Nonexistent Rationality

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In light of the Handley case’s conclusion and the recent measure in Tokyo to outlaw sexually provocative imagery of characters 18 and under to protect “nonexistent youths,” as well as the subsequent opposition by manga creators from all over Japan, I’ve felt an increasing desire to state my thoughts on the whole situation. I’m not really anybody who can affect a change, particularly when it comes to the Japanese government, but I still want to say my piece.

Before I begin, I want to explain my stance on objectionable art so that you can understand where I’m coming from. Ask two different people from similar upbringings to list their sexual kinks, and you would likely see differences in their answers. People’s sexualities are very personal things, and often times people cannot help what they are sexually attracted to. They can ignore it, they can actively avoid situations in which they are exposed to it, and being confused about their own sexuality can lead a person to think they’re into something they’re really not, but sexual attraction, to whatever it may be, will be there.

And so you’ll find situations where something one person finds sexually attractive will be absolutely repulsive and morally reprehensible to another. It is not absolutely not wrong for a person to feel disgusted with something that makes them highly uncomfortable, and it is their very right to think less of anyone who finds such a thing arousing. However, it is my belief that laws should not be passed based simply on the fact that something is seen as creepy or disgusting. Laws should not be carried by emotion alone. In order for it to be a crime, there should be a real risk of harm, be it physical, psychological, monetary, or some other form to another individual, something that makes it more than just a “bad feeling.”

With that in mind, I want to get into the main thrust of why this bill to protect “nonexistent youths” is so dangerous should it pass. Simply put, it is too broad in its scope and so vague in its language that it can encompass pretty much anything. It is based too much on vague “feelings” and is inherently flawed.

Pornography is one thing, but the proposal extends to all potentially sexually provocative portrayals of characters 18 and under. That covers a lot of ground. Let’s take a classic example of something easily sexualized which is also a part of everyday life: the short skirt. How short does it have to be in order to be considered sexually provocative? What is the threshold? Is it the standard length for a Japanese school uniform’s skirt? In that case, I don’t think I have to tell you that there is a sizable population that would disagree with that. In that case, let’s just get rid of all short skirts on minors in manga and anime. But even long dresses can be deemed sexually attractive, possibly more than short skirts, depending on the individual. The same thing applies to getting rid of dresses and skirts entirely and replacing them with pants. Forbid sexually provocative imagery? I can only believe that the people who drafted this proposal have no idea how powerful the human imagination can be, especially that of a horny teenager.

The teenager is also an important individual to consider with this proposal. The idea of removing fictional portrayals of people 18 and under that could be deemed sexually provocative feels like a myopic decision created in the world of adults. The proposal is there to prevent adults from looking at underage characters in a sexual manner, but not everybody reading manga is an adult. And while I know that it is difficult to determine age based on a drawing given the sheer unlimited possibilities that can occur when pen is put to paper and an image is created, let’s just assume for the sake of argument that we discovered a way to 100% accurately portray the age of a drawn character, that the 16-year old on the page is 16 years old. If you consider the reader to also be a 16-year old, then it would only make sense that they would be sexually attracted to that character, that a 16-year old can be sexually attractive at all. Yes, there is a risk involved with attracting people who are much older than teenagers, but if we were to apply that logic to the real world, to “existent youths,”  it would be as if teenagers were being told that they weren’t allowed to look attractive because there’s a risk people outside their age group might find them attractive as well, or saying that people 18 and under cannot look attractive at all. Again, when taken from a purely adult perspective, it’s easy to see why this would make sense, but not everyone in Japan is an adult, and not everyone reading manga is over the age of 18.

Taking a broad view of censorship, artists and creators will push the limits of censorship as far as they possibly can, no matter how strict or severe the censorship may be. Genitals are censored in Japanese pornography, but their porn industry has found a number of ways around the “mosaic.” Some companies push the limits of pixel size in the mosaic, boasting that their mosaics are extra small, while the very concept of bukkake possibly stems from the goal of showing evidence of the male genitals without actually displaying them. If a limit on skirt length really were to be decided and skirts were deemed “okay”  if they were less than 4 centimeters above the knees at most, then some manga creator or artist out there would make sure to point out that a girl’s skirt is 4.000001 cm above. It’s one thing to set a limit and say, “this is the point you must not cross,” but to try and prevent anything sexual from being portrayed in visual fiction is a losing battle forever thwarted by the endless creativity of artists.

Mostly Visual Wonders: Oblivion Island

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The New York International Children’s Film Festival is known for bringing some of the best and most interesting animation the world has to offer to the Big Apple, and Japanese animation is no exception. In previous years, the festival has brought great works, such as The Girl Who Leapt Through Time and Summer Days with Coo, but usually limited it to only one title, so it was particularly amazing that this year’s Festival had not one, not two, but three anime films.

This last film is Production I.G.’s Oblivion Island: Haruka and the Magic Mirror. It follows the titular 16-year old girl as she searches for her lost hand mirror, an important present she received from her mother years ago, and ends up entering a magical world inhabited by “kitsune,” fox spirits who take everything humans misplace and ignore. Humans are not allowed in the kitsune’s world, but a few unlikely companions make the journey possible.

Unlike the other two NYICFF animated films from Japan, which used some CG but still went for a primarily traditional 2D look, Oblivion Island has the unique distinction of being created almost entirely in 3DCG. While it would be easy to make the film look drab and lifeless, Production I.G. is famous for knowing how to make things look good, and Oblivion Island is no exception. The characters are nice-looking and full of life, the backgrounds are gorgeous, and the use of color as the movie switches from environment to environment are particularly notable. One unusual thing about the movie is that a lot of the backgrounds looked more hand-drawn and two-dimensional than the characters themselves, which made it almost look like the characters were “real people” interacting with a backdrop. While jarring to an extent, it gave the film a unique and welcome look. The only other sticking point might be that the faces of the human characters are somewhere between being anime-style and being humanly realistic, particularly with their mouths, and so tread the deepest regions of the uncanny valley. Overall, the look of the film, particularly the Kitsune’s world where everything is built from discarded human belongings, reminded me a little of Kon Satoshi’s Paprika, though it isn’t quite as visually splendid.

But while the visual aesthetics of the film are top-notch, the rest of the film from a storytelling perspective is nowhere near as good. Most of the characters’ motivations are simple and some hardly get characterized at all. The story is also paper-thin, developments happen too suddenly, and the film occasionally takes a very ham-fisted approach to plot exposition. An example of this heavy-handed storytelling occurs towards the beginning of the movie. The start of the film takes place years before the main story and shows Haruka with her mirror. Minutes later into the film, the now 16-year old Haruka is hanging with her friend from school and asks the friend if she had ever lost anything important to her. It then flashes back to the very scene the audience just saw of Haruka and her mirror, and if that’s not enough to tell you that she’s thinking about the mirror, Haruka then outright mentions the mirror to her friend. It was just unnecessarily excessive and would’ve benefited from better editing.

That said, Oblivion Island still has a number of good, powerful scenes  and moments of poignant character interaction and introspection which draw you into their world. It’s just that the film suffers from “things happen” syndrome and lacks the connective tissue needed to make it feel like one continuous story. It’s an all enjoyable film, but definitely had the potential to be more.

In the end, a lot of the film’s flaws can be pardoned if you just take into account that it is first and foremost a kid’s movie, but at the same time I feel somewhat reluctant to do so as the NYICFF’s other films were also for kids and still had plenty for older audiences and never felt like they were simply advancing the plot along without taking heed of everything that had happened prior. Overall, it’s decent, but it won’t go down in history as one of my favorites.

Crayola Couldn’t Come Up With These: Pokemon Heart Gold and Soul Silver Tomorrow

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So I don’t know about you, but I am pretty psyched about tomorrow’s release of Pokemon Heart Gold/Soul Silver. A remake of the second generation of Pokemon games, playing through my copies of Gold and Silver in high school was a memorable experience which I’m eager to revisit all these years later.

You might be asking, “Why would you play a game that’s just a retread of a game you’ve played previously?” And the answer to that is: Pokemon.

I’m serious, there’s something about the games which has people coming back to it over and over, whether it’s the cute/awesome critters, the nice character designs, the fun of battling, or even peer pressure, there’s a ton of reasons Pokemon has endured, though probably the most prominent one is that it is easy for anyone to pick up and play, and yet also deep enough that those of us who want to get into it with a more competitive mindset can do so.

I do wonder what my team will be like this time around. I’ve always had a fondness for Furret, and it is Gold and Silver, so there’s a good chance I’ll be taking one on and then bringing it into battle against my peers.

I don’t know what big changes HGSS brings to the table in terms of changing the metagame of multiplayer Pokemon, and in fact I’m not even sure I’ll be jumping back into that world. Still, I get the feeling that I’ll start to gravitate towards it anyway. It’s practically in my bones which hit twice and are good for attacking through Substitutes.

Ogiue: The Bond Which Transcends Space and Time

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A few days ago while doing my routine “Ogiue” keyword check on Twitter, I noticed that someone had created an Ogiue Bot on Twitter which sends Ogiue catch phrases every so often into the wild.

The creator of the Ogiue Bot also has a Twitter account of his own, and unlike me and my shameful Avatar-based betrayal, he sports an Ogiue icon.

When I saw it, my first reaction was, “Ooh, that’s a nice Ogiue.” My second and more important reaction, however, was, “This looks oddly familiar.” After a bit of memory-jogging and browsing old sites, I realized just how familiar it really was. That Ogiue drawing up there is one of mine.

You may remember a few months back when Anime News Network got their current Answerman that I sent in an Answerfans response where I talked about my communications and befriending of Ogiue fans in Japan. The above oekaki is from that period.

I have to thank Soramugi, as I had all but forgotten that image, and I’m especially grateful to him for liking my drawing so much. It was kind of an unreal experience just seeing a drawing of mine being used like that, and I know Soramugi is just as surprised that he got to meet the artist behind his icon. He even posted about it! You can also see our correspondence, albeit in Japanese.

I’ve got a good feeling, the kind of feeling you get when you know you’ve earned a comrade.

As an aside, I thought it was pretty cool that I was actually able to recognize my own drawing style.

It’s Easy If You Try: Mai Mai Miracle

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If there is anyone to hold responsible for this review of Mai Mai Miracle, it is Japanese blogger tamagomago.

A blogger of anime and manga with a very keen sense of observation, lots of intelligence to spare, and a fount of good ideas, my first real experience with tamagomago was when I translated his essay on the concept of “Otaku Girl Moe.” Since that time, both of us had come into possession of Twitter accounts, and so it was only natural for me to begin following him.

Around late November, early December of last year, I began to notice that, in the vast majority of them (I would say over 90% or so), tamagomago would consistently mention the same thing: Mai Mai Shinko. He would preface his tweets with マイマイ新子妄想, or “Mai Mai Shinko Delusion,” and it was clear that whatever this was, it was quite a big deal to have captured his imagination so. My curiosity was piqued, and after finding out that it was actually a movie he was talking about, I hoped for the day that I too could see it. So when the New York International Children’s Film Festival brought the film over, I felt very fortunate.

Known in Japan as Mai Mai Shinko and the Millennium Magic, it was titled in the US as Mai Mai Miracle (and for the purposes of this review I will be going with the English title). Not knowing what to expect, I went into the theater and came out pleasantly surprised.

Mai Mai Miracle takes place a few years after World War II in Japan and follows a young girl named Aoki Shinko, whose primary characteristics are an untameable tuft of hair and boundless creativity. Shinko’s daily life is changed when she befriends a lonesome new girl in town, Shimazu Kiiko, and shows the quiet and demure Kiiko how to live life to its fullest armed with only two feet and a head full of imagination, while also connecting to her town’s storied history which stretches back a thousand years.

When I say that Mai Mai Miracle is a pleasant surprise, the operative word here is “pleasant.” It has an everyday atmosphere that can only be described as such, and the film, down to its core, exudes a sense of serenity that cannot be escaped even during the movie’s unhappier moments. The story has a clearly intentional meandering quality. There is no real overarching narrative which reveals itself over time, and Shinko’s goals, as much as she focuses on them, shift quite frequently along with her imagination and feelings. One might even say that the movie lacks an “orthodox” cinematic structure, and yet the movie never feels like it’s leading the viewer to a dead end, even when it’s not actually clear what direction it’s taking. Mai Mai Miracle is like a series of vignettes connected by the thread that is Shinko’s daily life and how it is affected by her newfound friendship with Kiiko.

Mai Mai Miracle has many strengths, but chief among them is the characters. This is especially the case for Shinko and Kiiko, but every person in the story, no matter how much or how little screen time they get, feels incredibly human. Some characters get barely touched on, but you can tell that they are going through their own personal adventures and struggles just as Kiiko has in moving to a new town.

The animation in Mai Mai Miracle is very vibrant and fun, though for the most part it doesn’t go for any wild experiments in moving images and keeps everything very traditional. One exception however,  takes place in the early parts of the film, when Shinko is imagining the world of a thousand years ago. Here, crude, crayon-like drawings of houses, animals, and other objects begin to pop up all over the landscape and transform into their “real” counterparts, symbolizing the strength of Shinko’s childhood imagination. But by the latter half of the movie, the technique disappears entirely and we never see that transition again. Most likely the creators thought that doing it in the beginning was enough to imply that it was happening all the time, but I still kind of wish that we saw more usage of creative and abstract techniques, even if it wasn’t this one in particular.

I think Mai Mai Miracle will draw inevitable comparisons to the works of Studio Ghibli, particularly My Neighbor Totoro with its similar themes of moving to a new home and the strength and wonder of imagination, but Mai Mai Miracle can certainly stand up to the scrutiny. It’s a pleasant experience that I would recommend to anyone who enjoys the simple wonders of life and youth.

It’s Okay to Propagate the Idea that “Otaku Girls” are Moe, But…: The Aggression and Difficulty Inherent in Moe

Attack-Style

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A drawing inspired by the art from Attack No.1. Hanekawa’s hair is cool.

I Can’t Believe It’s Not

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A few days ago I was watching that old mainstay from my college days, the Food Network when something caught my eye. I don’t remember what show it was exactly, maybe Iron Chef America, but I took notice when the chef mentioned one ingredient in particular: margarine.

Now this was not one of those shows that was looking out for the well-being of your waist line, and so there was no way that the chef’s decision to use margarine in the dish was out of some desire to cut down on fat calories, but instead to use it because it has properties that butter simply does not. Looking at it, it was as if margarine had broken free of its shackles and stepped out of the shadow of butter. Margarine was no longer merely a substitute, but could be treated as a unique ingredient all its own.

Thinking about the identity of margarine, it reminded me somewhat of limited animation, particularly in regards to anime. While limited animation was born out of necessary budget constraints, over time as the children who watched early anime grew into adults, they embraced the “limited” style and created a sort of style and grammar all their own.

As for the unique properties of margarine, I’m not really sure what they are. I suspect it has to do with flavor and the way it transforms under heat. I’m no cooking expert, I just like food and anime (like most otaku).

RIGHT AND WRONG? PAH, SUCH TRIVIALITIES

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Lately I’ve been watching Kekkaishi on Hulu, courtesy of VIZ. Every week they release two new episodes and it’s been fun to keep up with Yoshimori and Tokine and all their wacky adventures. The show is fun and clever with remarkably good characterization for a shounen fighting series. And when an episode ends on a cliffhanger, there I am eagerly waiting for the next episode to appear the following Monday.

Here’s the thing, though. I am in no way against fansubs, and I am well aware that Kekkaishi has been fansubbed in its entirety. With a few clicks I could easily be watching the next episode and the next one after that, all the way until I finish the entire series. But still I refrain from grabbing those fansubs, and it’s not out of some sense of right and wrong or loyalty to the fine companies that license anime. And so I begin to wonder what the hell is up with me.

In his Macross 7 podcast, Andrew talks about how important he believes not marathoning Macross 7 is to enjoying the show more, and this may be affecting my thinking. Part of it may also be that I want to enjoy the experience of watching a series a little bit at a time and in a way where I can plan my schedule around it instead of squeezing it into every moment that I can. Monday is Kekkaishi day; it’s a nice way of approaching watching anime, and leans a little closer to the “passive” side of anime fandom.

But the more I think about it, the more I believe that this conscious self-restraint is just out of sheer stubbornness, like I’m daring myself to see just how long I can keep this up. I’m not only watching only an episode or two a week, but doing it on purpose when I could quite easily do otherwise. I’ve subconsciously thrown down the gauntlet at myself.

One thing I realized about myself is that I enjoy having “streaks.” When I exercise, it’s only partially to keep healthy, and much of it has to do with stubbornly seeing just how long I can do it. I also basically dared myself into making at least one post every day here on Ogiue Maniax, and the result is that, short or long, drawing or writing, I’ve posted 7 days a week for over two years. Granted, I no longer have that early blogger desire to make multiple posts in a day just because I can, but I think that’s more a matter of pacing myself.

So let’s see if I can finish Kekkaishi this way. Even if I fail, I think the experience will have been well worth it either way.

Impatience and Experience and Competitive Gaming Sequels

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I am, perhaps by nature, not the most competitive person around. I like to win for sure, and I like to improve my chances of winning when in competition, but I have never had that win-at-all-costs attitude which defines the most successful players in any game or activity. Still, I have spent time in and observing many communities, particularly in the area of video games, and I’ve come to notice a number of trends which all seem to stem from the same fountain of human behavior and irrationality.

When it comes to “professional gaming,” there is no example more prominent than the Korean Starcraft scene. It is by far the most refined and successful example of video game as competition. Finally however, Starcraft 2 is right on the horizon, with a beta version out. I have not had the fortune of playing this game, and in fact I have not played the original Starcraft in well over six years. But as much as I am inexperienced in the scene itself, I am still fascinated by its growth. To that end, I have been listening to podcasts about the SC2 beta, particularly the “Team Liquid Beta Podcast,” recorded by Sean “Day[9]” Plott and his friend Tristan. Sean Plott is a very famous American player who is known not only for his skills behind a keyboard, but his incredibly analytical mind. In episode 3 of the podcast, he addresses an idea which has been floating around, the idea that Starcraft 2 is less suited for competition than its predecessor, and makes too many concessions to neophytes. And it very well might, but as Sean points out, it’s rather curious that people would be so quick to jump to conclusions on a game which isn’t even officially out yet, a prototype which can very well experience drastic changes. Herein lies the logical irrationality I spoke of.

Through the hours of effort put into it by players in Korea as well as in every other country which houses competitive spirit for Starcraft, many discoveries have been made over a decade that have pushed the game to points that would seem unbelievable to fans of the past. It took time and effort and I think everybody who likes this game is likely grateful for a number of these progressions, if not all of them. But the mistake that the players of the beta make here, and it’s a mistake I can point out despite never having played the game, is sheer impatience. The error of reasoning in this situation is the idea that just because the community is so experienced with its predecessor and the process of discovering concepts and techniques to foster and push competition, that the same progress not only could happen in the sequel at an accelerated rate, but that it should happen.

This is not the only time I have seen this impatience in action. For years I was and still am a big fan of the Super Smash Bros. series, and have played every incarnation of the game. I pride myself on being fairly good at Smash, albeit not at the highest levels of competition, but I have a keen understanding of the whole deal.

While the original Nintendo 64 Super Smash Bros. did well enough, it was with its Gamecube sequel, Super Smash Bros. Melee, that a competitive community truly began to form. Like Starcraft, the players, full of desire to win, created and discovered new techniques which pushed the game to unforeseeable levels. And just like Starcraft, when a sequel in the form of Super Smash Bros. Brawl appeared, people were quick to compare it to its predecessor (as one could only expect), and just as quickly pass judgment on it, decrying it as lacking the “advanced techniques” and overall suitability for a competitive game, and making big and bold declarations after the game had only been out mere weeks. Again, the same flawed reasoning appeared. “With all of our experience in Melee, advanced techniques should be getting discovered at a fraction of the time it took originally! We have more people and we don’t have that period where people were just messing around!” In addition, players were quick to establish a set of “tournament rules” at blinding speed, stifling the idea of discovery for discovery’s sake with the desire to simply win at “legitimate” competitive venues.

Why is there such impatience when it comes to competitive sequels? I understand well the idea that a follow-up to a popular competitive game will be compared to the original. It’s all but inevitable. And I also understand that people want to make sure their skills translate from one game to the next. But still, I can’t help but feel that this impatience can only hurt a competitive scene. Discovery happens not only when you cut away the fat, but also when you expand and explore, and such things take time, even if you have years and years of experience.

There is actually a game in which I have devoted myself to competition before, and that is Pokemon. I have played Pokemon more than perhaps any other game series, participating in tournaments and discussions and spending days and nights thinking of possible teams and avenues of victory. And though my main focus is on exploration and discovery and trying to find holes in the “metagame,” I have seen the state of competition as it applies to the Pokemon series, from the early days of Red and Blue all the way up to the recent generation starting with Diamond and Pearl, and two things are always clearly inevitable as the scene transitions from one version of the game to the next. First, we bring with us all of our old ideas about what makes a team strong, and what we predict will be the vanguards of victory and competition. Second, those theories are smashed and obliterated as we realize that, as similar as the games are to each other, subtle differences can have wide-reaching effects in the most unpredictable of ways. And it’s going to happen again and again and again.

There is no specific point at which you can officially decide if a game is worthwhile for competition or not, and it is very possible that initial reactions will be validated. Still, impatience brought on by the “pride of experience” is an incredibly dangerous thing to any competitive scene, and the sooner people realize this, the better.

Easy Doesn’t Mean Boring

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After having beaten and reviewed Megaman 10 on its Normal difficulty, today I revisited the game on Easy Mode, playing alongside someone who doesn’t have quite as much experience with the series and so doesn’t quite have the same tolerance for abuse built in. What I discovered was that even for someone who had already finished the game on a more difficult setting, Megaman 10 is still a very fun game and having my mind somewhat at ease (though not entirely of course!) let me more fully appreciate the finer aspects of the gameplay, particularly the controls. It just really reminded me how Megaman is known for good controls despite the titular character’s sub-par leaping abilities.

I think it’s very easy to make the mistake of thinking that the fun of Megaman games is in its challenge when the NES-hard style only plays a partial role in the overall experience. It might be the one you remember the most, but it’s the rest of the game which keeps you coming back.

The fact that easy mode is fun to play with multiple people has gotten me to thinking about other games which have tried to encourage people of varying skill levels to play together without fear of reprisal, be it from those same friends or from the computer. A recent popular example is New Super Mario Bros. Wii, which allows for 4-player simultaneous action and a unique system which allows players to “skip” sections while other players handle a particularly troublesome area should they choose to do so. It’s not perfect, but it keeps things moving along, and you can tell that they put a lot of consideration into this mechanic. A more classic example is introducing luck into a game. With just the right amount, it can make things exciting, and cries of “unfair!” can sometimes just entice those same complainers to play even more. I should know, mahjong can have that effect.

One really good example of a game that fosters play between beginners and experts is the Smash Bros. series. With its 4-player simultaneous action, you can get a lot of people in on it at once. More importantly though, its “Time” setting, which has everyone fight until a preset time limit, allows everyone, win or lose, to play the same amount per match. Contrast this with “Stock,” where once you lose all of your lives you are unable to play anymore. For a new player, this can be very boring as you watch the better players continue to have fun while you just sit there unable to participate in any manner except verbally (or blocking the TV and knocking away controllers if you want your ass kicked).

What’s kind of funny though is that a good deal of people, particularly overly competitive individuals, seem to have trouble understanding this idea of having games and game modes which allow everyone to derive enjoyment in roughly equal portions, as if they don’t comprehend enjoying the game as anything but a bloody battle to the top. While there are games which take the balancing factor too far (recent Mario Kart games are kind of notorious for this), I think overall games can benefit from just having things everyone can enjoy, even if it’s having both COMPETITIVE PRO KOREA MAPS and BIG GAME HUNTERS for Starcraft.

Speaking of competitive gamers and such, it seems like almost every community makes the same mistakes, but I’ll leave that topic for another time.