The impression of a vivid sensation

“Moral rights” is a fancy term (the French thought it up) that basically has to do with having your name attached to your creation (your credit!) and the right to approve or disapprove certain changes to your creation. Of course, we want you to get credit for your creation, and we want to work with you in case there are changes, but we want to do so under the terms in this pact instead of under fancy French idea. So, in order for us to adapt the Manga Pilot for different media, and to determine how we should include your credit in tough situations, you agree to give up any “moral rights” you might have.”

Those bloody “fancy French” and their lofty ideas about “moral rights”. Hang on… This wasn’t written by Dr. Evil, but Tokyopop! Seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever read a more ill-conceived, smarmy paragraph, and from a multi-national manga publisher no less, that’s so clearly intent on hoodwinking aspiring comic artists. After reading the above, would you sign this agreement?

I’ve lost a good chunk of this evening to skipping through Taku Iwasaki’s soundtrack for Gurren Lagann and reliving my favourite moments. This happens from time to time. I always go back to certain scenes, like the last few minutes of episode 26, the beginning and end of 27. The recap episode too; it’s probably the best recap episode I’ve ever seen. It’s something like this that really epitomises why Gurren Lagann was so good; that it worked all its originality and soul into a formulaic plot recap is more than notable. Looking back on those moments, it really feels like Gurren Lagann had something to say. It goes beyond mere entertainment and feels genuinely important; inspiring. Its themes are whole, cohesive and optimistic, as if everything in Simon’s world happens for a reason, culminating with his poetic epilogue. Watching anime, I suppose it’s kind of rare to finish a series feeling genuinely satisfied, there are so many rushed, poorly handled endings out there, but this was just right. At its end, mixed in with our happiness for the Gurren-dan’s success, is a slight taste of melancholy, or sadness, because our heroes are getting old, dying. I think it’s kind of horrifying to see Simon like that because it really brings home that nothing is forever, and no matter who you are or what you want to be, life goes on. It’s a beautifully human thing to feel, I guess, this happiness tempered by melancholy.

For such a sad episode, by far and away the best, most cohesive in the series up to this point, it’s notable that the heart-shattering story is left almost completely unspoken, yet, piecing together Chroniko’s life and ultimately, death, just as her Aunt’s lost memories fade back into perspective, isn’t difficult at all. Aided with its lovely, whimsical soundtrack, Kaiba speaks a universal visual language; the colours, the weather, the landscape, they scream of loss, regret and nostalgia. This episode is about, if nothing else, the value of memory, not necessarily the every-day, mundane ones, but those of your closest friends and family. Removing all of those precious moments, selling them like books from a shelf, inevitably reduces the effected relationships to loveless, null apathy. The way this episode finishes, the culmination of the Aunt’s introspective realization of guilt and loss through elegant music and fast-returning memories, is one of the most emotionally evocative and down-right sad sequences of anime I’ve seen for a very long time.

With the first episode finished, it’s no longer enough for Kaiba to merely look original. This follow-up wasn’t as visceral or as exciting as the first, but one scene in-particular struck me as really quite lovely. Nine minutes in, ‘Warp’ and friends, flying high in their aircraft, glimpse out of near-by window. What they see is a river of gleaming ‘Roe’ (a liquid-golden egg of human memory that appears after that person’s physical body has expired) floating into the vast expanse above. As animated art alone, scored with a soft, melancholy tune, it’s a moment that looks and feels wonderful, yet it takes on an added poignancy because we know that every egg, and the sky is full of them, represents a unique person. As far as I can tell, the Roe have no direction, no identifying features, they just float aimlessly, carrying their memories, destined for nowhere. Is this a comment on life? If so, I suppose it’s sounding dreary and hopeless, but the scene itself feels as beautiful as explained. It’s true that there is something small and insignificant about one individual egg (person) in a thousand, yet each one gleams golden in the sky, just the same as any other, so pretty, adding to the scene. Without the Roe, essentially, without life, the sky would be dull and empty. I’m reminded of a favourite line from Kino’s Journey; “The world is not beautiful, therefore it is”.

Watching the debut episode of Kaiba, I found it hard to shake recollections of the works of children’s author Roald Dahl. Many of his books are undeniably childish, but they boast an organic, grotesque quality too. Often Dahl’s premises are colourful and funny, but his characters can be ghastly, horrific monsters, vividly evil. It’s quite fascinating to me how perhaps the most beloved children’s author of all-time was able to craft his scary, disturbing stories within the genre of kids literature to such great acclaim. This Dahlian edge slices through Kaiba too, in that its simplistic design could fool many into thinking this is a children’s cartoon, yet the moral quality of its inhabitants is, at best, ambiguous. Considering this sugar-coated depiction of depravity, Kaiba sets out to be as deliciously subversive as Dahl; gleefully dragging us into a nightmare realm of fear and violation by betraying our aesthetic assumptions.

Murasaki is an odd little girl. Disurbing, even. Last night, I watched episodes 3 and 4 of Kure-nai and it’s striking just how composed and eloquent she is for a 7-year-old, so much so that, at some points, I started to question her purpose in the story. After all, if she isn’t a realistic character, what purpose is she serving? A proxy for the likes of director Kou Matsuo, perhaps? Obviously, Murasaki looks like a young child, all innocent and wide-eyed, and therefore, she isn’t expected to play by society’s unspoken rules of etiquette. She can point out how hypocritical and self-centered the adult-world often is without much reproach. Specifically, I’m thinking of when she steps up to those granny-bashing train-punks and gets all worked up; it’s almost as if Matsuo is exploiting her unique perspective (as a child) to criticize Japan’s lack of morality.

If I’m ever watching an anime series I’m destined to love, there is always that one moment, typically unexpected, of almost transcendental catharsis that pushes me over the edge. It’s what happens when a story goes from being just another mecha anime I might enjoy, like Gundam 00, to a story that’s suddenly exploding with life, ambition, emotion. If you hadn’t guessed already, I’m talking about Macross Frontier, episode the third.

Looking out over hazy-blue clouds, Alto throws his paper plane into the sky above. The flimsy wings falter against the wind, but it’s flying, gliding high and swooping low. It’s a metaphorical moment we can grasp because, after all, most of us dream of doing something important with our lives, but for all those grand intentions, we’re still just paper planes relying on the wind; weak, fragile, hanging by a thread of hope, waiting for that breeze to carry us away. Sometimes it’s best to take a risk and jump, to chase what you desire with every ounce of your being. Rise or fall, that’s a really inspiring sentiment, right? And that’s why I watch anime. Also, as my blogging is a transient sequence of ‘wrongs’ and ‘rights’, I was wrong, on this evidence, to slightly criticize Yoko Kanno’s musical efforts for Frontier because Ranka’s heart-felt accapella turn in this episode was, in a word, beautiful. High up on a hill, singing to yourself, it’s kind of like blogging, really.

Earlier this evening, I took in the first episodes of Library Wars, Real Drive, Nabari no Ou and Soul Eater. This means, to my immense relief, that I’m finally finished with my spring previews. To be honest, I’m not sure I want watch as many first episodes ever again. Jumping from series to series like this isn’t recommended at all, as right now, I’m feeling like some used-up old vagrant with no place to rest.

1. Soul Eater was the pick of tonight’s bunch, but with me being a known shonen action fan-boy and all, that’s hardly a big surprise, right? The best thing is that, much like Kaiba, Soul Eater adores the fact that it’s a cartoon. In this post-TTGL era, it’s suddenly fine to be as hot-blooded and colourful as possible. Also, I know the gothic Tim Burton comparisons have been done to death elsewhere, but I’ve got a few of my own too. Soul Eater is what happens when Phillip Pullman writes Teletubbies. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, dear reader.
2. Library War (Toshokan Sensou) was much more conventional, but what’s not to like about a protagonist (Kasahara) ready to go to jail for her favourite book? This is basically love at first sight. Also, it’s worth nothing that the characters are all adults; in a season eaten up by chinless 16 year-old Machiavellis, it’s nice to see some honest to good grown-ups every now and then too.
3. My feelings about Real Drive and Nabari no Ou are slightly conflicted. The ninja-filled latter had some fluid action choreography and beautiful landscape art, but lacked much in the way of coherent direction, seemingly happy to waste a lot of time hinting at yaoi fantasies. The former was rather interesting, but rather dull too. Being yet another Masamune Shirow anime to boast a high concept science fiction premise, Real Drive was both confusing and fascinating, but at the first episode’s conclusion, I was still searching for that Ghost Hound-esque human element to drag me through the next couple of installments.

As if you couldn’t tell already, I have a fairly contrarian nature. I’ll start off on the opposite side to popular opinion just because I hate walking in-line with all the other otaku. Sometimes that’s justified, other times, not so much. I was wrong to doubt Macross Frontier. The first episode was exciting, well-animated and intriguing. In particular, the surprise attack on Frontier reminded me why I love space opera, it felt epic. That’s an over-used word these days, but it was that kind of thrilling. Big, sweeping, grand, destiny, bravery, love, death; themes of great consequence. Also, I liked a lot of Yoko Kanno’s soundtrack, but I wish she didn’t go the cliche-JPop route with Sheryl. The way she crafted Sharon Apple’s personality for Macross Plus felt so much more lively and authentic; she was the believable idol of a distant future, beautiful yet alien. In comparison, Sheryl could be any number of contemporary female pop-stars, just a little too same-y for my tastes. I guess it’s a little unfair to compare Frontier to Plus, considering the latter is a golden-age classic and it had Kanno in-collaboration with Bebop’s Shinichiro Watanabe, but I have some high standards for my dearest musician.

Just when I think I’ve got it pegged, the anime industry comes up with something completely unpredictable. Later today, our family-friendly anime publisher Funimation (with emphasis on fun) is going to announce that they’ve licensed Shigurui. That’s right, coming to your local Walmart in 2009, sitting in-between that funny volume of School Rumble and the mis-placed tin of economy-value baked beans is our favourite self-fellating, incestuous murder-death-kill Shigurui. You can’t make this stuff up, but credit to Funimation for trying. I just remembered that they have released Mushishi too, so, clearly, they aren’t adverse to trying something new every now and then. All eyes turn to Baccano! this weekend.