true tears: The Episode of Untold Suffering

This was a quite bizarre episode for me to watch. So much of what actually happened in the episode was locked under subtext after subtext of inference. It’s a somewhat strange way for an anime episode to deliver needed information, let alone in the kind of series true tears is. This is just further proof that anime is TV, done seriously.

It’s clear that Noe is hugely jealous of Shin’ichiro’s affection for Hiromi, far, far more than before. I half-expected him to slap Hiromi, so it was quite surprising to find that he hugged her. I think that one moment spoke far more than words between the two: Hiromi now has clear, tangible proof that Shin’ichiro cares for her. Noe, of course, feels somewhat used and abandoned at this point. Shin’ichiro himself is caught between Scylla, Charybdis, AND the Sirens all at once. What fun it must be for him.

As a fan of lovable, quirky Noe, I feel it’s understandable that she feels betrayed, but she has no way of knowing the ordeal Shin’ichiro is going through. It’s clear that their brief, happy relationship is now over, or at least on indefinite hiatus. The missing “Noe ga suki da” rock sentence, and her anguished search for it is evidence that she knows it’s over, but she still doesn’t want to admit it to herself. I haven’t figured out the significance of her pressing hard on Shin’ichiro’s nose injury from the fight, which was probably one of the most perplexing moments of the whole episode–so much unspoken subtleties that it’s hard for me to grasp anything but vague statements of what happened. Maybe the wound-pressing is simply her inflicting a small portion of her own pain upon him. Symbolism.

Shin’ichiro’s mother, too, reveals a different side of herself, a side that is regretful for the pain she has caused Hiromi over the years, through her lies and mistreatment. I don’t know what it was about the running away and the accident that changed her mind, but she’s gone through a sudden sea change. With only 4 episodes left to go, I still have no idea how it’s going to end up, or even how I want it to end up. It’s going to be a downer of an ending, or else this series’ name isn’t true tears. Which it is. So, yeah. Bring Kleenex to episode 13.

Seirei no Moribito (again): Sayonara, Chagum

Sorry for making two posts on the exact same show in a row, but, uh, watching Seirei no Moribito was pretty much the only thing I did of use today. So, yeah.

The latter half of this series is a coming-of-age tale. Chagum begins the story at 11, and he is still a child; by the end of the series, he is 12 and for all intents and purposes is an adult. It’s kind of reminiscent of a Japanese version of His Dark Materials, in a way (without the theologizing, of course), which is probably the best way to describe it (the alternative being Japanese Harry Potter, which doesn’t seem to fit). We see the progression from a Chagum who does not want to die to a Chagum who will sacrifice himself if it means the lives of his kingdom. I can’t help but want to see what kind of emperor Chagum will be when his father dies. He’s put in a unique perspective: not only is he strong and willing to sacrifice himself for his country, but he’s seen how the commoners live. Benevolent emperor ahoy.

And I’m sure I’m not the only person who got birthing labor undertones during the scene where the Egg is extracted from Chagum–they seemed to spread that analogy on pretty thick, there. But I liked the whole sequence leading up to the Egg’s birth–it was marvelously paced for me. It didn’t drag on, but it didn’t try to cram the entire sequence into a single episode either. The series has always been about a slow, contemplative pace, which (in case you hadn’t noticed) is something I highly enjoy in anime. The ending isn’t what’s important in a story–it’s the getting there. If Seirei no Moribito had been a 13 episode series, it wouldn’t have even been half as much fun. It’s the opposite of Nishi no Yoki Majo, in a sense: sometimes it’s not the content that makes or breaks a series, it’s the presentation of the content that can turn a good story into a bad one. The pacing here is slow, but it’s just enough to make you want to watch the next episode. The fact that nearly every episode ends on a cliffhanger helps a lot, too.

The final thing that I want to say here is: I must have been stupid as hell to drop it initially. Back when it aired, Production I.G. had the reputation with me of churning out action-fests that didn’t really appeal to me. I’m not a Ghost in the Shell fan for whatever reason (I’m thinking more of the movies here, though–I can’t remember the half of Standalone Complex I watched years ago, and should probably go watch that), and I remember liking the first half of Otogizoshi, but that’s it from their catalog I liked. Now it’s more like “stop making series I want to watch” so, uh, I dunno. Probably I changed or something.

This will be the last time I mention how much I want the Seirei no Moribito novel to come out here. Since this series only covers the first novel, and it had an ending, I wonder what the other nine books are about…

Seirei no Moribito: The Weak Win by Guile, The Strong Win by Killing, The Balsa…Well, She Just Wins

Yes, I am catching up on Seirei no Moribito, and I am loving it. I have seen 11-15 today (and will probably go watch some more after this post, as it’s getting terribly addictive) and I have been roundly impressed by it. As mentioned before, the first few episodes are duplicitous and make you think that Production I.G. is doing another action-filled bloodfest. That would be a lie, but anyone who’s seen the series knows this already. It’s instead a tale of political intrigue and motherly instincts, two topics that you wouldn’t normally see paired together quite so close. Both the characters of Balsa and Chagum are highly complex, with Chagum being somewhat atypical for what you would normally see in the “divine” son of an Emperor, and Balsa being…well, Balsa.

Balsa is the epitome of the noble warrior–I’m not well-read on samurai culture, but she seems to take the concept of bushido even further than normal. I think. Don’t quote me on that, though. What I mean is, Balsa is a noble warrior–she has learned from her past and tried to make amends. She is an expert at the spear, yet she refuses to kill anyone, as she swore to protect as many lives as she killed. Chagum is, of course, the last of these lives, and she will not stand for anything getting in the way of that.

Which brings me to episode 13, “Neither Man nor Tiger”. I think this episode moved me profoundly–not necessarily with its content, but rather in the synchronization of the direction and the writing. This episode revolves around a former enemy of Balsa’s, Kalbo, who spots her on the street and challenges her to a duel to the death. The condition for the duel is that if she doesn’t show up, he will kill the first traveler past a certain point at sundown every day that she does not show. She refuses at first, and, rather than fighting him, takes on the duty herself of protecting the hapless travelers who are his first targets.

As Balsa shepherds them, though, Kalbo harasses her and prevents her from resting–the same trick she had played on him the last time they fought. As the night wears on, Balsa grows ever more angry at the treatment Kalbo is giving the travelers (a schoolmistress and her guide), essentially treating them as pawns in the game between the two. She ends up challenging him to a fight, wherein she kills him, and marches off. The schoolmistress, however, finds that Kalbo is not dead, and sends her guide off to chase after Balsa to tell her the news.

The whole episode was almost poetic in execution. It gives you a clear glimpse into what drives Balsa at the moment: she has vowed never to kill again, but when danger is placed not to herself, but to Chagum (in the sense that if Kalbo is not killed, he will inform the state that the prince is alive), Balsa forgets all reason (and her vows) and seriously tries to kill Kalbo, both for the threat to Chagum and for the wanton endangerment to the travelers. She’s not a perfect human–she’s still prone to fits of anger and poor judgement–but I think that is what makes her much easier to relate to than a gung-ho super-badass lead character. Arguably, this weakness makes her substantively more “gar” than those sorts. The latter type is fun to watch, but in the end, at least with me, relating to a character in some way can only be a good thing.

Lamentably, I only have 11 more episodes left, but I intend to finish it soon, I’ve been procrastinating on it far too long. The book release is far off, too, and there’s nine other novels in the series. Maybe it’ll catch on in America with the youth audience, leading to the (re-)licensing of the anime. One can only hope.

No, Horo, it is empty. There is no more beer. You are lucky you were not doused with the stuff.

Too bad I dislike the concept of alcohol, or else all this beer-swilling would turn me on. Alas.

What struck me the most in this episode (which is 8, not 7; 7 is too spicy for TV so they couldn’t air it, or something) was the fact that Horo is totally playing Lawrence for a fool. I mean, they spread it on thick there with that inn room scene where she’s begging him for oil to make her tail pretty. She took the womanly charm and essentially seduced him into buying whatever she wanted.

It’s things like this that bring up questions about who’s ahead in the Lawrence/Horo relatonship. Is one trying to pull the wool over the head of the other? Are they both trying to do it to each other, the most likely scenario? Or is this just some kind of weird authorial trick? Lawrence is no cad, and many of his moves so far have been carefully calculated–but so have Horo’s. She is a wolf, after all, less wily and cunning than, say, a fox, but still up there. If she’s playing Lawrence for a dupe, or he her, then this series has a lot going on under the surface that the viewer isn’t seeing. Beneath the Horo fanservice lies an uncanny game of chess between the two leads which never ends. It’s little touches like this that make me like the series more with each episode, and sad that it is merely a one-season series. Hopefully, the popularity of the series with the American fanbase will lead to a licensing of the light novels, which means that the series doesn’t have to end until the author ends it.

And on the topic of having missed an episode somewhere, I think the magician we meet at the end was actually introduced in episode 7, but we’re lacking that informaton, so it’s kind of upsetting to me to watch a series that’s supposed to be enjoyed in-order out-of-order. That’s just plain ol’ human OCD, though. I assume all will be made clear when the DVD is out and 7 is released for all to enjoy and marvel at. It’s probably the second (and final) arc of the series, so more economic thrills, chills, and spills (literally) await us. And more interaction, I hope.

Kirameki: Misunderstood Genius, or Psychopathic Lunatic? YOU BE THE JUDGE.

Whatever he is, he makes me look like Chiaki here.

Shigofumi episode 8 was extremely clever in many ways. We look deeper into the personality of Kirameki, Fumika’s father, at the same time as we get Wacky Sister Hijinks. It’s a win-win situation no matter how you slice it.

Kirameki’s deranged ravings about beauty and truth and glass show him to be a master at stringing words together to form poetic novels of unspeakable beauty, so he’s undoubtedly a genius. However, we see, his waxing poetic has affected many people. Including one girl who decided to take her own life after reading about the beauty of death in one of his books. The girl in question may not have been the most stable of people to begin with (we know nothing of her background, and will continue to know nothing, so speculation is moot), but as wrenching as someone taking their life over words in a book is, what’s even more wrenching is Kirameki’s reaction to the shigofumi.

THAT’S RIGHT.

BURNING IT.

It’s a slightly twisted way to express one’s gratitude to an author for changing their personal belief on death, but Kirameki’s utter rejection of the letter as garbage is probably the more reprehensible act here. The proper emotion concerning a suicide over something you have written is probably quite difficult to put into words–it’d probably be somewhere between pride in your words to move someone so dramatically, if negatively; and utter shame that, well, someone committed suicide over a book you wrote. This is not Kirameki’s emotion whatsoever. He’s seemingly oblivious to the fact that the letter is from a dead person, and he fails to grasp the significance of the letter. Simply because it is not beautiful, he wishes to destroy it.

It’s illustrative of the fact that yes, one may have the potent gift to write beautifully with glass pens, and one can certainly be an unparalleled genius at authorship, but that doesn’t mean you actually get what it means to be human. I think in some regards this is why I’m mistrustful of writers who are advertised by copywriters and quotes on the cover as having “beautiful, lyrical writing” or some other nonense such as that: they’re certainly impressive writers, and it must have taken a long time to arrange each and every word into place so that the whole reads beautifully and poetically, but…it’s hollow. Or, at least, that’s how I feel. It’s certainly beautiful and poetic, and makes for great quotes, but ultimately these works have less power to evoke the emotion and thoughtfulness that they’re supposed to, at least for me. There’s something lacking in them, and in Kirameki: a kind of “naturalness”, a rough-around-the-edges feeling. Kirameki can certainly wax poetic with the best of them (the nigh-on hilarious quotes we get from his books prove this), but he lacks what it means to be human, and so, for all his bluster and lyricism, he’s nothing more than a common psychopath. Or so I think, anyway.

Shin’ichiro’s Torment, Noe’s Happiness, Aiko’s Grief, Hiromi’s Lament, and Jun’s Utter Confusion

Aww, isn’t she just so happy that Shin’ichiro loves her?

Of course, Shin’ichiro is a somewhat tormented individual at the present time. It’s here that I think one of the strongest strengths of true tears lies: Shin’ichiro himself. He isn’t a spineless self-insertion stand-in lead male for the viewer, like a lesser anime with the same basic premise (of which there have been quite a few–Da Capo, I’m looking at you); he’s instead a character in his own right, with his own unique sets of motivations. He doesn’t necessarily want all the girls who are chasing after him in various fashions. He doesn’t want to have to go through the painful process of selecting one out of three, crushing the hopes of the other two. It’s a delicate game he’s playing, and he’s not playing it entirely well, depending on which of the three girls you’re rooting for. Personally, I’m pulling for Noe, but I don’t want to see Hiromi and Aiko’s hopes crushed either, which will probably happen. Or else all three of them will get crushed for ultimate BAD END.

Shin’ichiro’s predicament is sympathetic to pretty much anyone, even if we haven’t been in the not-so-wonderful position of having multiple women lusting after us. Despite what harem anime will make you think, being caught between any number of women, be it two or twenty, is not a pleasant situation rife with boob-grabbing and panties-seeing and sky-punching. true tears approaches this angle from a much more human perspecive: Shin’ichiro is just trying to do the best that he can for all three. The problem here, however, is his very own cheerful and friendly matchmaking: he set Aiko up with Miyokichi (despite the fact that she likes him), and he also set up Hiromi with Jun (despite the fact that she likes him as well). In trying to do the best for his friends, he ultimately ends up punishing himself, a situation which I can lamentably empathize with. It’s one thing to be nice; it’s entirely another to be nice and smart.

Shin’ichiro is kind-hearted but naive, which is exactly what I am, so, therefore, it’s yet another anime character which I can identify with. I think that’s why I like true tears so much–it’s not hard to identify with at least one of the characters in some fashion.

Either that, or I’m just moe for Noe.

Nishi no Yoki Majo (Good Witch of the West) pt. 1 by Ogiwara Noriko

Yeah, it’s a book “review”. I bet you all look like Firiel here.

Tokyopop released the first volume of the Good Witch of the West quintology late last year. Some of you may be familiar with its anime counterpart, which is somewhat incredibly different from the actual novel.

How different, you ask? The creators of the anime took a five-volume series (each book being about 200 pages in English, apparently) and crammed it into thirteen episodes. That would be a problem, no? If you liked the anime in any way, shape, or form, the novel will be a real treat, as it’s the anime, except with the bits that they cut out put back in. I’m at a somewhat interesting vantage point reading this novel, as I already know the truth behind many of the events in the series, due to watching the anime, but the fun thing for me is finding out the little details that got axed. This first novel covers the events in the first two episodes, roughly, in much more detail.

For those who haven’t seen the anime and have no idea what it is, I’d recommend reading the novel before seeing the anime, if you ever do, for the reasons stated above. Good Witch of the West is Ogiwara Noriko writing about schemes and plots in the nobility for five books. Firiel Dee, the main character, finds out rather suddenly that she’s actually a princess, similar to the characters in the fairytales she reads all the time; however, unlike these fairytale characters, when she finds this out, she is immediately swept into a world of plots, schemes, and conspiracies. It’s all pretty fun, if perhaps a bit on the escapist side.

The hallmark of the series is the relationship between Firiel and Rune. It’s exactly what you would get if you shoved two tsundere characters into a relationship with each other. That’s how awesome it is. The two are constantly in a love-hate/hate-love relationship, both of them trading insults and digs at each other, and both of them thinking the other is uncouth and unrefined. It’s a weird romantic (for that is what it ultimately ends up being, as anyone can plainly see from the first novel) setup, operating on the axiom that opposites attract. It’s fun to watch them ricochet off each other, and Ogiwara does this especially well in the book.

Good Witch of the West doesn’t quite stack up with other, Western adult fantasy books in totally unfair comparison, and either the original writing or the translation is somewhat strange to my finely honed reader’s eye, but it’s certainly leagues ahead of most of the things that get churned out for YA pubishers nowadays, which is the market that this appeals to most. I do know that many library journals give the manga adaptation high praise, and it’s always hard to wring out that starred review from Kirkus or Booklist, but there you have it. Kid-tested, librarian approved!

How NOT To Stop Bullying, Lesson One

Do not stab bully with a screwdriver. This is counterproductive.

I feel very, very unclean right now. I think I need to have a mini-Passover or something. I didn’t think Shigofumi would be able to top the second episode’s father-selling-daughters-for-sex-and-money revelation, or would even try to top it.

It did.

Episode 6 was horrifyingly uncomfortable to watch, and i was never really bullied that much in school. Maybe it was because I was never bullied in school that made it so uncomfortable to watch. The “bullying is bad” storyline has been made before, of course, countless times, but that’s unimportant as Shigofumi does a really good number showing the brutal effects of bullying, in part because the writers aren’t trying to shy away from the, well, brutal. From people giving horrible “sympathy” to the bullied, merely making their problem worse unto death, and then turning the tables on the somewhat hapless bystander, and then hapless bystander turning the tables AGAIN. It was quite a ride.

The clever mechanic of letting Morishita see inside the head of Kikugawa through the anonymity of the Internet was a clever device, as it lets the bullier (even if a relatively passive one) get a glimpse inside the mind of the buillied. Of course, then again, he feels the pain himself later on, and responds in a quite different manner than the passive Kikugawa. Everything about this episode screamed “quality” at me while I was watching it, although I was too busy feeling icky to quite properly notice. I wasn’t even planning to talk about it here, but, uh, well, you see how well that went.

true tears may be my favorite series of this season, but Shigofumi is getting a close second, just for this. I’m surprised winter season has been so good–normally, there’s not much to watch. Maybe I’ve changed, or maybe this is just an unusual winter season. Whatever it is, I think 2008 will be a wild year.

Tarou and Miyako’s Secret Love Tryst in the Woods

They seem to have lots of these. Eagerly awaiting romance subplot.

Ghost Hound continues to please me; I think in some ways it’s a kind of more sinister Zettai Shounen: you’ve got the same glacial, relaxed pacing, mysterious events surrounding the main characters, and oddball background music (or, in Ghost Hound’s case, no music at all but sound effects). The two invoke similar moods at times, but Ghost Hound is laced with that edge of creepiness that Zettai Shounen didn’t have. Not that it needed it, because it was still a good series, but there you go.

I was talking with a friend of mine who accused the series of being “over-produced”, a term which I hadn’t heard before, but which he explained meant that the series was trying to appeal to as broad an audience as it possibly could, sapping the soul of the creator out of it. I don’t think he’s right; checking online, the term “over-produced” gets applied to films like Memoirs of a Geisha and Alexander and other kinds of movies I’ve never seen that had enormous pre-release studio-generated hype and were an attempt to snipe the Academy Awards, at which they failed horribly. Call me crazy, but I don’t get this feeling from Ghost Hound. It is the 10th anniversary series of Production I.G., after all, so yes, it has a high production budget, and it certainly looks very good, but I think the series has only improved over time. The first few episodes weren’t especially enthralling, I will grant everyone that, but I felt somehow oddly compelled to watch more, and the series has opened itself up since then. I think my friend was going by the first several lacklustre episodes, for which I can’t fault him much, but he’s still wrong. The series clearly isn’t trying to grab as many demographics as it possibly can–it’s far too unlike Higurashi no Naku Koro ni to really be effective at that. The only “cute girl” character we’ve got is Miyako, who is suitably cute, but there’s no obvious otaku-bait moments, which I would take as a sign of “over-production” in the “grab every demographic” sense. Plus, no-one is watching it. Another reason it’s like Zettai Shounen! So watch it already! But you probably are! Exclamation points!

“That’s the highest compliment I could hope for.”

Well, it certainly doesn’t take much to please Setsuna, in the end.

We finally get some more tenuous light shed on Setsuna’s situation in life, as well as Nerd Dylandy Neil Nudity Neil Dylandy’s (can’t you say it properly, Felt)…or, err, Lockon’s. I’m guessing this is what MIzushima meant by the Meisters being fairly fleshed-out characters by the time the season closer pops up, an event which is getting dreadfully closer by the day. We’ve even learned a bit about Tieira Erde, and, while there’s still no explanation as to why he’s a humorless ass, he’s very obviously still human, somewhere in that ice cold heart of his.

The satisfaction of having pieces of the puzzle we call Gundam 00 slowly slide into place is nigh-on incomperable. It’s a great conspiracy series, made all the better because it’s a Gundam conspiracy series. With hot girls. I won’t say it’s the best Gundam ever oh my God you have to see it (although at times I might want to) but we’re six episodes from the end of the first half, and the series has only improved with each episode. Or, rather, not necessarily improved, but it’s kind of a Eureka Seven effect: you start out more intrigued than enthralled, and as the series slowly doles out bits of plot and what-not you find yourself loving it more and more. Of course, it hasn’t really “improved” per se, the standards of quality were there in the beginning, and the rather inauspicious start was just a clever prank by the writers to make lesser mortals abandon ship early. The Eureks Seven effect is, of course, why I rarely drop series whose first episode is lacklustre but intriguing anymore: it’s not really failed me much yet. Ghost Hound falls under this category as well (speaking of, need to watch next episode for my dose of creepy psychology) , so it’s a good sign that it’s in there.

Now I’m just sad that I have to wait until 2009 to find out how 00 ends. Curse you, Japan. At least we have Code Geass conclusion to watch in the interim between series. God bless Taniguchi Goro.