, a lot of the “clues” weren’t there as if you could piece them out and form a conclusion. Instead, they acted as ways to expand some of the concepts and ideas being tossed about by the series, to further clarify information throughout the series. I didn’t want to blog about it too soon after because I felt like I would’ve been too caught up in processing Penguindrum like any other show. That is not a knock on other anime, as straightforward narratives and convention produce great work all the time, it’s just not what Penguindrum did and not what made it so great.

In finally writing about Mawaru Penguindrum, I’m choosing to do so without having rewatched the series since my first time through. Though it’s clear from even that first viewing that the show has a lot of meat to it that you can pick up by rewatching (a trait it shares with its older sister Revolutionary Girl Utena), I didn’t want my thoughts to be based too much on knowledge after the fact. So, I’m not going to blow your mind with any crazy close reading where I reveal all of the little hints in the series. Instead, I mainly want to talk about my own experience watching, and where I think the show went right.

Penguindrum centers around the Takakura family: brothers Kanba and Shouma,  and their sister Himari, whose life-threatening medical condition which requires a great deal of money to keep at bay. When she finally succumbs to her ilness, their lives change forever, but not in the way they expect. Moreover, as the show progresses, it’s clear that the present and the future aren’t the only mysteries. The siblings are introduced in Episode 1 as just being a slightly odd family, but they’re shown to have a past riddled with big questions. So what is the show about? Why, penguins, fate, and terrorism.

When it comes to introducing people to Penguindrum, “penguins, fate, and terrorism” is my go-to summary. The seeming non-sequiturs will often get them to ask more, but then that’s all I can say. It’s not so much that anything else would be too much of a spoiler, but that the way I would want to present that information wouldn’t quite do the show justice. I just want to give people that taste, as Penguindrum is an anime which, as I tried to make clear in the intro, does odd things with the information it does provide you.

Notably, the first half of the series appeared to be comprised of more wacky, self-contained episodes, with the character Ringo trying to fulfill her own bizarre mission of re-enacting the events of her deceased sister’s diary and the Takakura brothers trying (and failing) to get it for themselves. On the surface it could seem like the series was simply spinning its wheels, but while watching each instance of penguin comedy or stalker antics there was a constant, unsettling feeling permeating each scene, whether that was in the characters’ actions, or the mood of the story, or the little facts we learn about everyone and everything.

For example, though at first we assume that Ringo is just crazy and trying to re-enact her sister’s diary so that she can take her place in her family, when she accidentally crashes into Himari in exactly the way the diary specifies, it becomes unclear as to whether Ringo is in control of if it’s the diary. Just about every episode of the Ringo arc carries with it similar reveals concerning one or more characters, and so while the status quo is seemingly kept, we also continue to learn more and more about the characters, and in doing so sets up the second half, which I feel delivers on everything it promised in terms of resolving the core of the story and many of its details. In general, I am a fan of what I call “false filler,” or seemingly self-contained or repetitive episodes which slowly advance the story forward by filling in other details.

The twists in Mawaru Penguindrum are definitely surprising and hard to predict, partly because they’re not necessarily meant to be treated as the clues in a mystery novel, but that also doesn’t mean they come out of left field, or that their outcomes change the dimension of the story. I think it would be more accurate to say that Penguindrum had a consistent idea of what its nature was like, and it ended up revealing the truth about itself little by little, so gradually in some ways that often the information would seemingly contradict itself. But ultimately, it all comes together well.

That is, until Penguinbear.

The Text in the Word Bubble

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I’ve been thinking about word bubbles lately, specifically the conventions behind how words are organized in them across Japanese and English.

Basically, if you ever look at a word bubble from an English comic, be that a translated manga or something originally created in English, the words tend to follow the shape of bubble to an extent, such that the top and/or bottom lines of text are shortest and the middle bulges out. In contrast, if you look at manga in Japanese, the text is usually in the shape of a square block, though it might be more accurate to say that the text is “top-justified,” where the top of each line is flat (remember that Japanese text in bubbles is generally written from top to bottom and from right to left), and the length of the final line can vary from being the shortest to being the longest. They don’t necessarily have to be this way, as is evidenced when an English-language bubble in a Japanese manga ends up having the text un-centered, but these seem to be the “rules.” When we defy them, something looks “off.”

What I’m wondering is, how much of this is the result of the written languages themselves, and how much of it has to do with the conventions laid before us by decades of comics? Could it be that a stable top is more important in either case, but that the top line in an English text is always flat due to the horizontal nature of English writing, whereas Japanese has to make an effort at it? Is it simply efficiency, or the result of past limitations which have seeped into the very nature of how we perceive word bubbles? What about other languages, notably Hebrew or Arabic which are horizontal and written right to left? How do their translations/comics fare?

Rinshan Kaihou: Genshiken II, Chapter 78

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Kasukabe Saki visits Genshiken, bringing pangs of nostalgia to readers everywhere! As Hato puts it, “Is this what Genshiken used to be like?”

As Hato exchanges contact information with his old classmates, Kasukabe attends Shiiou University’s school festival, she catches up with her old friends, showing the degree of wit and perceptiveness she’s always been known for, the conversation turns towards the future, career paths, and even romance. Watching Saki work her magic, Hato can’t help but notice that the club somehow seems more lively when she’s around. Inevitably the topic of conversation turns towards Madarame, whom Saki caught receiving a kiss on the cheek from Sue in the previous chapter. Having heard about Madarame’s full-scale defense against the charms of Angela on top of that, Saki jokes that Madarame must be a lolicon, to which Hato comes to his defense in a rather awkward way.

As Sasahara’s sister discovers the truth of Hato, Saki silently considers that Madarame is finally hitting the point at which a guy like him becomes attractive to the opposite sex. Encouraging him to try out dating, the conversation ends on the kinds of porn that Madarame watches, which apparently is “everything.” We already knew that, though.

The new crew doesn’t get much exposure this chapter, but the hints towards Yajima possibly having feelings for Hato are definitely there. This is evident from the way her old friend Mimasaka, who thinks the world of her, reacts to Hato. Even if Mimasaka is being paranoid, it seems like she knows Yajima well enough to see when something is up. I actually expect them to be the focus in the next chapter or the one after that, especially because Hato’s story is “wrapping up” in certain respects, the mysteries of his existence now being a little less mysterious.

I have to wonder if showing Kasukabe again is a little cruel to the people who really miss the old Genshiken. While I know plenty of people who are fine with the new series, I also know people who much prefer the original style, presentation, and character dynamics of the first series. Giving them a glimpse of that environment once more might be equivalent to saying, “I could have continued Genshiken like how it used to be, but I didn’t!” In this respect it really does make the new club seem like a second generation.

That said, Kasukabe has always been that extra bit of spice which pushed Genshiken into interesting directions, the sole non-otaku in the club full of hapless dorks, as opposed to the current state where awkward isn’t quite what it used to be but no one is so firmly out of that sphere as Saki was. Just the way her statement about being okay with gay relationships getting misinterpreted by the fujoshi minds of Ogiue and Ohno (Saki’s response is that she’s referring to actual gay couples she knows in real life) shows that the rift still exists, albeit a rift that has had a solid bridge of friendship and understanding erected across it for years.

I realize that one of the limits of my analyses every month is that I don’t spend a significant amount of time on Hato, who seems to be getting more and more time in the story. At the same time, personally speaking I don’t think predicting whether or not he’ll end up with someone, be that Madarame or otherwise is particularly fruitful. I think Hato’s sexuality is not meant to be clear cut, whether that’s “he’s gay but denying it” or, as so many have mentioned both within the story and outside of it, that “2D and 3D are different,” and though I don’t have quite so much of a vested interest in the turn-out, I do find the degree to which the manga tackles the ambiguity of the topic to be particularly good. Hato destroys the lines which divide.

To what degree is otaku culture, especially male otaku culture, receptive to concepts like homosexuality or even sexuality in general? I’ve viewed it, both within Japan and outside of Japan, as being somewhat similar to geek culture in general in this regard, which is to say liberal in certain ways but can be quite conservative in others, which is why, as Kio Shimoku continues to bring the topic up through Hato and his potential feeling towards Madarame every chapter, I have to step back and think, “is this okay in a seinen magazine?” Granted, it is a seinen magazine which also runs Ookiku Furikabutte! (Big Windup), but I feel like there’s definitely a risk involved, especially when the potential target of homosexual affection is the most geeky of the otaku in Genshiken. Then again, if the guy was willing to make a detailed and in some ways harshly realistic manga about raising a newborn, then I guess nothing can stop him anymore (aside from lack of sales).

Saki views Madarame now as the late bloomer who’s apparently finally showing his petals. I’ve seen other manga talk about how there are simply times in a guy’s life when he’s more attractive to the opposite sex (and in the context of harem manga this means having it all concentrated into the present), but I don’t think Genshiken is quite going for that. Rather, I think it’s a complex interplay of elements that gives us the Madarame of today. When you actually look at him, although he’s similar to the Madarame we saw back in Chapter 1, he has in fact changed quite a bit. First, he’s not nearly as “aggressively otaku,” touting the lifestyle as a badge of sad pride, and second, he’s nowhere near as uncomfortable around girls as he used to be, probably from interacting with them so much in Genshiken.

Call it whatever you want, maturity, a betrayal of moe values, but I could easily see the how tempering of his passions to still be evident but not quite so extreme, as well as his overall understanding attitude (the result of being otaku in certain ways) could combine at this current point to make a fairly attractive guy. It doesn’t hurt that he dresses better now too. Madarame is seemingly no longer held back romantically by just being too much of an otaku, but by a combination of being unable to accept the possibility that he himself might be attractive, and that he has an unrequited love which he’s afraid to lose or to move away from. That said, I have to wonder if having to constantly interact with the girl he loves while hiding the fact (or at least trying to) also ironically helped him to develop more socially.

I noticed that there’s discussion as to whether or not Kasukabe is actually pregnant, given her choice of clothing, or if that’s just some fashion faux pas on the part of Kio. I can’t decide for myself, but I will say that because he’s tackled the topic of pregnancy and childbirth in his work, it wouldn’t be that surprising. It also might be me just making silly associations, but the way she looks reminds me of that moment in His and Her Circumstances where Yukino is pregnant and her mom, not knowing the truth initially, comments that she somehow looks more mature.

Again, though, I can’t say but it would lend meaning to Saki’s remark that Ohno’s wedding must be getting close. I have no idea whether she’s just joking or not, though Most of the relationship developments in the manga for Ohno and Tanaka have been off-panel (though the anime Genshiken 2 had its own steamy interpretation of things), so I can’t count out the possibility that this is actually for real.

Last thing I’ll say is, the reference for the next chapter is of Getter Robo Go, a decidedly older series compared to what’s been used lately. Curious.

It Doesn’t Take a Madoka Magica

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I was recently asked about why I don’t seem to like Puella Magi Madoka Magica nearly as much as other anime fans, bearing in mind the degree to which the show seems to garner an extremely devoted, I might even say evangelical fanbase. “Have you not seen Madoka Magica?” they ask.

While I think it’s quite a good show, even excellent in a number of respects, my opinion is that unlike so many others Madoka Magica did not open the world to me. It is not the greatest magical girl anime I’ve ever seen, let alone the greatest anime, and rather than showing me that it’s possible for such a genre to be full of rich depth and interesting ideas it just reinforced my already existing beliefs in that regard. So, yes, an excellent show and a fascinating twist, but something I always knew was possible (in a good way).

What I’ve kind of noticed is that the people who seem to be the most awestruck by Madoka Magica are the fans with little experience actually watching magical girl anime, and so when they discuss what makes the darkness of the series so special, it always feels less like people are talking from actual experience with the genre and more with just their idea of the genre from watching some Sailor Moon. Or if not Sailor Moon, their experience is comprised primarily of watching the genre exceptions, such as Revolutionary Girl Utena and Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha.

This is not to deny the legitimacy of other people’s watching experiences, as telling someone that they don’t have the right to enjoy a show without x or y prerequisites is pretty ridiculous. However, I feel as if many people who think the world of that show and have an opinion on how it’s done so much with the magical girl genre, while in some ways right, have only experienced the “darkness” of mahou shoujo without being familiar with the “light,” in other words the shows which manage to achieve genre highs without falling into themes like subversion or dark parody. Even in the past decade or so you’ve had shows like Heartcatch Precure!, Ojamajo Doremi, and Cosmic Baton Girl Comet-san which are able to achieve a lot without flipping conventions all the way upside down.

It doesn’t take a Madoka Magica to realize the potential of the magical girl genre, which is something I hope more and more people come to learn.

Can You Watch Gundam AGE Without the First Half?

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As the final part of the generation-themed Gundam AGE begins, I’m reminded of the “Machete Order,” a way of watching the Star Wars movies which supposedly introduces all of its elements in the best ways while cutting away some of the excess. Specifically, “excess” means “Episode 1,” as the entire adventures of a very young Anakin were deemed unnecessary and even perhaps detrimental to enjoyment. While I don’t think any of the parts of Gundam AGE are awful, it does make me wonder if it’s actually possible to watch the third and fourth Gundam AGE arcs without having watched the prior two.

While it would be sad to lose characters like Woolf and young Emily, I feel like the third part introduces you enough to the returning characters that someone who got into the show right at that point wouldn’t take long to fully grasp the story, and perhaps because the ratings were so low they actually made it with this in mind. While you don’t get to see Flit go from idealistic young boy to supportive but crotchety old man, you also get to immediately see the differences between him, pirate Asemu, and noble Kio. Obviously as someone who’s already watched the previous parts I can’t simply use my own experience to judge the effectiveness of omitting the earlier parts, at least not without much scrutiny and testing on willing subjects, but I would be interested in hearing thoughts on this matter.

“Government-approved” “Cool” “Japan”

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I was thinking a little about the concept of “Cool Japan,” and why the idea has lost traction among various levels of fans and critics. One argument I hear occasionally is how, at the end of the day, people cosplaying and running around at conventions doesn’t give an image of “cool” or “cutting edge” but an image of regression or perhaps even immaturity. Essentially, people overestimated how “cool” Japan actually is. I don’t know how much this is really the case.

Another side is the way that Cool Japan was essentially government-backed. The idea of it was to use the media/fashion/image of Japan as “soft power” to influence the world. The problem, as far as I see it (and I think I’ve read similar arguments elsewhere), is that one of manga’s oft-touted strengths is its variety in terms of genres, ideas, philosophies, demographics, and even art styles. However, when it is being used by the Japanese government as one of its public faces, the manga and anime pushed out by the government becomes tacitly “government-approved.” If something is government-approved to be an image of the nation, then there is little chance that any government would willingly let their country’s image be tarnished by specific titles.

Essentially, what I’m thinking is that Cool Japan as a government-backed endeavor to some extent has to necessarily work against manga and anime as mediums of variety. I think the difference is between having something “government-approved” and “government-allowed.”

But I’m sure this topic has been talked to death. Probably at Neojaponisme.

Onwards to Joyo Literacy

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In an effort to try and finally plug up the gaping holes in my Japanese literacy, I bought JLPT1-level kanji flash cards, i.e. the ones that should put me at official Japanese literacy. I’d gotten a ton of mileage out of my JLPT2 cards, even passing the exam in the process, so I know they do the trick. Right now I’m prioritizing reading over writing, so issues of being able to recognize but not replicate aren’t quite as big a deal for me.

One thing I’ve learned is that it’s difficult to just memorize a kanji flash card. The ones I use, from White Rabbit Press, have all sorts of useful details on them. They have pronunciations (even more obscure ones), they have multiple examples of usage, and of course a picture of the kanji itself. The potential trouble lies in the fact that, not only are there varying pronunciations depending on whether the characters are being used in compounds or along with hiragana, but in many cases words will have very abstract and sometimes even contradictory meanings just from centuries of history and its influence on the language. The kanji 唐 (pronounced “tou” and “kara”) originally referred to China’s Tang Dynasty, but it can even refer to China itself or Arabic or just mean “foreign” in general.

Reading the characters in isolation also only helps so much, as you mainly encounter them in compounds and in sentences. As a result, I find that it’s more important to introduce myself to the kanji just to get their images in my head, and then to read as much as I can (manga counts!) in order to just get accustomed to recognizing them in the middle of a sentence or on a sign. One problem, of course, is that my reading material and the kanji I’m studying are not part of a greater package so I can’t just study some words and then read the relevant article which tests those abilities.

This is actually why textbooks and workbooks and especially a solid curriculum in a structured class can be so helpful. It immediately sees if you actually know what you just learned. Alas, I have no such materials to work with, but for now I’m content with what I have. Even if I don’t end up absolutely mastering these kanji, I know I’ll at the very least be in a position to improve.

PS: I know Joyo is being replaced, I just forget what the new one is called.

Taking Small Steps and Huddling Over Scraps

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When I originally wrote about Tropes vs. Women in Video Games, a video series which plans to explore the treatment of women in the medium, I expressed my concern that the creator Anita Sarkeesian might potentially cast aside more subtly positive portrayals of women in video games because they might still be significantly flawed. “If a medium is sexist in certain ways,” I thought, “then progress has to come in not only big steps but also small ones.” However, after reading this article about the Pixar movie Brave (warning: spoilers, though I do recommend reading it) in which the author Lili Loufbourow describes growing up with film and essentially forcing herself to deeply cherish even the most remotely positive portrayals of women in a medium which often forces them into a very limited number of character types, I find myself somewhat re-evaluating my thoughts on these matters.

Critical theorist Theodor Adorno writes about how mass culture, that is to say popular culture created by modern industry and capitalism, has a tendency to take any sort of radical idea or value and simply transform it into something palatable for the masses until its progressive value is swallowed up. I deeply disagree with Adorno in this regard for a number of reasons, namely his disregard for small steps within the area of mass culture. I still believe that it is important to look at examples of mixed results, cases where movement forward might come with a couple of steps back, and to just pay attention to places where progress is not measured solely by overall success. This is the reason why, when I write about the portrayal of women in anime and manga, I think it’s important to not just label things as “sexist” and call it a day.

His view brings some important questions to mind, however. Enlarging the sphere of discussion from sexism/feminism to the greater topic of progress itself, I have to ask myself, what is the difference between “taking a small step forward”and “huddling over scraps?” Is there a difference? Does one turn into the other when filtered through the lens of personal imagination and the changing values of a society?

My immediate feeling is that there must be a difference between taking a small step and huddling over scraps, and that the boundaries between the two are not so rigidly defined given history and context, but just the idea that the two can be conflated makes it somewhat dangerous. For that reason I now recognize that Sarkeesian and Loufbourow are essentially fighting against the same opponent, the “good enoughs” of female portrayal that pay only lipservice at best and are actually subtly regressive at worst, and that for Sarkeesian this dictates her tendency towards hard, powerful language in her videos. When subtlety is utilized, there is always the risk that it will be overlooked to such an extent that any messages given will be overwhelmed by the greater whole, or at least be perceived as such. While I prefer to try and work with the nuances myself, I have to recognize the potential pitfalls of that approach as well.

Reviving the Mahjong Panel

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Otakon 2012 marks the return of the Japanese Mahjong panel, run by myself and Kawaiikochans creator Dave. It was a surprise hit back in 2010, and we’re so looking forward to bringing it back. What I’m about to talk about is related to some of the challenges we’ve faced in updating the panel.

Mahjong is a rather complicated (some might even say convoluted) game, and when we originally set out to do the mahjong panel we tried to make it as simple as we could while still covering just what makes mahjong (and by extension mahjong anime) fun. Naturally feeling a bit rusty with the material, we devoted some time to practicing the panel only to realize that there was a significant problem we did not have to deal with two years ago: we have both gotten significantly better at mahjong.

Mahjong is a game where subtle changes to the rules and even to the character and level of your opponents can impact the game tremendously. Playing multiple games to improve ladder ranking is a different beast from playing one or two significant games. When I attended the United States Professional Mahjong League in June, I had not played against flesh-and-blood opponents in over a year. Not only did I have to get used to the tiles again, but while I had definitely improved through playing online on Tenhou continuously (a process which forced me to constantly re-evaluate my play), I had become accustomed to that ruleset. So, for example, when I went into a game expecting it to last a full 8 round and began playing for the long term) I was sidelined by the fact that the UPSML games had a (necessary) time limit such that any round you were playing could be your last.

Though I was certainly thrown off by these unfamiliar rules, I was able to adapt reasonably well. It is the ability to recognize how those changes can potentially affect strategy that, at least for me, is an indicator of personal improvement.  However, it is that very same ability which can trip up an introductory mahjong panel.

When we were relatively inexperienced, we could deliver ideas with simplicity because the exceptions did not immediately spring to mind. Now, the danger was that our heads were too full of minutia. We knew where our statements fell short, and in an effort to correct them we continued to give explanations, but much like how the USPML’s time limit necessitates a different strategy, so too does the hour time limit for the panel.

The pursuit and refinement of knowledge in a given topic is actually what trips up so many intellectual presentations, whether the audience consists of professors or anime fans. The presenter has spent so much time exploring the limits of ideas and where their exceptions lie that it becomes difficult to “lie” to your audience, especially when improvement in your area (such as mahjong) is your main focus.

I think that the lesson to take away here is that we were so caught up in trying to teach strategy we’d learned that we had forgotten that before you learn how to play well, you have to teach how to play, period. And because our panel isn’t even about learning how to play, per se, we have to take that one notch down.

The Fandom of Plenty, the Fandom of Scarcity

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In a previous post, I discussed what I believed to be one of the properties of moe as an industry to garner a fanbase: constant output of purchasable material to reinforce those feelings of devotion obsession. In this sense, moe can be thought of as a kind of “fandom of plenty,” a fandom whose existence is actively supported by an abundance of material easily obtained. Anime fandom in the United States over the past ten years has been characterized as such, where it’s so incredibly easy to watch a show and to move on to the next one without looking back that it becomes somewhat difficult to find something not to watch.

In contrast to the “fandom of plenty,” then, might be the  “fandom of scarcity.” The image of the anime fandom of yesteryear, from the tape-trading era and back, is one where each episode, each scrap of merchandise was so precious that being a fan was not only about watching as much as you can, but also about the lengths you’d go to in order to obtain that material, as well as the degree to which those small bits of treasure could be explored and scrutinized.

When I compare my experiences in both the former and the latter, I have to wonder to what extent it changes my own experiences as a fan. I am both the person who found Spring 2012 season to have so many worthwhile shows that I had to place some on the backburner in the hopes that I could reach them later, as well as the person who watched his VHS tape of some episodes of the middle of Nadesico over and over again just because there was nothing else quite like it for me. Are these ideas of abundance and rarity simply in the mind of the beholder? Certain the level of access I had in that Nadesico era was much greater than many, but it still felt like every tape was precious.

I also have to wonder to what extent these environments shape fandom itself. Just how much does scarcity shape an unofficial canonical list of works among fans? Is it possible for another Voltron, that is to say a show which was largely unremarkable in Japan which is considered seminal abroad, to exist? What shows would’ve been more popular and beloved had they not been shoved by the torrential downpour of a season of anime? How do these different environments influence what we value and why?