Taken by itself, the image of Kanzaki Shizuku contemplating the color of the wine embodies the dramatic. It’s a simple and benign act made into an action shot. A huge splash of white showcases the glass of wine by erasing everything around it, save Shizuku's hand. The line formed by the accentuation of the glass and Shizuku’s hand continues through his arm and links the reader's eye to a strong white line a little further downward. Thus the reader's line of sight is redirected to the raised glass, implying swift motion. The reaction shot in the following image compounds on the effect of this action. The angle and position of Shizuku's bent arm points to the next panel of an astounded Watanuki Suzuka, who looks on in slack-jawed amazement (note the superfluous "!" surrounded by naught but white in a word bubble). All this implied action and disproportionate accentuation lends to the manga's sweet, humorous irony. Drinking wine, after all, is never that exciting to watch. However, Drops of God is illustrated as to infuse action where there is none, thereby creating a compelling read out of an everyday act as simple as observation. 

In what is assumed to be contemporary Tokyo, the Tsutsumi Housing Complex has experienced a series of unexplained deaths over the last three years. Responsible for the string of death is an old man, called “Old Cho” by his neighbors, with a child-like mind and strong extrasensory powers. His motives are that of a child — he sees something he wants, and takes it at the expense of the life of the owner. This may seem a spoiler, but despite the mystery tone of the narrative's first half, it is clear to the audience who is responsible very early on. The first half deals with the investigation of one of Old Cho's recent victims, switching between different members of the team encountering befuddling clues and strange events. Tensions deepen as a policeman and the head detective become the next victims. Simultaneously, another story unfolds as a young girl, Etsuko, who also has unexplained powers, becomes aware of the old man's actions. The situation escalates as “Old Cho” reacts defensively to the threat of another being with similar powers. Midway, the story shifts from the slower paced mystery to a frenetic sequence of events, leading to a violent telepathic showdown between Cho and Etsuko.

The investigation angle is played throughout, but ultimately adds little to the narrative. It is intended as a way to explore the mystery of the unexplained deaths, helping the audience piece together facts over time, but it would have been more effective if the audience weren't already aware of the culprit's identity. Furthermore, the activities that prompt the climactic confrontation and eventual resolution are entirely independent of the investigators. Etsuko recognizes Old Cho's powers without any prompting from the investigation, as she just happens to notice his silent manipulations while playing in the park one day. It would have been more sensible to focus on developing Etsuko and exploring the mind of Cho, downplaying the investigative element.

As for Etsuko, the audience never really gets to learn much about her, making her more plot device than person. Where the graphic novel truly succeeds, however, is in the latter half, the battle between Cho and Etsuko. The pacing rapidly accelerates, and becomes an unrelenting feast of manga action as the two wreak havoc in their attempt to destroy the other. This confrontation is one of the better action sequences in manga, without any of the messy linework or problematic pacing that often hurt the flow of such scenes. The final pages are absolutely brilliant with an eerily low-key finale that highlights the theme of the mysterious mind of children.

This hyper, telekinetic thriller defines Domu, and leaves little room for anything else — Otomo's tale doesn't use the story as a platform to tackle issues with any significant depth. That said, he does utilize some interesting concepts throughout, but as setting and not commentary. For example, link between a child's mind and psychic powers is the central theme of the story, but Otomo didn't really explore this until his work in Akira. Still, setting is an important facet of a story, and used effectively in Domu to develop the atmosphere of his work. Inspired by Otomo's own experience moving to Tokyo, the apartment complex in Domu evokes the feelings of congested urban life. In an interview with Yomiura, Otomo commented on the people living in a recently developed public housing complex, saying that they "never seemed to adapt to this sort of crowd urban living, but they found themselves trapped in that world." That feeling comes across very well in Domu, and serves as an effective backdrop for the story.

Domu is very much in the tradition of science fiction short stories, such as those found in “zines” like Amazing Stories and Analogue Science Fiction. This style of SF generally de-emphasizes characterization in order to focus on ideas. In the case of Domu, this is the battle between two extrasensory “children.” My attraction to Domu most likely comes from to my fondness for this mode of classic science fiction. Otomo weaves a clever narrative comprised of Old Cho, the subtle noir-esque atmosphere surrounding the apartment complex, and the captivating energy of the explosively violent climax. One strength of the lack of relatable characters is that there isn't really much impact when they are killed; this may sound like a bad thing, but I appreciate that I can enjoy the story for what it is without being weighed down by emotionally manipulative drama. My only significant complaint is that I wish the investigative aspect were better weaved into the overall narrative.

As expected of Otomo, the artwork is incredible. The character designs stand out against manga's tendency toward over-the-top designs; Otomo's story is populated by everyday Tokyo residents who are appropriately plain, but readily distinguishable from each other. I find it amusing that, simply by resembling ordinary people Otomo's designs seem out of the ordinary in manga. Outside of character design, the visuals are extremely capable at presenting the feel of the story. During the slower-paced beginning, the level of detail is adequate and realistic in a way that doesn't really push the reader forward or force the reader to slow down and carefully examine the scenery. Many of the more dramatic scenes take place at night, when Otomo utilizes high black and white contrast to maintain a consistently foreboding atmosphere. Many panels in these night scenes feature well-formed lit apartments that create geometric visual interest and highlight the urban claustrophobia. As the pacing increases during the battle, the artwork elevates to a cinematic feel with further gorgeous night scenes and thought-out aesthetic composition that adds a certain stark beauty to the rampant urban destruction.

The entirety of the manga is highly readable, with a level of visual clarity that allows the reader to easily follow the story without ever getting dragged down. Panels instantly fixate the reader's eye on the key detail, and even the scenes of destruction are structured in a way that the reader doesn't get lost in speed lines and rubble. Otomo often uses sharp contrast and minimal shapes to create panels that are instantly comprehensible for an energetic reading of the plot, but are designed with enough artistic merit to reward a slower re-reading. According to Frederick L. Schodt in his classic text Manga! Manga! The World of Japanese Comics, manga is a medium meant to be digested quickly. While there are many titles that seem to disagree with this assertion, if this is accepted as an ideal for the medium, then Domu is a demonstration of Otomo's mastery of the “language” of manga — balancing clear readability with high-quality aesthetic design.

Dark Horse's 2001 release is long out of print, but you can find an inexpensive copy online. Ebay currently has copies up for the startling prices of upwards of $45 and one Amazon listing shows even higher. However, I discovered that Domu is listed on Amazon twice, with the second featuring much better prices — as low as $1.65 for a copy described as “dirty” and another for $13.99 that claims to have been kept in a protective sleeve, “since day 1.” Domu is completely worth picking up for fans of Otomo and dark speculative fiction who enjoy works outside of hard sci-fi. Many anime fans demand high characterization to be a focal theme to enjoy a piece of writing, but Domu absolutely excels at what it is trying to be — a strong example of short story comic writing that is able to capture a compelling atmosphere and engaging action in a tremendously fun way.

Medium: Manga (1 volume) 
Author: Katsuhiro Otomo
Genre: Science Fiction, Action, Mystery
Publisher: Kodansha (JP), Dark Horse (US)
Serialized in: Young Magazine (JP)
Demographic: Seinen
Release Date: 1982 (JP), 1995 (US)
Age Rating: Not Rated (we'd say about 16+, though)

Indeed, the economy-pumping vigor of domestic interest and the growth of anime popularity worldwide form a double-edged sword for Japan. There’s a stigma associated with animation that labels it a child’s medium in the West (despite myriad age- and sex-appropriate subjects), yet even the most regrettably childish series afford artists an avenue by which to express themselves while also drawing foreign attention towards at least some portion of Japanese life and culture. Anime, with its 24-minute episodes and movie-length features, seems to be the ideal artistic medium for representing Japan to itself and to the world. So much so that it’s hard to imagine poetry appealing to the masses in this age where time literally equals money. Poetry takes time, thought, and sometimes a range of insights (historical, political, personal, regional) in order to fully comprehend its bearers’ beauty. How then to rectify this gap of expression and misappropriated focus? Integration. Enter Chihayafuru.

Based on the manga by Yuki Suetsugu, Chihayafuru centers around a group of friends who are, by varying degrees and focus, interested in competitive karuta — a card game unique to Japan. Karuta is essentially a timed Concentration match, except that the players’ cards are all exposed and there are no “turns.” Players are tasked with being the first to touch the card (torifuda) with the phrase that completes the card being read (yomifuda) by a designated, third-party tanka reciter. The competitive aspect lends to intense action, while the subject of the game, Hyakunin Isshu (The 100 Poets), lends to a sense of national history and pride. There is an innate conflict in these two aspects, and as the josei (women's) anime it is, Chihayafuru represents such turmoil via one of its characters, Kanade Oe, in relation to the game itself as well as others’ attitude towards it.

Specifically, Kanade’s point of contention is that the nature of competitive karuta does not allow any time to actually enjoy the poems. Players often have to spring for a card based on the first audible syllable. This conflict, like much in Chihayafuru, has no direct resolution, but the series uses its themes to great effect. Instead of attempting to mend the contention between gameplay and subject, Kanade takes consolatory pleasure in other aspects of the game, such as traditional garb (hakama) worn by contestants. This is not as flippant as it sounds. Kande has been brought up by her parents, who own a store dedicated to such traditional clothing. Also, Kanade delights in edifying her teammates (mainly the protagonist, Chihaya) by elaborating on the meaning of some of the verse on the cards they’re so haphazardly slapping across regulation tatami mats. Kanade, new to competitive karuta, is not the fastest on the draw, so becoming the Queen, or best female player (as is usually the goal of any female karuta player), is rather unlikely. Upon realizing why she continues to be a part of her karuta team, to become an official yomifuda reciter, Kanade discovers that she must become a queen. By the end of season one, Kanade has a long way to go. Her fortitude, however, represents ancient custom trying to find a place in the lives of the current generation. Kanade loves the poems so much that she wants to read them (or at least as much of them allowed per volley) in a sport that attracts the young! We can see the opposite attitude in the anime’s main character, Chihaya Ayase.

In the world of karuta, Chihaya Ayase is all ear and reflex — something that can actually bring about faults (otetsuki) during matches due to similar-sounding syllables. Chihaya represents the current generation of impulse and immediacy ... action without thought. This is made clear in several karuta matches where Chihaya loses because of her own limitations. The brilliance of the story, and I believe the intended moral as well, is how Chihaya, determined to become queen at all costs, takes in lessons from opponents and teammates alike. Every bout, whether participating or observing, is an opportunity for learning something new. Often, strength is associated with “personalizing” a particular card — a “sweet card,” if you will. Most often, it is the meaning of the lines of verse that make them “speak” to a player. Such internalization speaks more to poetry than to competition, yet still helps players get the upper hand during matches. This is epitomized in one of the last episodes of the first season, where the current queen, grown heavy from a lengthy chocolate binge, overcomes her speed handicap with the accuracy and determination derived from her personal connection to the poems.

The effort and personal growth shown in all the characters are what drive this series. The action, mainly the way the matches are portrayed, and a subtly threaded love triangle keep the pace lively and tender (respectively). However, it is the individual evolutions spurred on by internalizing the poetic content of karuta, whether for memorization in hopes of a faster strike or personal relevance to add passion behind the same, that makes traditional content (poetry) relevant to a new generation (anime viewers). The message, as flatly stated by Kanade in episode six, is that “You can feel the seasons and modesty in a way that can’t be found in modern poetry!” This is nostalgic Japan exclaiming, “wake up and internalize your history” via a modern art form that currently holds the attention of more and more people on a domestic as well as international level.

Chihayafuru is streaming right now on Crunchyroll.

My liver will conquer you all.

 You do not drink wine that way...

...but I will humor you.

 You've been served!

And why do I have to drink it from a wooden ladle?

And I made it and some fitting goblets out of thin air.  Beat that, Jesus.  I didn't even need water!

Every month, Ani-Gamers blogger Ink tackles an anime, manga, or video game through the theme of alcohol in our column "Drunken Otaku." Look out for "Beer Googles" (reviews), "Great Drinkers" (character profiles), and "Great Moments in Drinking" (more or less). To read previous entries, click here.

Lupin III: The Secret of Mamo (or the Mystery of Mamo in some territories) was released theatrically in 1978 and is one of the Lupin III films as opposed to one of the myriad specials or TV series. How does it differ from the rest? Couldn’t tell you, I haven’t have the foggiest; my experience with Lupin consists only of this and The Castle of Cagliostro. So why include this in The Trap Door? Well, I have to tackle what I feel is a neglected title, and I see no love for Mamo. And it really is a blast. Imagine if you will, a James Bond movie where the villain’s right-hand man is the main character, they aren't that villainous, and they stay badass. This is Lupin for me. Created by manga artist Monkey Punch (Kazuhiko Katō) in 1968, Lupin III — pronounced "Lupahn the Third" — is the grandson of famed fictional thief Arsene Lupin (which the estate of original Lupin creator Maurice Leblanc has never been happy with). In his exploits as the world’s greatest thief, he traverses the globe with his partners in crime: Jigen, gun master, and Goemon Ishikawa XIII (referred by all as simply Goemon), sword wielding warrior. Along the way, they frequently cross paths with Detective Zenigata (OF INTERPOL!!!) and, of course, team up with or find themselves in competition with beautiful fellow thief Fujiko.

Also, from a scriptwriting angle, having Lupin die in the opening moments and then be alive five minutes later sets up a payoff that I didn't fully expect them to pay out. Some writers do remember to go back to that sort of thing and others just say “Oh, sugar! I forgot I used that idea at the start! Quick, Courier font! Stat!” Mamo pays off with this subplot at the halfway point and repeats the payoff again at the end. Am I reading too much into this? Possibly, but at least this comes from an era in filmmaking when writers and directors worried how their audiences would interpret their choices in character and plot arcs.

Returning to the film, it’s interesting that this movie introduces Fujiko being buck-ass naked. Contrast how Miyazaki portrays Fujiko in Castle Of Cagliostro and you can begin to see my confusion as to which tone is correct. (I’ve been told that the way Lupin is portrayed in the manga and how it’s portrayed in the moving image version are totally different.) So, is the Fujiko in this movie an undervalued and over-sexualized character? Well, yes and no. We constantly see her in either a state of undress or being hit on by Lupin. I know Lupin really likes Fujiko, despite the amount of times she casually betrays him, but this movie shows Lupin being both sleazy and gentlemanly toward her. Watch as he breaks into a locked room in nothing but underwear looking for a semi-naked Fujiko. (Hint: It isn't to ask her would she like a cup of tea.) Then as the plot unravels around them, watch as he protects Fujiko again and again from Mamo, going to the ends of the earth to get her. It’s a strange law of extremes on display here. But a quick glance at Wikipedia tells me the writing duties were handled by director Soji Yoshikawa and Atsushi Yamatoya. The latter is known for writing and directing pink films, racy Japanese films popular in the 60’s. C’mon, his credits include Alleycat Rock: Female Boss, Banned Book: Flesh Futon and Inflatable Sex Doll of the Wastelands! I dare you to say he was the more conservative one on the Lupin writing team!

I like Lupin himself, and I suspect they’d have to do a radical overhaul of the character for me not to like him. He’s got that lust for life. Robbing people and institutions blind is fun and all, but for Lupin it’s the thrill — the chase — that’s more exciting. Take the opening of the movie. Detective Zenigata has Lupin and Jigen cornered in a pyramid (Cornered? Pyramid? Get it? Huh? Huh?), and Zenigata is going crazy directing the Egyptian police all over the site trying get Lupin. Does this bother our boy? Nope, he takes it in stride. On a motorcycle. And down a rope. While on a motorcycle. I think if Lupin were on his own with no Jigen and no Goeman, he’d probably get along fine. But if there were no Zenigata, or Fujiko for that matter, then his life would have no meaning.

And at this stage in their respective careers, Lupin and Zenigata know each other too well. Zenigata never believes that Lupin has died. Without missing a beat, he goes to a castle straight out of Dracula to find Lupin. Lupin escapes but then he can anticipate Zenigata’s every move, and for his part, the detective has started to plan for every eventuality. The threat posed by a good villain causes heroes to up their game and in Mamo, Lupin has a ball fighting with the title character. A diminutive man, Mamo’s strength as a character lies in his absolute belief that he is THE most important player on this stage. Whether it’s ordering the indiscriminate killing of helpless people to get Lupin or threatening the US President, it’s all in a day’s work for our resident madman. At the end, you’re still not certain what Mamo is, even after all the speeches, exposition and tricks. That’s a good villain.

Speaking generally of the film, the design work on display from art director Yukio Abe is amazing. From the streets of Paris to the wastes of Spain, from the towns of Columbia to Mamo’s invincible fortress island, it’s all amazing. This isn't a Ghibli level of detail, but it's really good nevertheless. I especially like the details in the café scene, where a machine gun-toting helicopter descends just to kill Lupin and co. All hell breaks loose. People die, bullets fly, and cars explode in elaborate slo-mo. Plus Jigen keeps the same amount of wine in his glass while running away from the mayhem. It’s a cornucopia of movement and sound. Equally impressive, even if we don’t get to see it for long, is Mamo’s fortress. On the surface, it’s an elegant affair, but underground, it’s a maze of Roman and Greek gardens and architecture, high arch corridors, tubes, hatches, machinery, labs and endless rooms. But the things I notice are the little touches here and there, like the enormous truck sent to kill Lupin, Goemon, and Jigen, or Zenigata trying to prove Lupin is alive by digging him out of a castle crypt and driving a stake through his heart.  How about the chase in Mamo’s pad through famous paintings and works of art? Why, you ask? Why the hell not? Whereas Castle of Cagliostro had lots of deliberate action with continuous movement, Mamo goes for kinetic movement and reused animations for fast character actions, leaving long panning and tracking shots for the quiet moments.

The music is fantastic. It really does embody the '70s funk movement, with Yuji Ohno turning in a great score. I don’t think (with a few exceptions) a lot of anime utilizes music to its full potential. Certainly TV anime suffers the music seeing it’s usually part paid for by the Japanese record companies (thus lots of J-Pop music). But composers like Joe Hisaishi (Miyazaki’s composer of choice) or Susumu Hirasawa (composer for the late Satoshi Kon) shine in theatrical presentations, and Ohno gives it his all for Lupin. It stands in complete contrast to his work on Cagliostro.

I’m not going to write much about the voice cast in case I go into review territory. There are three dubs for this thing, not counting the Toho-produced dub (no credits exist for that dub save that voice acting legend Peter Fernandez worked on it). First Streamline tried their hand and had stalwarts like Bob Bergen, Steve Bulen, and Kirk Thornton as Lupin, Jigen, and Goemon, with Robotech alumnus Edie Mirman taking on Fujiko. Next, Manga UK (back when they were dubbing all their stuff in the high tech environs of Cardiff in Wales) had William Dufris, Eric Meyers, and Garrick Hagon in the roles stated above. Interestingly, Fujiko in this version was tackled by Press Gang actress Toni Barry, who I remember from that show and that other roles with Manga such as Project A-Ko, Dangaioh, and Dominion Tank Police, where she played my beloved Leona Osaki. Finally, dearly departed Geneon commissioned a dub featuring Tony Oliver, Lex Lang, and Richard Epcar as Lupin, Goemon, and Jigen. Michelle Ruff played Fujiko. As an aside, other than the late Yasuo Yamada as Lupin, everybody playing our heroes in Japanese is still doing the same roles TO THIS DAY. Talk about job security! 

All in all, there’s enough here to save Secret of Mamo from being forgotten. Even if you disconnect the film from the franchise, it’s a good old-fashioned romp through Europe, the Pacific, and South America as our heroes fire guns, blow stuff up and generally make a mess of the local populations' tranquility. For that reason, it gets to escape from The Trap Door. 

(Hey, with the Lupin 40^th anniversary celebrations just around the corner, check out Amazon UK for a dirt-cheap copy of the film. Unfortunately, the US version is significantly more expensive.)

The greatest challenge to begin enjoying Nise is to abandon attachment to most of what was enjoyable in Bake. Bake begins interestingly enough as a sort of supernatural reverse harem (in the chronological sense), where the protagonist settles on a girl first and wanders the town collecting members for his harem afterwards. The 15-episode series tightly compresses two novels worth of character arcs, moving as quickly as text-dense adaptations allow. Despite how the story only seems to move through the sheer might of the sexual tension in some scenes, I will say that Bake has surprised me with the level of sincerity imparted to its characters and how they grow and bond with each other within the relatively short running time of the series.

Nisemonogatari matches, if not improves upon, all of Bakemonogari's strengths in a technical sense. Taking a few broadcast seasons off to focus on their craft and roll in all that Madoka money has made all the difference for Studio SHAFT. They scale back on most of the shortcuts taken in Bake — empty black screens, literal walls of text ripped from the novel, still-frame montages — and actually animate what's happening in unusually splendid detail. The luxury of time and funding means minute physical character tics are placed throughout and that all characters are actually drawn on-model by the time of broadcast. Shinbo's visionary apporach to anime is in full effect for Nise, working sight gags for all they're worth and disregarding any notion of spatial continuity to wonderous effect. Nise triumphs over Bake in that characters rarely sit around to talk; they roll around, do handstands, get into earth-shattering fights, hop across works of post-modern public sculpture, and leave the realm of reality to speak in their inner voice. Nise captures that breath of life in its animation that was missing from most of Bake due to budgetary constraints.

Problems arise for Nise as it moves away from the promising set-up of the first novels. The original Nisemonogatari novel is split into two character arcs covering the protagonist's delinquint younger sisters' involvement with dangerous supernatural phenomena. NisiOisin relegates the principal heroine of Bake and her rival-in-love to supporting roles far away from the action of Nise, though trimming the cast does not give the project any tighter of a narrative focus. The first arc trudges along in the background before abruptly resolving in a most ungratifying manner. The second half isn't much more engaging, but at least there seems to be a deliberate attempt to engage the audience before the end.  The titular characters of each arc might only appear for a few minutes of screen time in some episodes, if at all, and the author doesn't utilize the newly introduced characters much either. Nise feels a lot like an extended intermission between Bakemonogatari and the next book.

As incongruous as Nise seems, it really is the logical (within Nise's personal construct of rules) place to end up after Bakemonogatari. The protagonist has already solved the problems of the members of his harem to a workable degree in the previous series. Bake ends satisfyingly enough, so forcing in a new plotline out of nowhere wouldn't work out. Instead, Nise's continued dialogues between characters further flesh out the kind of people they are and highlight their positions on the harem totem pole. What really works out for Nise, though is that it dissolves the protagonist's Nice Guy hero image from the first series. Even with complete power over the narration, he can't hide some decidedly un-Nice acts. The best writing in Nise comes from seeing the protagonist grapple with the disgusting side of himself as he tries to fight back his urges. I can only reference the actual Monogatari text beyond Nise in a very limited way, but I have the impression the seeds sown in Nise only produce fruit after this story is over. Whether anyone still cares about character dynamics might not be easy to ascertain over the noise caused by Nise's actual draw-in.

Now I've finally arrived at the most polarizing element of Nisemonogatari: it's damn sexy. After about four episodes, there isn't a viewer left who can say they watch Nise for the plot without lying through their teeth. Anime conservatives will crawl back under their safety blanket at the sight of dead elementary schoolgirl upskirt shots, extended conversations with fully nude loli vampires, chiseled male and female collarbones, slavishly drawn bare feet, little sister kimono unravelling, and a lavishly animated toothbrushing sequence that establishes itself as a pivotal moment in changing brother-sister relationship conventions. Bake could get pretty hot when it wanted to, but Nise completely overblows the sex appeal. Factor in SHAFT's keen eye for framing, VOfan's attractive character designs, and NisiOisin's bold situational writing, and you have a product that trumps most standard ero-anime.

The effect is noticably ampilified considering the restraint previously shown by Bake that allowed the audience to grow fond of its characters without a reliance on sexuality. Even higher-leveled anime viewers who are normally okay with inappropriately sexualized underage girls find Nise to overstep the boundaries of dignity the general Western anime community have set forth. As lovingly crafted a sexploitation series NisiOisin and SHAFT have given the world, it's still an exploitation bound to discomfort those who haven't completely embraced their true otaku power. Watching Nise is nowhere near as shellshocking of an experience as, say, watching In the Realm of the Senses. As a major commercial late night television anime, however, it easily crosses over into that zone where viewers will want to take a step back and reexamine their motivations for watching.

Nise is as inaccessible as viewers will make it out to be. On many levels, it's a lot more fun to watch than Bake and certainly more polished than a lot of other work SHAFT has done. On the other hand, Nise leaves us in the middle of a messy web of character relationships that begs resolution. While the sexuality rarely pushes the plot forward, the show would be drained of its energy if the sexuality were taken out. And somewhere under the surface, Nise almost has the right idea in its approach concerning the topic of underage sexuality. The execution, however, is a failure from inception, as the work is clearly aimed to sell wishful fantasies to that crowd of esteemed gentlemen who have no qualms about loving young, idealized 2-D girls.

SHAFT's next adaptation, Kizumonogatari, with its promise of gory vampire violence, will likely take back all of the attention lost during Nise. By no means is Nise the gravest mistep in Japanese young adult literature, but from here on out I hope NisiOisin's other Monogatari novels give SHAFT a little more to work with.

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.

Fate/Extra is an RPG much in the vein of the later entries in the Persona series. You assume control of a blank-slate protagonist who finds himself involved in a single-elimination tournament for the Holy Grail for reasons he cannot remember. Gameplay breaks down between information-gathering in the school-themed central hub and commanding a Servant, a supernatural being, to fight for you in the tournament. F/E follows passage of time mechanics similar to Persona, assigning you time-sensitive tasks to do before progressing to the next elimination round. Now, I happen to love the Persona games, so I’m painfully aware of every moment F/E doesn’t meet the standards set by the game it emulates.

To start with, the environments (the school and the arena) aren’t all that interesting, and you’ll stare at them for hours as you run through the game. The arena is simply a collection of sparse corridors that don’t serve much purpose other than to hold an enemy encounter, treasure, or scripted event. The school is equally lifeless, especially once the number of NPC combatants is reduced by the end of the tournament. While the level design is lazy, it has nothing on the Extreme Rock-Paper-Scissors battle system. It’s a major letdown to learn that the Servant fights that awed me in the original visual novel have been reduced to a guessing game wherein you input six commands each turn (attack, break, guard, or a selection from a list of skills) and hope for the best. You can easily throw away an hours worth of playtime by not playing like a coward. After a while, Servants will familiarize themselves with enemies and telepathically figure out the enemy’s command order, at which point you can turn off all thinking processes and grind until the enemies stop dropping worthwhile XP.

So the gameplay isn’t all that great, but at least the story and writing should be good, right? Nasu’s name is prominently featured on the back of the box underneath a screen shot, which is more credit than what most writers involved in games can hope for. Unfortunately, Nasu takes it easy with this one. The only characters that are remotely interesting are the three playable Servants and characters with existing ties to the Nasuverse. The F/E originals are surprisingly clichéd and difficult to sympathize with in their dying moments after having remorselessly delivered a beating on them.The principle antagonist for most of the game is a snotty kid who happens to be the king of the world and spends most of his appearances giving condescending advice to your character, who takes it like a punk. Really, that’s the extent of the relationship with what you’re led to believe is your greatest foe for over 25 hours of gameplay. Everything is scripted so that you’re never at a loss of where to go, who to talk to, or what item you need to overcome any obstacle that comes up, and everyone is more than glad to help your amnesiac protagonist against his incompetent and stagey opponents. It’s so straightforward that it prevents interesting developments in the story. I never really felt like my choices had any impact on my character’s development, and forging a bond with your Servant essentially comes down to “Did you talk to your Servant today?” This is essentially the opposite of my experiences with the visual novel, so I wonder how much involvement Nasu actually had in writing the scenario for the game.

There are choice moments where the Fate spirit shines in the game, though. Saber Extra’s dialogue and vocal performance is excellent throughout, pretty much single-handedly justifying F/E’s inclusion in the Fate canon. Caster is worth a playthrough for seiyuu fanatics interested in having voice actress Chiwa Saito refer to them as “master,” even if she’s the weakest servant and requires hours of tender, loving grinding to compete in boss fights. I haven’t yet steeled myself for a third run of F/E, but I imagine Archer is just as wonderfully a jerk as he was in F/SN. Though I wish the game would make a proper name for itself, all of the call-backs to other Type-Moon properties are amusing. The Noble Phantasms are as flashy as the PSP can hope to muster, and the remixed F/SN music tracks let you know that its about to go down right now.

Aksys Games did see fit to give this game a proper showing here in America with its own limited edition release in a big cardboard box that seems to be the fashion with PSP RPGs lately. The extras are typical fare for a release like this: a small art book and an incomplete soundtrack CD. It’s a really nice art book, though; the hardcover binding and paper stock are above what’s usually done for bonuses like this. I’m only a little (very) upset that the Saber Extra figma from the Japanese release isn’t included, but I suppose licensing deals and price and all those other bothersome factors came up.

I’ll keep my berating of Aksys Games' F/E localization to a minimum if I ever hope to see them publish the sequel, which sounds infinitely more interesting. I’ll just say that the localization is kind of weird from time to time. There are a few embarrassing typos in the script, and even more embarrassing are the occasional fansub-isms that pop up in dialogue, a thing people complain about in, you know, actual fansubs and not a product released by professionals. I’m sure no one at mirror moon got paid to translate the F/SN visual novel, but I’m also sure they would have had the integrity to never have Caster say “OMG.”

So Fate/Extra didn’t manage to become my favorite game despite being a Persona clone with Servants in it. The game is a "fans only" experience that often feels like a chore. Even so, I will probably buy the sequel from Aksys or whoever publishes it in America, regardless of all the bad things I’ve said about the first game. I feel responsible to let publishers know there is a market for Fate in America, so I am compelled to vote with my dollars (though Aniplex won’t see a dime of that, let alone $700 to own the complete Fate/Zero collection). I optimistically await to have nothing but good things to say about the sequel.

While the plot is certainly centered around the struggle between Shizuku and Issei, the real struggle of the story is the exploration of self through which Shizuku has to go in order to be able to relate to his late father. Shizuku has had an in-depth education on the ways of wine but has never drank any, putting him at a severe disadvantage at a blind tasting. Issei has had a lifetime and celebrated career as a wine taster, but only one week as Yutaka’s son. As the plot progresses, Issei doesn’t try to be any more a son to the departed, but Shizuku (with help from apprentice sommelier Shinohara Miyabi) goes through various trials that bring him further and further down into the cellar of the subject that was his father’s passion.

The aforementioned trials are the bulk of this manga, and the wines they center around (all 100% authentic) are the respective heft of the chapters. This is made most obvious via the attention paid to the visual rendering of any panel featuring bottles or wine. Character designs and settings are distinguished but rather average in most instances, while any scene involving wine, wine bottles, or the various visual metaphors employed for the euphoric experience of tasting wine (a Queen concert, a maiden in a field, a merry-go-round, a scene from Strauss’s Salome) come across not as photorealistic but as lovingly crafted portraiture. Any serious wine drinker will love this manga for this aspect alone. To all readers, the alternation betwixt what I’ll call character and bottle style imbues this 424-page volume with a diversity of visuals that whets appetites for the next feast.

There is also a LOT of textual description within these pages: vinter lineages, wine taste, wine smell, how to drink wine, how to pour wine, when to pour wine, wine origin and similarity ... you get the gist.  Casual readers would probably find the material a bit too dry for their tastes were it not for the almost beguiling charm derived from the pacing of Shizuku and Miyabi's adventures as well as humor written a little too perfectly via extended metaphors exploiting similarities in terminology between manga and wine (such as the conversation pictured on the right). So that, combined with the almost laughably yet convincingly applied left-field taste analogies (did I mention the Queen concert?) and their culmination, actually makes the manga a proverbial page-turner. The same characteristics contribute to readability for those in the know. Being shoveled information on decanting, vintages, vineyards, etc. can be downright tedious, but it is the mix of storytelling techniques and art that will elicit interest and propel wine connoisseurs through the book. While outright descriptions attempt to fill readers in on the wines as well as the experience of drinking them, the authors and illustrator do a fantastic job defining Shizuku and Issei via glimpses into their preparations for the upcoming battles.

Shizuku, whose first musical wine metaphor involves Queen, describes the wine admiringly as “somehow like classical” but not quite, with “a melting sweetness and a sharp rush of sourness.” Altogether not the most poignant of descriptions, but it is a Romantic one. Later on, readers get a taste of Issei’s musical leanings: Richard Strauss’s opera, Salome, which Issei associates with a “blood scented sensuality born of decadence.” If one sets aside the obvious sweet vs. evil leanings of those descriptions, the context in which they are delivered is as subtle delivery mechanism as any for showing a major difference between the main characters.

The perpetual learner, Shizuku mostly listens to others. When he does speak, usually to elaborate upon the characteristics of a wine at hand or demonstrate a wine-related technique, his flowery meditations are written such that they are more Zen moments of sensory exploration that seem identifiable to those surrounding Shizuku. Even the way he gives advice to people shows him to be a genuine helping hand — a person who keeps in mind exactly who he is reaching out to as opposed to showing off transcendent talent of taste/technique. The latter is more applicable to Issei’s preachy tone. A lecturer at heart, Issei often talks as though no one else is in the room ... even when it’s part of a dialogue. I wager readers can take everyone else out of a scene involving Issei describing wine and that scene would have the same effect. By the end of the volume, the main characters’ choices of musical allusions reflect not only how personable they are but their sense of modernity as well. So far, Shizuku involves the recent present (as much as 70s Queen is recent) and Issei invokes a century-old opera. As wine is consistently referred to as a living thing (temperamental), how closely each critic can pull similarities from their own near history is an indication of who keeps wine closer and who put it upon a pedestal of distance.

Not everything in The Drops of God is great. The pacing can seem laborious depending on personal experience with and interest in wine, and there are a few minor instances where clichés border on offensive and overly convenient: why must the wine wisdom and saving grace in one arc come from a homeless person ... who then ends up knowing the main characters and acting as a judge?! But even if I found myself getting angry at situations like that, keep in mind that I was getting angry because it wasn't perfect. Why? Because this manga is just that good, and I wanted it to be perfect. This graphic novel has actually influenced countries' wine sales and purchases fer chris’ sake. If nothing else, to quote Evan Minto, “it’s almost frustrating how compelling it is!”

12-year-old Asuna is living alone with her workaholic mother following her father's untimely death, but despite a healthy school life she spends most of her time up on the nearby mountain, listening to whatever radio signals she can pick out on her crude ham radio. However, a dangerous run-in with a giant monster in the woods results in a friendship with a mysterious boy named Shun. Thus begins Asuna's adventure into the ruined underground world of Agartha.

You might already be sensing a bit of an influence here, and no, you're not mistaken. Makoto Shinkai has openly expressed his admiration for the works of Studio Ghilbi, particularly Laputa (Castle in the Sky), which made a big impression on him when he saw it as a boy. And while imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Shinkai — almost certainly accidentally — leaves the realm of homage and heads straight into the no-man's land of full-on copying. Oh look, there's the Forest King from Princess Mononoke, the cave shelter from Grave of the Fireflies, the fox-squirrel from Nausicaa, the architectural style of Castle in the Sky!

Shinkai's touch is definitely there, and one need only pay attention to the director's masterful use of watercolor-esque lighting and color to understand that this is not straight-up imitation, but I still feel like there's a little bit too much Miyazaki and not enough Shinkai in the film. His trademark brooding, silent moments are still there, but they are interspersed with action scenes and fast-paced plot developments.

And boy oh boy, those action scenes! I was sure surprised to find that a director whose last outing was characterized by long stretches of waiting silently on a train can create such lightning-fast, exciting action sequences. The film's moments of gunfire and hand-to-hand combat have a sort of whipping speed and kineticism that I've seen only in some of the best action anime directors (and of course, Mr. Miyazaki). Shinkai claims his team studied both Ghilbi movies and the Rurouni Kenshin anime in order to figure out how to animate the scenes.

Children hits all the emotional points that you might expect from the director of Voices of a Distant Star, The Place Promised in Our Early Days, and 5 Centimeters Per Second, but one too many deus ex machinas and a few too many different set pieces bog down the pacing to what feels like a crawl. Shinkai has got to learn to edit if he's going to attempt another movie in this vein.

But let's make this clear: I would love for Shinkai to try another movie like this. It's a distinct break from his previous work, and while it's more of a so-so Ghilbi film than a great Shinkai film, it is enough of a proof of concept to hook me for the rest of his work. As long as he learns from his mistakes and doesn't get stuck in the rut of re-making this exact movie over and over, this director could really go places. He's got emotional expression down better than basically anybody else in the business, and now has proven his mettle in the realm of action scenes. A little bit more editorial oversight will probably do wonders for honing his style.

Is he still the Green Day of anime? Yeah, probably. Is he "the next Miyazaki?" That still remains to be seen, but Children is certainly a fine down payment towards the title.

[Recommended]

This review is based on the Otakon 2011 premiere screening. The reviewer was given a complimentary press pass for the convention.

Click here for more of our Otakon 2011 coverage

Kenji Koiso, a high school student and mathematics enthusiast, is recruited by a girl at his school to help her out with some job. Despite his current part-time work with the infrastructure of virtual-reality super-network OZ, he decides to help her out without asking details. He helps carry her things as they travel to the traditional Japanese family mansion to celebrate her grandmother's 90th birthday. The girl, Natsuki Shinohara, asks Kenji to play along as she announces him as her fiance to her grandma. He now finds himself in the awkward position of being a pseudo-newcomer to this tight-nit and very large family descended from a warrior clan. During his first night there, he receives an email with a large string of characters that he is asked to decrypt by an unknown entity. Being almost Japan's representative for the Math Olympics, he wastes no time in pulling out some paper to work out the problem, which takes him all night. What he did not realize is that he was being asked to break the security that would breach the main OZ server, and in the morning he finds that his account is being used by the hacker to cause chaos in OZ. With most major government and official institutions being dependent on OZ, the hacker is able to cause damage not only online, but in physical space by taking over the person's privileges. For example, by obtaining the account of the president it would be possible to launch a nuclear missile.

Kenji discovers that one of the family members, Kazuma Ikezawa, is the infamous OZ gaming champion King Kazma. The pair find themselves in a battle against a dangerous artificial intelligence being tested by the US Army within OZ. Meanwhile family drama arises as the problems online are connected to the family in ways they did not expect.

Beyond the themes of online action, what lies at the heart of Summer Wars is a thoughtful portrayal of family life. The members of Natsuki's massive family all believe Kenji to be her fiancé, and welcome him to the family in different ways. Hosoda relates his own experiences from when he suddenly became a member of a family due to marriage through Kenji's awkwardness at being accepted into their close group. Indeed, the closest thing to a human villain in the story is the one family member who drifted away from the rest and went to America. The two major aspects to the story — family life and Internet action — seamlessly intertwine, and neither is pushed into the background or feel tacked on to the other. Summer Wars is ambitious in the broadness of its scope, but this natural connection is what really makes the story stand out. If anything, it is much more realistic. In Summer Wars, world-changing events are caused from computers sitting in the middle of a traditional Japanese mansion, not an underground hacker cave with fifty monitors and a nonsensical cooling unit. The heroes are awkward mathematicians, well-connected grandmas, and working class dads with years of video game experience, as opposed to trenchcoat-wearing dudes with BitTorent and bad attitudes. (See: every movie about hackers ever to compare)

One of the most common complaints made toward Summer Wars is criticism of its technical inaccuracy. The story revolves around an incredibly advanced Internet structure, called OZ, that can be connected to through all types of devices and thus has became an extremely integral part of business, culture, and communication. Users create avatars and are able to interact over OZ in various ways: chatting, shopping, business, learning, etc. Additionally, languages are instantly translated to allow communication with anyone. Even the least technically minded viewer can see that it is an unrealistic view of the Internet. This leads to many lumping it together with WarGames and Hackers with their over the top, glamorized distortion of real technological advancements. However, this is completely missing the point of the story. Summer Wars may not be realistic in its details, but that is not the point. It is an exaggerated stylization of computer communications and should be treated as such. Like much good science fiction, it is able to make very relevant points that concern real world technology in a highly fictionalized setting.

A major theme of Summer Wars is communication. OZ's primary function, like the internet, it to connect people and services from all over. The film demonstrated both the dangers of over-reliance on digital networking, as well as celebrating the positive aspects of everyone being able to work together towards a goal. The theme goes beyond modern technology; the grandma was able to use contacts from a lifetime to make phone calls and encourage family members and important decision makers to take action during the crisis. Throughout the movie, communication is key in solving problems — online and off.

One aspect that many viewers should be able to relate to is the contrast between the characters taking initiative and using their computers to fight the AI, and the other relatives who can't understand why they are wasting their time with "video games" during this time. For Kazuma, Kenji, and the dads who pooled their resources together, nothing is as important as stopping that threat inside OZ. They realize, especially after what just took place in their own lives, that what goes on in the wires does affect what goes on the "real world." It isn't until tragedy is -literally- looming over their heads that the non-techie relatives finally realize the gravity of the situation.

Hosoda touches on plenty of scenarios throughout the movie that could have been pulled straight from Slashdot. Compromised users were being assured that the security was impenetrable even after the hacking took place. Online accounts held enough power that stealing their account granted the hacker the user's government privileges. A dangerous artificial intelligence program was developed which questioned the responsibility of the developer who didn't actually implement it himself. A hacker was causing problems through an account that had been taken over, leading to the arrest of the innocent true owner of the avatar. While the movie itself may be an implausible action movie with pseudo-technological workings, the points it makes are often grounded in reality. The actual computer use is done in a way that can be approachable to the average person, but the technically inclined viewer should be able to appreciate its themes with a deeper understanding. Instead of seeing it as dumbed down or inaccurate, I adored the stylization of the Internet and artistic interpretation of technical concepts through Superflat imagery. The last thing I would have wanted is if it became an Nmap documentary.

Summer Wars has very impressive production values with smooth, detailed animation and a high degree of artistic merit. Two distinct art styles are used to easily distinguish the real world and OZ: The real life characters are designed by Yoshiyuki Sadamoto, whose work contains the same appeal and quality that he is known for, and I've noticed since The Girl Who Leapt Through Time that his style has become even more distinct and refined. The background artwork is composed of beautiful countryside scenery and convincing realistic settings. The visuals are extremely detailed, which provides a noticeable contrast to the Superflat style used in OZ. This style, mostly associated with the work of Haruki Murakami, is frequently used in Hosoda's work and has been become a trademark of his style. Even his work with Digimon incorporated a very similar (if less ambitious) Superflat world for the Digimon to fight in. Summer Wars takes it to a new level, with a fantastic stylized world with bright, flat colours against a largely pure white canvas. I've always been a big fan of the Superflat style, and Summer Wars delivered a truly spectacular example of the craft.

Hosoda has obviously been holding onto this premise for a while — after all, his work with Digimon uses almost the same plot. In Digimon: Our War Game, a virus-type Digimon is infecting all of technology through the Internet and causing chaos by manipulating everything it can. Some of the first season's cast meet up to stop the threat by sitting at their computers and working with their Digimon partners who are battling inside a Superflat-style online world. The conclusion practically mirrors that of Summer Wars with the virus launching a nuclear missile (the possibility of this was even alluded to in Summer Wars, I'm assuming as a reference). In the end, people around the world send emails in support of the Digimon. There are so many emails that Izzy/Izumi forwards them to the virus who is then slowed down (DDoS?) enough for them to finish it off. It is good to see that Hosoda was eventually able to fully flesh out the concept with the experience he has gained since then.

I absolutely love this film. It follows a fairly typical action blockbuster formula, but with a level of craftsmanship, intelligence, and social satire that elevates it above the expectations of the genre. I have no doubt that there will be criticism of its typical action film influences, but it really does Summer Wars a disservice to lump it with the mindless action film crowd. If anything, it takes the elements that makes such films so entertaining, but loses the pedestrian brainlessness associated with them. Instead, it presents a thoughtful, realistic, and charming portrayal of family life in addition to the cyber-warfare action plot. Summer Wars is a film that embraces a video gaming, highly connected culture and equally the importance of everyday family life. It is a near-perfect representation of the joys of living in the information age, presented in a wildly unique and enjoyable package.

[Highly Recommended]

This review is based on a retail Blu-ray disc purchased by the reviewer.

The background to the game is crucial, and players may find themselves consulting the Datalog option in the main menu quite often for information. The Datalog contains updated information on the thirteen days that lead up to the events of the main characters’ l’Cie transformation, along with information on historical references, enemies, locations, fal’Cie, and more. The fact that the game forces players to read what should be spoken may frustrate some gamers, and with so many twists in the game, the goal may become confusing or even muddled underneath it all. Still, the main storyline packs a punch, and while it drags on throughout much of the beginning, once it picks up it doesn’t let go. At its core, it is an emotional tale of survival, and players will enjoy watching the characters transform over the course of the game.

The first thing nearly every gamer will recognize about the game is its phenomenal graphics. The characters and scenery are simply stunning, and the mixture of places visited, from thriving cities to mechanical waste dumps, are beautiful to behold. The soundtrack of the game is equally astounding, having a very dramatic musical theme. Voice acting is also quite good, though Vanille’s voice has received criticism from many gamers. Whenever she is attacked or upset, she groans and moans, and the T-rated game suddenly takes on a more mature edge. Teenagers should not feel embarrassed for playing the game, yet many boys will chuckle or snicker at Vanille’s rather obnoxious battle attacks and moans (it being so obvious that reviewers feel the need to comment on it).

With such beautiful landscapes, many gamers hoped to explore the world of Cocoon. However, Square Enix has severely limited the players’ ability to travel. Maps are about as linear as one can find; often players are literally going in a straight line from point A to point B with only a couple fights and items laid out before them. Out of a total of thirteen chapters, players will only be able to go back to Chapters 11 and 12 once they reach Chapter 13, meaning that most of the places players visit will be a one-time event. This is deeply disappointing, particularly because it creates a limit on side-quests, which are rarities within the game. For a series that usually makes side-quests fun and challenging undertakings, Final Fantasy XIII falls far short of this expectation. Most side-quests are only available in Chapters 11 and 12, and many are recommended only after beating the game.

The battle system is nothing like previous installments to the series. Up until much later in the game, the computer chooses who you will control and who will be in the party, forcing you to try out all characters at one point or another. Only one character in the party can be controlled as well. Furthermore, for the first several chapters, there is no leveling up. Once the main characters become l’Cie, they gain what is known as the Crystarium, a level-up system that is just as linear as the map system. There are three main roles each character is given depending on their unique abilities in battle, and each character levels up these roles in different orders. It is a basic system; characters gain experience from battles and use it to gain one crystal sphere at a time. Spheres range from abilities to accessory slots to generic stat improvements. Rather than liberating characters, the Crystarium feels very restrictive to players’ abilities, for it only expands, allowing for higher levels, at key points within the story. Therefore, players can only max out their characters to specific points before having to wait until an important boss later down the road before they continue training.

Given this restrictive setting, strategy is a much more important feature of the battle system. Battles are very fast-paced and require what are called Paradigm changes. Paradigms are different sets of roles that characters are assigned, and these roles can be shifted in the course of battle in order to use different strategies. These range from having all-out frontal assaults to defensive and medic sets, allowing for swift changes in strategy should something drastic happen (and it often does). Even Eidolons, which are brought back in a new way, follow this emphasis on strategy rather than brute force. Each character receives a specific Eidolon at crucial points throughout the game. In order to receive it, however, players must fight the Eidolon and fill a bar by using various techniques, some of which include not attacking at all. Eidolons also cast Doom, turning battles into a race against the clock. Once obtained, they do very little damage overall, and while they can change into various forms throughout battles, it feels as though Eidolons are around to show off more than to do damage. This emphasis on strategy rather than statistics falls in line with the simplistic level-up system, but it can make for some very frustrating experiences, particularly with bosses.

Final Fantasy XIII is a beautifully complex game, yet it has its share of flaws that will irritate old-time Final Fantasy fans. The battle system is completely different from anything seen before, and the linear gameplay, along with a lack of side quests and exploration, is a disappointment. The game looks and sounds striking, and once they have completed it, players will gain a huge amount of appreciation for the story’s complex nature, but some may not be willing to get through the flaws of the game to complete it.

[Recommended]

This review is based on a retail version purchased by the reviewer.

Released to Japanese readers in 1986 as a companion to Zeminaru Nihon Keizai Nyuumon, an economics textbook released by Nihon Keizai Shimbun (the Japanese equivalent of the Wall Street Journal), Japan, Inc. makes no bones about its status as an educational tool. Nevertheless, writer/artist and Osamu Tezuka follower Shotaro Ishinomori (Cyborg 009, Kamen Rider) makes valiant and often successful attempts at infusing a sense of humanity into the dry facts and figures that populate the comic.

Our story centers around two workers at the Mitsutomo Trading Corporation: Kudo, a young businessman who works tirelessly to ensure that the "little people" are not left out in large business decisions, and Tsugawa, a ruthless schemer who's always got his eyes on ways to make the company as much money as possible. Surrounding them is a small cast of other businesspeople, including the curious and idealistic young worker Ueda, the cute and feisty secretary Amamiya, and a number of older executives who give advice to the younger workers.

The bosses often serve as our teachers, explaining the long-term ramifications of events like the 1970's oil crisis on world trade and business, while Ueda's cluelessness about business gives us a character to connect to in the frequently confusing web of connections that Ishinomori walks us through. Most of the time, these explanations work out fairly naturally, thanks to a cast of characters with all different levels of knowledge and experience. Unfortunately, though, the need to explain far-reaching consequences of events can lead to confusing flashbacks, and at one point Japan, Inc. even employs the most dangerous tool of all: the DOUBLE FLASHBACK.

Despite Ishinomori's valiant attempts at narrative, including some examination of the differing relationships that Kudo and Tsugawa have with their families, Japan, Inc. is absolutely an educational text. The chapters are separated based on their respective topics, and given invigorating titles like "Trade Friction," "Countering the Rise of the Yen," and "Deficit Finance."

Every other page features a small footnote describing the topic at hand, and there are a few pages that simply stop the action to provide a short essay on the topic or show some graphs. (I dubbed them "economic Masamune Shirow moments.") While all this information is great to have, it's clear that the book is written for businessmen and women looking to bolster their existing knowledge of the business world, because at times the jargon can get pretty confusing for laypeople.

Unfortunately, Japan, Inc. suffers from its age, as University of California Press chose to flip most panels, but leave the ones with drawn text unflipped, resulting in page layouts that lose their natural artistic flow. Additionally, all of the information comes from 1986, so while it's fun to read predictions about how the Internet just might change the landscape of business by 2010, some of the facts are laughably out of date now. (Everybody in Japan is really excited when the yen-dollar exchange rate finally reaches ... 150 yen/1 dollar!)

Japan, Inc. is certainly not what most people expect from their manga: it's considerably drier than even the more subdued seinen manga series, and Ishinomori's art is an acquired taste, lying somewhere between Tezuka (Astro Boy), Mitsuteru Yokoyama (Tetsujin-28/Gigantor), and Akira Toriyama (Dragon Ball). The American version's sporadic flipping shakes up Ishinomori's panel layouts a bit too much for comfort, while the footnotes and full-page info sheets break the flow of the manga from page to page. As a result, Japan, Inc., which clocks in at just over 300 pages, is a considerably slower read than the average manga.

Without any really powerful modern relevance, Japan, Inc. stands as little more than a fun little curiosity for amateur manga historians. Still, if you're interested in economics, international business, or modern Japanese history, and/or if you enjoy seeing manga-fied versions of Ronald Reagan and the Pope, Japan, Inc. might be just the right little curiosity to pique your interest.

[Passable]

This review is based on a copy borrowed from the Folsom Library at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute.

The show presents itself with an equal dose of black comedy and social commentary, similarly to Kon's own Tokyo Godfathers and Paprika. This tendency to mix the seriousness of the situation — a runaway machine originally intended to act as a caretaker for the elderly — with its inherent silliness manifests itself in what is easily the most spectacular turning point of the entire film.

Dedicated nurse-in-training Haruko has been trying to rescue her patient, the elderly Mr. Takazawa, from inside the Z-001 machine throughout the movie, but has run up against stiff opposition from the two bureaucrats in charge of the project, Terada and Hasegawa. As the two men board a helicopter to track the movements of the Z-001, Haruko hops in next to them, despite Terada's fierce protests. Meanwhile, we realize that Terada legitimately cares about the elderly as he berates Hasegawa for not letting him know that the Z-001 was actually a military prototype.

Suddenly Haruko spots the Z-001 speeding along a monorail track, and Terada orders the helicopter to go in for a closer look (never a good idea if Bubblegum Crisis is to be believed). As they approach, Terada throws open the door to yell out at the machine over a megaphone, but Haruko quickly attempts to jump out of the helicopter, screaming desperately to get the old man's attention.

What happens next is a brilliant expression of the essential messages of the entire film: Terada, who has been working to arrest Haruko throughout the story, grabs her before she can fall out of the helicopter, and holds her to keep her from jumping out again. She calls him a pervert, in typical anime style, yet Terada's immediate response to latching onto her is not to blush or get embarrassed, but to yell "You idiot! You'll get yourself killed!" In this brief moment of crisis, Otomo deftly shows the passion with which Haruko will protect her patient as well as the strength of Terada's conviction that all human life is sacred.

To cap it all off, the helicopter hits some trees while Haruko and Terada struggle, throwing the man out of the vehicle and toward the Z-001. Haruko immediately screams for Mr. Terada, only to see the machine reach out and grab him. (Indeed, even after he is safe aboard the Z-001, she tries to keep the helicopter flying low so they can safely extract him.) There is a cascading series of split-second acts of kindness in just these 45 seconds of film, all of which express a more optimistic twist to this ostensibly dark portrayal of the human condition.

Bayonetta (Platinum Games/Nex Entertainment): It’s hard to come up with a fitting opening line to fully encompass the wonder that is Bayonetta, but here goes: Bayonetta is a game where you play a nine-foot-tall woman who wears clothes made out of her own magical hair, has control over time, can summon massive demons, and spends her time destroying hundreds of freakish angels in order to do something or other. I don’t remember the plot very well — while hilarious and a great way to string the action together, it is so insane that your mind rejects it the second you stop playing. Bayonetta is what is known in the trade as a “Character Action Game” — somewhat like Devil May Cry, God of War, that sort of thing. That means a third-person camera, a combo system using different weapons including ground and aerial moves, quick time events, and button-mashing special attacks. Except, Bayonetta is the only game of this genre I have enjoyed, let alone completed twice over. The controls feel so tight and accessible, saving you from being constantly being reminded that there is a plastic knob in between you and the game. The game also has a great sense of fun all over, in its level design, enemies, and weapons. (Even the in-game shop will make you crack a smile when you visit.) The sheer amount of love put into the game shines through especially well in the final levels, during which I could not stop grinning for the entire two-hour session.

A side note: make sure to play the Xbox 360 version of this game, as the PS3 version has some horrible loading issues that rapidly suck the fun out of it.

Extra Bonus Item! (Likely to annoy Evan! This is done in the name of beefing out the amount of anime in the year-end picks.)

Baccano! (Brain’s Base): Seriously, go and read my Anime Secret Santa post on this series. After reading it, it should come as no surprise to learn that as soon as I had moved into my new house I unpacked Baccano! to re-watch it. To be precise, it was the fifth thing I unpacked, coming after the sofa, the DVD player, the TV and the kettle (for tea, of course). My love for this series only grows as I watch it this second time, and I heartily recommend it. (Ed. Note: Baccano! was released in the UK during 2010.)

Baccano! is also recommended by Ani-Gamers editor Evan "Vampt Vo" Minto.

See Also:

• Baccano! Anime Secret Santa Review (2010)
• Baccano! review (2008)

	: "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.

While the overall presentation of said story is awash with harem elements, the main conflict of the story, pacifism in the midst of battle, is aptly personified via the assignment of Saber to ShirÅ. Furthermore, implications are deepened via the introduction of ShirÅ's inability, caused by his lack of study in magic, to make Saber properly materialize. Thus Emiya and Saber, respectively as magus and servant, portray two incomplete parts that leverage each other to form a whole in the hopes of competently fighting against multiple pairs of complementary wholes. This setup is rife for conflicts, and the execution does right by exploring the main theme of action vs. inaction. However, the weaving of romantic tension turns too many scenes into boring and (for the most part) inconsequential harem tropes.

That's not to say that romantic tension doesn't serve some purpose. Rather, the execution of its repeated influence only weakens the story. I'd maintain there are two instances of romantic tension aptly serving the story: that of Emiya's falling for Saber and Rin's unexplainable interest in Emiya. While the latter only serves as a reason why a fellow magus would not kill, and instead might even protect, a competitor, Emiya's falling for Saber further lends credence to why he constantly puts his life on the line for what he views as his responsibility. Really, there's an essay waiting to be written on Emiya and Saber, and that fact alone makes the anime a worthwhile watch, but other aspects deserved to be touched upon as well. Art in Fate/Stay Night is standard fare but of above average quality (budget). Really, its only fault would be the showcasing of CG alchemic circles, the animation of which seems a little too out of place. Fight scenes are well orchestrated and, for the most part, fully animated, and the overall ambience is set rather perfectly. Deep hues of night, the only time during which combat is permitted, are foreboding and bloodthirsty, while days offer a palate more complimentary to the harem walls and the associated tension break. Character designs are also quite Romantic, especially concerning the servants' attire/armor.

Writing is a tad overly dramatic, except, surprisingly, for the harem aspects. Instead, I found myself actually liking how statements by the majority of the female characters never (or rarely) said anything directly. In retrospect, I also greatly enjoyed the underlying and understated theme of regret that manifests not only within the warriors throughout the series but which also resonates as the drive behind the warriors â each a mythical figure of ancient origin.

If you have time to kill, there are far worse anime to help you pull the trigger. It's pretty, the pacing of the main plot is quick, and general subtext is nothing that requires much thought. There is even decent potential as fodder for analysis, which is surprising given the series' origin as an âerogeâ (erotic game). What I can only guess to be a successful anime translation (best to ask Elliot Page) manages to eliminate all hentai aspects, save the annoyingly omnipresent harem elements (beware the first half of the date episode!!!), and deliver an enjoyable watch akin to a more grown-up Zatch Bell (2003).

[Recommended]

This review is based on rental copies obtained via the reviewer's personal Netflix account.

Boy Meets Manga

My introduction to One Piece hardly has any of the nostalgic glory of old-time anime fans' origin stories, as it starts sometime in 2003 or so (right in the heart of the mid-2000s manga boom). One of my middle school teachers passed out a Scholastic book catalog, and in it, glaring at me with all his silly intensity, was Yugi Moto from Yu-Gi-Oh! It was an issue of Viz's Shonen Jump, on sale in my school's catalog!

Naturally, after my experience with these cool Japanese cartoons on Cartoon Network's Toonami block (a frequent stepping stone for mid-'90s anime fans), I was excited to get my hands on the mysterious black-and-white comic book versions of the stories. Though I was hardly a fan of Yu-Gi-Oh! as a series, I was instantly hooked by two manga running in the magazine: Naruto and One Piece. They particularly grabbed me because I had never seen anime versions of them, unlike most of the titles in Shonen Jump.

Shortly after my first time reading One Piece (somewhere in the middle of Volume 2's Buggy Arc), I scrambled to pick up as much manga as I could get my hands on. I picked up the first two volumes of the terrible .Hack//Legend of the Twilight and received One Piece Volume 2 for my birthday. And with that, I was officially a fan of rubber-man Monkey D. Luffy and his crew of oddball pirates.

As a child of the Dragon Ball Z generation, I really felt a connection to Oda's Toriyama-inspired characters, stories, artwork, and sense of humor. Everything in One Piece, from the fights to the characters' dreams, is exaggerated, filled with a passion unparalleled by the actions of real people. For a wide-eyed middle school kid, new to the vast world of anime and manga lurking under the Toonami-glazed surface, Oda's powerfully kinetic yet inherently accessible work was just the kind of thing to propel me into full-fledged fandom.

And propel me it did! 2004, the year that marked my post-One Piece anime/manga obsession, also marked the creation of an overly ambitious little anime fan site called Anime Paradise, which would later become the Ani-Gamers you see today.

Boy Leaves Manga

It's pretty clear at this point that One Piece is one of the defining works of my personal manga fandom, but why did I stop reading it after all the passion I had invested into it? It's very simple, actually.

At AnimeNEXT 2008, I pushed my way to the nearest manga vendor and started rifling through the books on the table. As I had done for the past few years, I picked up the latest volume of One Piece (14 in this case) and got ready to buy it. But then it hit me. Looking at the volumes on the table, I took note of the books that I would then have to buy after Volume 14. I thought it over in my head — "One Piece isn't even finished yet in Japan, let alone in the US. Heck, I don't even know when this Baroque Works Arc is going to end. It could be ten more volumes for all I know!"

So, on that day, I made the fateful decision, on behalf of my wallet, to stop buying One Piece. Of course, since I am strongly opposed to manga piracy (har har), reading it online is out of the question, so that means I effectively decided to stop reading the series, period. Since then, Viz Media's American run of One Piece has reached 55 volumes, and it still hasn't ended in Japan. After re-reading the volumes I bought years ago, I really miss the Straw Hat Pirates and all their crazy adventures, but the prospect of restarting my collection is a daunting one.

Indeed, that's the ultimate tragedy of the paying fan of any long-running, ongoing manga series; continued dedication to your favorite story requires an inordinate amount of money and shelf space. Nevertheless, the boundless motivation of Luffy and his comrades serves as a reminder of the importance of doing what you love, regardless of the obstacles in front of you. Who knows? Maybe one day I'll finally follow Oda's wisdom, pick up One Piece Volume 14, and start this old journey up once again.

• Check out the rest of this month's One Piece-themed Manga Moveable Feast posts!
• Read Matt Blind's explanation of the Manga Moveable Feast

First of all, we are told very few solid details about about Yotsuba’s origin, and even her father is rather sketchy on the particulars. We know she is an orphan (as outlined in Chapter 6), but when pressed for details her dad tells us that he “met her while overseas, and just kinda started looking after her”. Fuuka fills in for the reader here by admitting that she doesn't really understand, but then something much more interesting happens (a thunderstorm) and the topic is dropped as Yotsuba runs outside to play in the rain. The main theory paraded around about this can be seen in a well distributed piece of fan-art that shows Yotsuba as a ragged orphan in a war-torn country. Whether this is anywhere near the truth, or even if there is a canon answer, is unknown.

We don't even know for sure what Yotsuba’s age is, and she and her adoptive father even have a confused conversation about it when buying a bike. Any mention of a mother goes right over Yotsuba’s head without comment, and the manga then typically shifts to a different and much more fun topic. It is refreshing to have a character without any parental issues present in their personality, and this makes it a lot easier to relate to the nostalgia present in Yotsuba&!. After all, no one wants to be reminded of the bad stuff in a whimsical tale.

Linking in with her origin is Yotsuba’s appearance. Many characters, especially incidental ones, question whether she is a foreigner upon first meeting her, a not unexpected reaction given what little we know of her origins, and also how she acts. There is an additional reason as well — her trademark green four-pigtailed hair. While crazily colored hair is nothing new in anime or manga, the world of Yotsuba&! is grounded in real life, and no one else has their hair in such an outlandish hue or style. Characters even marvel at the bizarre style, further re-enforcing how much the energetic little girl differs from the norm.

Then there are the more mundane, common sense reasons that make Yotsuba stand out. She never tires of looking for adventure each and every day, is enthusiastic about absolutely everything, and is for the most part impeccably behaved apart from the odd, endearing, and quickly forgiven mischief . Yotsuba is the perfect little friend to explore the world with, a fountain of endless curiosity and enthusiasm that makes the world a better place. Even her tantrums are (mostly) well founded, in stark contrast to normal children. (I remember being a selfish little brat myself when I was five-ish.)

Yotsuba is an outsider in her own manga, and it is because of this that the reader never gets sick of her antics. We don't know much about her, and don’t care to find out beyond the basics presented as it may disrupt the warm fuzzy feeling that the manga provides. Hell, what if Kiyohiko Azuma went crazy one day and decided that Yotsuba’s origin is that she is a 1,000-year-old vampire stuck in a tiny body? All the fun would leave the title faster than air out of a popped balloon.

Knowing nothing about Yotsuba lets us get on with the very important business of enjoying her company in her magical, whimsical adventures full of cardboard robots powered by money and flower cupids. It’s much better this way.

Instead of being some randomly instituted loli ratings booster, Kikuri turns out to be a poignant addition to the Hell Correspondents. More or less the embodiment of the will of their master, Kikuri's antics grow from passive-aggressive playfulness into full-blown antagonism. While there seems to be no reason to her actions in the first collection, her actions in HGTM C2 serve to spur on the vengeful to supply Ai with more work and hell with more souls. This makes Kikuri the foil to Ai’s wavering commitment to consigning souls to hell.

Speaking of which, damnation starts to get its Dante back in episode 15 but abandons it until regaining those progressive tracks of surrealistic comeuppances in episodes 19 and 21. When ironic tortures are not applied, the very ferry to hell is used to illustrate the nature of the damned. It is the return of these sequences as well as the return of stories that concern people who actually have serious problems that give more meat to these episodes than those of the first collection, but the morality and circumstantial twists lend to something greater.

Just as the strength of season one lies in the threaded plot that develops from reporter Hajime Shibata’s investigation into Hell Girl’s consignments, HGTM C2 uses Detective Meshiai’s investigation into the rash of disappearances attributed to “devil’s child” Takuma (episodes 14 and 22–26) to define its purpose. These episodes, so well done that they bring to mind The Twilight Zone’s “The Monsters are Due on Maple Street,” make HGTM C2 about Ai Enma bucking the proverbial system by standing up for one person undeservingly sentenced to hell, just as she had been sentenced to death. This parallels the first season, where Ai breaks the rules to release her pent-up fury and avenge herself through the direct descendants of the same traitorous bloodline responsible for her unwilling sacrifice and accursed death.

HGTM C2 succeeds in tying the previous collection’s seemingly flippant content into a story both poignant and well orchestrated. While its skill at enhancing supporting characters is questionable, the collection further rounds out Ai Enma and more importantly restores faith in the series’ signature bite while using it to accomplish something new. Instead of being pushed to the breaking point by hate as in the first season, the Hell Correspondents are broken by the conflict between mercy and their cursed duty. Taken by itself, HGTM C2 is a change of course for the series that seems to be tackled with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. However, this collection shows its strength by knowing how to effectively leverage similar and contrasting content from pasts both distant and recent.

[Highly Recommended]

This review is based on a Sentai Filmworks DVD set purchased by the reviewer.

Now, onto the anthology itself. The file size is rather dinky (9 MB, to be exact). While this is great for quick downloading on the move, the image quality suffers from this small size as zooming in even a little on the pages makes image compression readily visible. The size of the images that make up the anthology are rather small, resulting in massive margins around the pages on the iPad and noticeable amounts of unused space even on the smaller iPhone. This fact, combined with the previously mentioned issue of being unable to turn pages while zoomed in, makes reading the magazine a chore.

Another much more irritating issue is that both the translation and the editing feel lazy. The former is at least functional despite its poor use of punctuation, but the typesetting of the dialogue and sound effects feels very poorly handled and is detrimental to enjoyment of the magazine. All the text is presented plainly, sound effects outside of speech bubbles are untranslated and there is nothing to differentiate between sound effects and dialogue that are placed inside bubbles. The actual presentation of the content feels like an afterthought.

But what about this content then?

Quadrifoglio 2 (By Takeshi Okamoto)

The longest of the individual contributions, Quadriofoglio follows the genius mechanic Yotsuba (no relation to the adorable character from the manga of the same name) as she joins a university car racing club and helps out at her family garage. I must admit I had severe flashbacks to Initial D while reading this due to the very impressive, photo-realistic drawings of the cars, and thankfully the people didn't look half bad either and were an engaging bunch to read about. The main problem I have with the series is a lack of any feeling of motion either within or between the separate panels, making it feel more like a series of stills than an ongoing, unfolding drama. In a manga about things that go “Vrooom!” around a track very fast this saps some of the fun out of it. Still, it’s a fun read and I would be I happy to see how it develops in further chapters. Searching for information of its predecessor (Quadrifoglio) has left me empty-handed, sadly.

Kurogane (By Nanami Shizika)

So, let me outline the premise here: loser guy meets hot dense girl out of nowhere and has to live with her, and she inexplicably likes him. If you just passed out as a result of how generic that sounds, then you know how I felt reading it. The series even ticks the additional otaku bait box of having a trap turn up in the first 10 pages. Sadly the clunky translation hurts this series, making the main expository pages of this chapter read like a garbled mess and so I’m not sure if the premise has anything going for it. The art looks serviceable enough (especially the breasts of the main female character), but in general the whole package is woefully forgettable. It does however have the best sound effect in the anthology: "Hug!!" Two exclamation marks! Wowzah.

Nobunagirl (By Taro Matsumoto)

Time for brutal honesty: Nobunagirl has terrible, awful art and is hard to take seriously. Both lineart and shading are all over the place and panels that should be badass inspire more laughter than awe. The plot jumps from a demon infested Warring States era featuring Oda Nobunaga into an even weirder sci-fi setting which has very little thought or care put into it. The last panel is so bizarre it has to be seen to be believed: a young girl riding on the back of a terribly drawn ripoff of the alien from ... Alien (1979). I think I uttered "Are you serious?" while reading it. Skip this.

Kago Mania (By Shintaro Kago)

For me, the promise of content from the surreal mind of Shintaro Kago (who is called a "fantastic idea cartoonist" in his own bio) was the "killer app" that pushed me over the edge when buying this anthology. Imagine my surprise when the content supplied had much higher quality drawings than his usual fare, but then also imagine my disappointment when I discovered that he had only four pages in the magazine! Each page is a single, full-page image of a surreal idea given flight, and while I enjoyed them, it was all over too soon. What a shame.

Overall, I feel conflicted about Comicloud. While I love the idea and dearly wish for it to find an audience, the content just isn't there yet. Over half of the 80 pages delivered are skippable and the rest feel cheapened by the small image size and poor typesetting.

Personally I am looking forward to the next few issues to see how the magazine develops, and hope that the hard work and enthusiasm that the editors clearly have for their product pays off.

[Bad]

This review is based on the Kindle release, purchased by the reviewer.

There is little that can be done now but wait for an official report out of Japan, but if this news turns out to be true, it represents a powerful blow to the anime industry. Rest assured, Ani-Gamers will keep on top of this emerging story and update this post as more information surfaces.