Frequently cited — somewhat inaccurately — as the series that sparked the entire shōjo (girls comic) style, Princess Knight is also particularly notable for being one of the many manga for girls but written by a man. At the time there were very few women in manga, so it was expected for men to write comics for girls. However, many of the female manga artists who came to prominence in the 1970s, known collectively as the Showa 24 Group, would later cite Princess Knight as one of the series that inspired them to make their own manga.

Sapphire, the protagonist of Princess Knight, is both hero and heroine, since the mischevious angel Tink accidentally gave her both a boy and a girl heart before she was born. Since she is the heir apparent to the kingdom of Silverland, Sapphire's gender is quite important; women can't inherit the throne! To prevent the nasty Duke Duralumin's idiot son from becoming prince, her family raises Sapphire as both boy and girl, and she spends part of the day fencing and fighting, and another part picking flowers and talking to woodland creatures. God sends Tink down to Earth to fix his mistake and get back Sapphire's boy heart.

Meanwhile, beneath the facade of her princely life, Sapphire longs to fully embrace her girl side, and even wears a blonde wig to a carnival, wherein she meets the dashing Prince Franz Charming. But things go awry when Charming and Sapphire engage in a tournament as princes, and the nasty Duke Duralumin poisons Charming's sword in an attempt to kill Sapphire. A few hijinks later and the king is dead, Charming is accused of murder, and Sapphire's identity is revealed. She loses not only the throne, but her freedom as well: she and her mother find themselves locked in jail by their own people. For the remainder of these two thick volumes, we follow Sapphire's journey to regain the throne, win the love of Prince Charming, and escape the wiles of not only Duke Duralumin, but also Madame Hell, an appropriately named devil woman who wants to steal Sapphire's girl heart and give it to her own daughter.

Some critics have celebrated Princess Knight for its subversion of traditional gender roles, but ironically this is precisely where the manga fails to connect. Perhaps by the most liberal definition of the term, Vertical could claim that this is Tezuka's "proto-feminist" masterpiece (as they do on the back cover), but it hardly applies to a story in which Sapphire's girl heart gives her the ability to pick flowers and her boy heart gives her the ability to swordfight. I fact, in many cases she loses one heart or the other, and Tezuka makes it very clear that without the boy heart, she loses all of her strength and will to fight. (Get ready for gripping lines like "Oh no, I feel weak all of a sudden. I feel like my boy heart's been sucked right out of me! Oh, I'm so scared!")

The second volume features a bit more criticism of traditional gender roles, portrayed with classic Tezuka bluntness via a group of women who lock themselves in a castle and fight off the men in order to protect Sapphire. The most striking moment of this scene is when Sapphire — equipped only with a sword and her girl heart — fights off a villain she could only defeat previously when she had both hearts. Here it seems that Tezuka is making a more direct correlation between her fighting ability and Sapphire herself (rather than her gender), but it's such a long time coming and it comes from so far out of left field that it seems almost accidental.

The gender commentary isn't the only place where the presentation and pacing leave their marks, though. The entire manga runs at a breakneck pace, and major developments occur at such a striking speed that it can be difficult to keep up. Futhermore, when introducing characters, Tezuka wastes no time in explaining straight to your face exactly how they feel about everything, without the slightest hint of subtlety. For instance, within the first few pages of Sapphire meeting the pirate captain Blood, not only has he professed his instantaneous love for her, but she has introduced herself with the brilliant line "I promise I'm not a shady person."

Despite a whirlwind of events surrounding her, watching the eponymous Princess Knight can be downright boring. She's certainly not a passive Dinsey princess, but generally things happen to Sapphire, and she rarely does anything herself, making her little more than an object for the plot to bounce off of. Indeed, at one point near the climax she is bedridden, waiting for other characters to bring her the help she needs. Madame Hell's daughter Hecate, a hip, rebellious young devil girl who opposes her mother's plan to marry her off to Prince Charming, is a much more interesting heroine, and suffice it to say that a character named "Prince Charming" hardly ranks among Tezuka's most layered protagonists.

The comedy is the one aspect of Tezuka's style that remains consistently on-point in Princess Knight. There are lots of one- or two-panel visual gags that punctuate the action just long enough to induce a chuckle before he gets back into the main story, and they have the same sort of non-sequiter, anachronistic charm that we've come to expect from the author. None of this is all that surprising, since in the early 1960s Tezuka was still largely writing for children, and was still known for his gag antics.

This, of course, extends equally to the art, which falls much closer to Astro Boy (1952) than later works like Ode to Kirihito (1966), which makes sense considering that Princess Knight's original run was concurrent with Astro Boy (Tezuka reworked the series for a 1963 rerelease, the version used for the Vertical edition). While its overall tone is reminiscent of Astro Boy, it achieves an appropriately fairy-tale aesthetic through the use of super-clean lines, simple, bubbly shapes, and generally lighter tones. Readers may also notice that, in addition to the overwhelming Disney influence on the designs of the characters and backgrounds, Tezuka also takes cues from early shojo adventure comics like Katsuji Matsumoto's The Mysterious Clover (1934).

Princess Knight is, quite frankly, a baffling read. It seems to fly by even faster than Astro Boy, but unlike the richly established world and characters of that series, this feels more like a clumsy pastiche of Disney fantasy-adventure films. What's more, the gender commentary is bluntly feminist at best and downright sexist at worst, and the entire work feels largely purposeless. It pains me to say this, but I can't recommend Princess Knight unless, like me, you feel the need to plumb the depths of Osamu Tezuka's English-language catalog. Perhaps in its time Princess Knight may have captivated its young audience, but today it serves as a reminder that even a god makes mistakes every once in a while.

Here Tezuka begins to experiment with full black page backgrounds and a cinematic zoom effect, with each successive panel getting smaller and smaller (or larger and larger) to simulate a film camera. After one such zoom out and another zoom in, we have moved in both time and space to Lyon, France. The year is 1939, and Lamp has sold his father-in-law's scientific research to the Nazis. As if Acetelyne Lamp's typecast villany isn't established enough, Tezuka has now convinced us that he is not a man to be trusted. His wife is heartbroken.

Zoom! Cut! It is now seven years earlier, and Zephyrus is introducing her boyfriend, Lamp, to her father amid a field of flowers. He would like to marry her, and her father happily acquieces. Zoom in on butterflies, cut to two arms in a bedroom, the lights dimmed. They are in Nice, in the winter of the same year. For two pages here Tezuka shows us the intimacy of these two lovers with nothing more than a series of horizontal panels, framing their arms as they talk. Lamp is having financial difficulty and wants to sell Zephyrus's father's research. Her arm shrinks away from his.

More black panels bring us to Lyon in 1940, where Lamp informs his father-in-law that, on the Nazi's orders, he is sending him to work for them. In a page exclusively composed of vertical panels, Lamp moves from the bottom of the panel to the top, and we see him speaking down not only to Zephyrus's handicapped father, but to her as well. He is an ambitious, ruthless man, completely in control of the situation.

Another cacophonous black page takes us from Zephyrus's father's suicide to the birth of a baby to Locarno again, in 1940. Canted shots of trains show Zephyrus's frantic flight.

Finally, we come to rest in 1943, on a small island near Guadalcanal. A caretaker rushes back to Zephyrus's bedside, watching as she relays her final words to her daughters. They must destroy money, law, and men in order to get revenge on the father who destroyed their lives. Zephyrus passes, and we zoom away from her crying children and finish the story on one final black panel.

In just 24 pages, we see the beginning, middle, and end of a marriage, with time and space jumbled up in the subjectivity of memory. In the hands of a clumsier manga artist, such temporal and aesthetic changes would surely be confusing, but it is a testament to his genius that Tezuka is able to tie it all up into a fast-paced, digestible, and entertaining package.

This post is a part of the Osamu Tezuka Manga Moveable Feast (MMF), a week-long celebration of the manga work of Osamu Tezuka, hosted by The Manga Critic. Check out the extensive archive for this week's MMF at The Manga Critic.

Giving at least $25 to the Kickstarter will net you a copy of the book if and when it is released, giving over $35 gets you the book plus a digital companion with "bonus art and commentary," and DMP has thrown in a bunch of other nice extras as the pledge amounts get higher. (The top prize, for pledging $145 or more, is a copy of Barbara signed by Tezuka scholar Frederik L. Schodt, your name at the top of the credits in the book, and a tour of the DMP offices, among other things.) And the way Kickstarter works, your money only goes through if the campaign is successful, so there's no risk.

As anime scholar Helen McCarthy points out in a blog post, this new strategy of financing publishing based on customers fronting the cost is certainly unusual. However, a changing industry environment requires changing business practices, and I think this is a really cool way to get fans involved and ensure that releases are actually going to be profitable. Plus, DMP is getting more Tezuka manga out there, and that's all I can ask for.

For more information on Barbara, check out the great profile of the manga over at TezukaInEnglish, and make sure you pledge to the Kickstarter right here!

	: "Hmm, I want to watch both Eden of the East and Baccano! - what to do?"
	: "Hey, Hey Elliot!"
	: "What's that?"
	: "Hey there!"
	: "What the?"
	: "Hey there, Elliot, we think you should watch Baccano!. That would be for the best."
	: "Why?"
	: "Well, look how happy we are! Don't you want to find out why we are happy, and be happy yourself?"
	: "I guess..."
	: "Do it!"
	: "Agh! Okay, okay."
	: "Excellent....."

It went something like that. What I present here is more something of a trip report than a full review.

Now onto the show itself. Having watched the main 13 episode series, I have come to regard Baccano! as a series of victories and small wonders, furnishing the viewer with a massively entertaining show that manages to satisfy without outstaying its welcome or stretching too far.

I will admit that until sitting down and watching it I have avoided all discussion or reviews of Baccano! (Including the Ani-Gamers review) as whenever someone has mentioned the show they have taken pains to point out that almost anything is a spoiler when it comes to the shows twisting plotline. I even avoided reading the synopsis on the back of the DVD set before watching. (I'm glad I didn't—whoever wrote the one on the Manga UK DVD set appears to have been drunk.)

To outline the show: set primarily in the early 1930s, Baccano! follows the exploits of a wide range of characters in both Manhattan and the transcontinental express train "The Flying Pussyfoot" as they all go about their personal business. The narrative jumps between different time periods and different characters with such frequency that the show's creators saw fit to make much of the first episode a primer for what is to follow. For most of this episode, Norio Wakamoto (with full R-rolling in effect) and his assistant prepare the viewer by discussing in a broad sense the different time periods, settings and characters that you are going to spend the following 12 episodes with, as well as showing the viewer some juicy snippets of what is to come.

This initially flummoxing first episode nearly turned me off of the show. It felt like a warning, telling me "Hey, if you aren't down with whatâs going on now maybe you should just give up and put this back on your shelf. Oh, here is a quick cut of a young boy getting shot in the head. Bet you're interested now, eh?" Then, at the end of the episode something awesome happens (that I won't spoil) and I was hooked.

To cut to the chase, the plotting works marvelously. The highest praise I can lavish on Baccano! is that even with all the switching of character, time period and setting, the entire plotline comes together into a coherent whole that is massively satisfying, like watching a good detective story. The timing and placement of character and time zone transitions feels meticulously thought out and perfectly judged to maintain viewer interest without causing confusion or irritation. When transitioning between different time periods the show will throw up a black static image with the year that the following events take place in - the genius of these cuts are that they act as welcome breathing spaces in the action, heightening tension. The presentation reminds me an awful lot of the Guy Ritchie film Snatch (2000), which also uses multiple viewpoints to weave together a coherent and thrilling tale. I was worried towards the end that Baccano! would contract a fatal case of "Dumb Anime Ending" syndrome, but I was proven completely and wonderfully wrong. The ending was not bombastic or laden with sudden twists, but was immensely satisfying and ties the disparate plotlines up wonderfully.

The characters themselves also do a lot of the lifting when it comes to drawing you into the story, in part because there are so damn many of them but also because they are genuinely interesting. One particular character is called Jacuzzi Splot, and when I first saw him, i hated his guts. He had a dumb tattoo, a whiny voice, and a melancholy outlook on life. His one redeeming feature was that listening to Japanese voice actors try and pronounce "Jacuzzi" was endlessly amusing. But after a few appearances I began to root for the guy as his development on screen was so engaging and interesting to watch. This happens a lot with the characters â you might not like them, but you come to understand them through their actions. I can honestly say that Baccano! is one of the few shows that have had me rooting for a mass murderer. Multiple mass murderers, in fact.

Not only are the characters interesting because of their actions, but they also look great. Everyone is stylishly drawn and with a great deal of care, something that really helps out not only in learning names but also in deciphering expressions and intentions of the cast and helping you connect with them. This ability to empathize with the characters really pulls you in, and I feel is best outlined by two of its best characters, Isaac and Miria. I love these two, so very much. Isaac and Miria are a pair of loud, boisterous, idiotic and immensely lucky thieves and the fact that they feel like believable characters while acting in such an absurd manner for their entire time on screen is a credit to the series. They are used just the right amount â too little and they would become a throwaway gimmick, too much and they would take over the show and ruin the magic.

I mentioned that the characters were stylish before. In fact the whole series is damn stylish. Every character, backdrop and action has style in spades. What makes this work is that the style is completely cohesive and well thought out to work as a single whole experience: no sudden SHAFT-style insanity, no winks at the camera, no snickering to itself behind the stage curtains. Every element presented on screen has a purpose and it was put there to contribute directly towards viewer enjoyment, drawing you into a coherent world that has a tangible feeling of authenticity to it.

To sum up my thoughts on Baccano!, after the end of the 13th episode in my third non-stop viewing session, I stood up to retrieve the DVD from the disc tray and thought to myself: "Wow. That was really enjoyable. I wish more things were made this well." I only regret I waited until I had to be pushed by Santa to actually sit down and watch it!

[Highly Recommended]

This review is based on the Manga UK DVD box set, purchased by the reviewer.

But all of that changes when Shiro meets a girl named Riquinni Nonderaiko on a street corner as she hands out pamphlets about her religion, begging people to believe in God during these turbulent times. After discussing space travel and what it might feel like to leave the sins of Earth behind, Shiro is inspired to volunteer as the world's first astronaut. Unfortunately, as the rocket nears completion, the government begins to twist the original intentions of the project, attempting to use it to start a war with a rival nation.

Wings of Honneamise consistently ranks among one of the most beloved classic films in anime history — to the point that Bandai Entertainment America's top-quality DVD label is called "Honneamise." It's not a surprising position to hold, since the film is definitely a very poignant rumination on humanity and our relationship with technology and each other. Unfortunately, Honneamise is also the first major project from a brand-new studio, and it shows.

Now Gainax has always been known for their acute sense of aesthetics, and Honneamise is no exception. Despite the fact that this was their first project, the cityscapes and visions of civil unrest are at times comparable to scenes from Akira (1988), a film that was released a year later by the larger, more established Tokyo Movie Shinsha. When nothing exciting is happening on screen, there can be a noticeable drop in the framerate, but whenever an exquisitely animated piece of technology shows up, it's hard not to pick up on the love that the animators put into this project.

Such an attitude carries over to nearly every facet of this film. It is, without a doubt, a sci-fi flick made by fans for fans, with its lingering shots of engines and planes, and meticulously thought-out alternate universe (spoons are triangular, books open upwards, etc.). An unfortunate symptom of this inordinate time spent on presentation is that Honneamise is just too slow. It plods along, throwing some genuinely funny little moments between Shiro and his friends, but rarely shows anything — besides a botched assassination attempt — that gets the blood pumping.

Nevertheless, once it all comes to its powerful climax during the launch sequence, the entire first part of the movie is forgotten. This is what everybody has been waiting for — the characters, the audience, and yes, even the animators. The launch has a feeling of release, as the dreams of not only Shiro and Riquinni, but also humanity itself, are fulfilled. It’s a soaring, achingly beautiful climax, reminiscent in certain ways of many of Hayao Miyazaki’s most brilliant flying scenes. (1992's Porco Rosso being the most immediate comparison.)

In that moment, Honneamise is a surprisingly powerful film. If you ever dreamed of going to space as a kid, dreamed of staring back at Earth from hundreds of miles above the surface, Honneamise is a movie that is built for you. It is made by people who feel a childlike excitement at the thought of space travel, and their love for the subject shines through in every line of dialogue and every cel of animation. While not always a confirmation of technical skill or directorial vision, Wings of Honneamise stands among the few animated films that truly deserve the cliché of being called “triumphs of the imagination.”

[Recommended]

This review is based on a DVD borrowed from the Rensselaer Sci-Fi Assn. anime library.

Related Links:

• Gerald Rathkolb's review of the film on the Anime World Order podcast
• Jeff Tatarek's Wings of Honneamise AMV, featuring Pink Floyd's "Learning To Fly"

While vibrant and detailed, the art is completely ruined by rampant overcrowding. Characters, and their humongous heads, fight for precious little space against speech bubbles as well as all background elements or props in panel. The end result is a very hard-to-read mess that leaves you exasperated and grasping for clarity instead of laughing. In a more whimsical moment I imagined the art bursting out of its tight square confines and using the full page instead of the 4-panel model, something I believe would have benefited the series. In the infrequent moments when this does happen, the overall flow of the manga is a lot more enjoyable.

But perhaps I have it wrong. Maybe the series is not supposed to be amusing, but instead endearing — "moé", perhaps? After all, the manga is serialized in a seinen (young adult male) anthology in Japan. The all-female cast of cute, strangely-proportioned girls are all instantly forgettable despite multiple attempts to differentiate them from one another and establish them in the mind of the reader. There are two splash pages in the first volume alone dedicated to introducing the cast and their individual traits in the most straightforward manner possible, but even these failed to make an impression on me. I can say that, without hyperbole, I would put the manga down for five minutes to make some tea and in that short time I would forget the names of the entire cast. Part of the problem is that they are all so archetypal and bland that it is hard to take them seriously or bother taking notice of them. There is the tomboy, the nervous one, the childish one, the mysterious one, and the other one so nondescript that I can't even remember what her archetype is — let alone her name. All this made it exceedingly difficult to bring myself to become invested in the characters’ antics on the page or care about the lackluster jokes they made.

Finally, there is the possibility that the series is instructional, using the characters and attempts at humor to help you learn real-life artistic techniques. Sadly this falls victim to the ham-handed art and some downright confusing dialogue, which leaves you unsure as to whether the advice is sincere or not. This is not helped by multiple author notes imploring the reader not to take the artistic advice seriously.

All these problems quickly left me baffled, uninterested in the manga, and unable to determine the actual point and audience of the series.

It is hard to find more to say about GA, despite having read both volumes multiple times to ensure I was not missing anything. The whole series feels horribly confused, unsure of what it wants to do and unable to provide any enjoyment as a result. Had I been in my right mind I probably would not have bought these volumes, but then again hindsight is always 20/20. I really can't recommend it to anyone, and it should serve as a warning to people to keep a calm head on your shoulders when you are in a convention Dealers' Room lest you too end up buying a clunker of a manga.

[Terrible]