Joker Game
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Alternate Titles: Showa and Genroku Era Lover’s Suicide Through Rakugo
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The Sensualist is a 1991 animated film from Studio Grouper based on The Life of an Amorous Man, the 17th century novel by Ihara Saikaku. The movie should presumably tell the story of Yonosuke, a clothing store proprietor and titular amorous man. However, the film’s actual narrative has little to do with Yonosuke but rather a foolish tailor by the name of Juzo. You see, Juzo is in a bit of a pinch. He made a silly bet with some jerk-off that he could sleep with famed courtesan Komurasaki at their premier meeting, so now he’s off toward the capital city of Edo to make good on his wager. Problem is, Komurasaki is a very classy lady and doesn’t just invite any old joker into her futon. In fact, she doesn’t serve working class patrons at all, and even if she did, she doesn’t kiss on the first date. Like I said, a very classy lady. It looks like Juzo’s going to lose his bet, so what’s on the line anyway?
Not much–just his penis.
Lucky for our hapless tailor with the doomed dong, merchant class hunk Yonosuke has a bit of a history with the high-class hooker. Feeling bad for poor Juzo, the shop owner sets up a meeting with Komurasaki so the guileless gambler will at least have a shot at saving his manhood, but it is still a long-shot.
The Sensualist is an obvious labor of love by director Yukio Abe, who has found quite a bit of success in the anime industry as an art director (Colorful), background artist (The Dagger of Kamui), and audio engineer (Battle Angel). Those up on their Japanese film history should recognized the name of screenwriter Eiichi Yamamoto, frequent collaborator with the late “god of manga” Osamu Tezuka. The movie is short, clocking in at a brisk 55 minutes that is spent jumping back and forth between the central story with Juzo and the aforementioned backstory of Yonosuke, including his past encounters with Komurasaki. The easiest complaint of the film is its uneven script. The flashbacks should ideally serve to illuminate Yonosuke’s motivations in helping Juzo, but they only ever denote the ostensible protagonist as a lifelong libertine. The end result is a main character whose development feels told rather than shown. Furthermore, Yonosuke’s eventual success with Juzo’s conflict ultimately has little to do with his past and is quickly explained away in the penultimate scene with Komurasaki.
But where the movie falters in story it makes up for in aesthetics.
The movie is visually striking, summoning motifs from the ukiyo-e paintings of Edo period Japan to fill its frames. Many shots entirely abandon depth for super flat images that more closely resemble the antiquated art form. The depiction of water as undulating white lines against a dark field is especially reminiscent of the renowned woodblock prints. The male characters are drawn with a slightly more modern sensibility, but the female characters–especially Komurasaki–appear to have stepped right out of “Three Known Beauties” or “Beauty and Attendant.” The animation is limited by its resources, but there is no doubt that each frame was painstakingly fine-tuned to Abe’s meticulous vision, resulting in a piece that feels handmade, human, and brimming with graphic information.
Pervasive sexual symbolism adds a layer of artistry to the erotic depictions in the film–everything from the lotus flower as a time-honored vaginal metaphor to the somewhat hokey, phallic turtle’s head breaking into frame before revealing itself to be but the shelled amphibian. More esoteric imagery conveys the act of sexual penetration in evocative, beautiful ways–lightning strikes, orange flames against a backdrop of ocean waves, and even a series of red lines suggestively folding into one another.
Despite its technical limitations, The Sensualist is certainly a gem that has been forgotten by time. As one of only four projects that Grouper Productions had a hand in and a crew with this as their sole credit to this day (I couldn’t even find a cast list), this bit of direct-to-video art seems to have left no mark whatsoever on the world of animation, and that’s a shame. Those trying to track this down on home video will likely only dig up the Japanese DVD release of director Yasuzou Masumura’s live-action adaptation from 1961. As far as I know, The Sensualist has only seen life on home video as a VHS release. If you have the opportunity to see this little movie in any form, I highly recommend you take advantage of it.
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REVIEW: The Eccentric Family (2013)
by Dustin Kramer
As I sit here and try to think about what Masayuki Yoshihara’s The Eccentric Family “has to say,” I find myself profoundly inept at finding a fitting focal point for this introduction. It would be a disservice to say the 13-episode adaptation of Morimi Tomihiko’s novel is purely about the importance of family, because it feels even bigger than that. To claim that its central themes examine the meaning of life itself is a concept so large and overdone that it implies pretension, something that this story truly has none of. But to denounce both of these examinations is equally dishonest, because this animated drama has plenty to say in each arena — and much more.
The show begins with the voice of our protagonist, Yasaburou Shimogamo, narrating over images of himself running through the streets of Kyoto, Japan’s former capitol and a city known for its historic relevance. He enlightens the audience about the balance that is maintained by the city’s three intelligent species: tanuki, Japanese raccoon dogs mythologized in folklore as having the ability to transform; tengu, humanoid creatures with black wings and the power to fly; and humans, the only species seemingly unaware of the fantastic creatures with which they coexist. Yasaburou is a tanuki that seeks only the most joyous experiences in life, but he makes clear that he isn’t interested in being a “mere tanuki.” He “admires tengu from afar and loves imitating humans,” hinting at a thematic thread of cultural tolerance that runs through this piece.
The events of the narrative revolve around the death of Yasaburou’s father, Souichirou. Years prior, the tanuki patriarch had been killed and used as the main ingredient for a traditional dish called “hot pot” that the human fraternity known as the Friday Fellows indulge in at every New Year’s celebration. This sets the stage for every dramatic turn that we encounter throughout this journey, but keep in mind that each of the Shimogamo family members have already undergone major character changes in light of Souichirou’s untimely demise by the time the series begins. The mother of the four brothers attempts to step in to a more masculine role by literally dressing up as a prince. Yasaburou’s answer to his mother’s transformation is to become a feminine presence within the family via cross-dressing. The oldest of Yasaburou’s brothers, Yaichirou, has spent the time since his father’s death attempting to emulate the leadership and nobility that Souichirou exuded. Yajirou, the second oldest of the Shimagamo siblings, has lived life transformed into a frog and dwells at the bottom of a well, giving advice to any and all who drop a small donation into his dank abode. When it is revealed that he was out drinking with his father on the night of his death, his retreat into doleful solitude is finally understood. The youngest of the bunch, Yashirou, has regressed into childishness where his brothers have sought some refuge in early maturity. He is still quite young, but perhaps too young to be hiding in the shadow of his family’s elders — as he does.
In their tanuki forms, the Shimogamo boys bear markings that resemble the four suits in a French deck of playing cards. The two elders, Yaichirou and Yajirou, are the spade and club respectively. The black color of these suits is representative of a darkness within these characters that their siblings don’t carry. Like a spade, Yaichirou is sharp and offensive. Yajirou’s club brings to mind the image of a clover — the diminutive plant’s natural color and shape reflecting his chosen amphibian form. Yasaburou and Yashirou, on the other hand, bear the red suits — a color that symbolizes warmth and zeal, something their older brothers have lost. Yashirou is the heart, and he certainly has the most of it. Yasaburou’s diamond is the only shape with four sides. This represents the centrality and connective nature of his character in relation to his brothers. Those who share a suit color exist as pairs. Yashirou seeks protection and solace in Yasaburou over anyone else (except perhaps their mother), and Yaichirou’s strong empathetic reaction to the revelation that the guilt-stricken Yajirou may have been the last one to see their father alive suggests a much stronger bond between the characters — despite rarely communicating with one another — than the audience had been privy to up to that point.
The first half of the show occurs in a series of brief arcs detailing the relationships between the Shimogamo tanuki clan and their relatives (the Ebisugawas), an aging tengu professor named Akadama, and the largely clueless Friday Fellows. Akadama requests that Yasaburou summon Benten, a human woman to whom Akadama had previously taught the tengu’s signature skill of flight. Her uncommon power serves to blur the line between these hierarchical groups, strengthening the theme of cultural acceptance. Yasaburou agrees to deliver Akadama’s letter, but he does so with trepidation. You see, Benten is member of the Friday Fellows, the mysterious organization that cooked and ate the young tanuki’s father years prior. It becomes clear that both Yasaburou and Akadama have feelings for the human woman. But once the rivalry between the Shimogamos and the the Ebisugawas is established, the show builds in the final half toward an election to determine who will lead the Kyoto tanuki community as the “Nise-emon,” a role that Souichirou was filling when he died. Yaichirou vies for the position against his uncle, Souun.
The Eccentric Family is a gorgeous piece of entertainment art and yet another bright spot in studio P.A. Works’ ever-growing portfolio of visually impressive projects. The backgrounds are so painstakingly detailed and given these touches of realism that many other animation studios would disregard as unnecessary minutia. They seem to be painted on an interesting, textured surface not unlike a watercolor block. The characters themselves are heavily stylized and casted with straight, clean lines and solid blocks of color. This gives the entire presentation a very distinct visual flavor while serving another more practical goal — when the story calls for action, budget can be easily moved around to ensure that money goes where it needs to. More static scenes of dialogue can be trimmed without the animation quality appearing to have been affected. This works out well for the series, as a moment where a visible decrease in aesthetics was rare in my viewing experience.
As I mentioned before, cultural tolerance is one of the shows themes, and I find that it was handled quite deftly. Despite tensions between the humans, tengu, and tanuki, they all make efforts to coexists peacefully. The fact that members of three different species — Yasaburou, Akadama, and one of the Friday Fellows — all fall in love with the human woman Benten speaks to the possibility of a world without borders. As an extension of this, the show seems to make some apologies for Japan’s own slow, quiet transitions into progressiveness. The non-human societies in the series are certainly aware that the Friday Fellow’s practice of eating tanuki is wrong, but everyone accepts it as a fact of life until tradition is challenged and things change. With this, the creators ask that the world be patient with the island nation as it learns to compassionately approach longstanding, sinful ideals. The country really can’t claim a large number of loud social movements that pepper other comparatively younger countries’ histories. Instead, when it’s time to think a new way about something, social change just tends to happen — sometimes from the top down, with the government passing new civil rights legislation before it even becomes a major issue among activists. A cursory glance at the Wikipedia pages for “Social Movements in America” and “Social Movements in Japan” is an eye-opening reminder that the Land of the Rising Sun just tends to “go with the flow,” which happens to be a piece of advice that Akadama gives Yaichiro in the final episode.
The tengu Akadama is also a particularly interesting central figure. He is old, and his fear of becoming obsolete is well-drawn and poignant. Symbolically, he is Japan’s aging population itself. More than 20 percent of Japan’s population are over the age of 65, and this large chunk is retiring from the workforce to lean on socialized support from an ever-shrinking working-age populace. An ostentatious demonstration from Akadama in the last episode is an announcement that he is still alive and still matters, something that many of whom he represents would love to have the voice to say.
Unfortunately, not everything about The Eccentric Family deserves praise. This anime is a fantasy set in the real world, but real world implications of murder are never fully addressed. The show never paints Benten as a villain, despite her passiveness to the killing and eating of tanuki and her active participation in the death of Souichirou in particular. She’s enigmatic but woefully incomplete and highlights an uncommon thematic void for the series. Additionally, although Yasaburou was engaged to his cousin, Kaisei (Yajirou was also in love with her), the show never addresses the topic of incest. The ancient practice of marrying relatives for political purposes is not foreign to the West, but in a show where themes of tradition-breaking are so prevalent, the absence of examination or commentary here is notable. As an aside, the relationship is never sexualized in any way, so it would be inaccurate to call it fan service — it’s definitely not that kind of show.
The last few episodes resolve the arcs of major and minor characters alike and prove to be one of the most satisfying endings of an anime series in recent memory. The variety of sociopolitical ideas the show tackles and the overwhelming rate of success at these attempts is laudable. If The Eccentric Family had only one thing to say, well, it wouldn’t be the thematically rich piece that it is. But if I had to try and nail down the “one thing” that the series is about, I think it wants to say something like this: Don’t over-prepare for things that may not come. Take life one day at a time, enjoy it to the best of your ability, deal with shit when it comes your way, and never forget what’s important to you, no matter what it is.
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Alternate Titles: The Tale of Princess Kaguya
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Plot:
A three episode, 30 minutes an episode OVA, Otona Joshi no Anime Time tells three complete stories in each episode. Unrelated to each other save for the fact that they all revolve around mature Japanese women at varying points in their lives.
Episode 1 –
Mimi is an approximately 30-year old woman who is married. However, one day she meets a handsome trash collector by chance whom she moves in with. The story’s themes revolve around feeling wanted and following one’s desires even though the consequences may imply that you aren’t the best person in the process.
Episode 2 –
Hatoko is about the turn 40 and has a successful job but little else in her opinion. Unmarried, with no kids, and no prospects she’s rejuvenated when a high school reunion will potentially reunite her with her middle-school “love.” The story’s themes revolve around the sources of satisfaction in one’s life.
Episode 3 –
Maho is a wife and mother of two children who she seems to be losing touch with. Her daughter is spending days at a time elsewhere and her son is on the verge of doing the same. Her husband recently got fired and found a new job but it alone isn’t enough to make ends meet so she got a part time job at a local market. The story’s themes revolve around being a mother, depression, and taking control in one’s life.
Staff:
Each episode was directed and written by different people with an original story from three different people. In fact the entire staff down to animation and character design was different for each episode. In a way as a result each episode is almost like a separate mini-OVA and only has the title and overarching theme of women in life to tie them together.
Review:
One thing this anime makes clear right from the start is that it is these stories are by Japanese women, and for Japanese women. The women in the show each have their own problems that are intrinsically Japanese culturally in nature and their approach as well as solutions are also Japanese. Through my cultural lens I saw each as:
Episode 1 Problem – Feeling valued as a woman.
Episode 1 Solution – Finding a man who loves your cooking and living a carefree life.
Episode 2 Problem – Living past the age 30 “expiration date” for being unwed and not progressing toward a family.
Episode 2 Solution – Casual sex, oh, and it’s cool to be that way sometimes.
Episode 3 Problem – Being taken for granted as a wife and mother.
Episode 3 Solution – Become more assertive, but don’t actually change much in your life.
As a Westerner watching these at times I felt slightly offended by how things were portrayed but the cultural truths surrounding them ring true. The other thing I admit as a reviewer is that, well, these problems/solutions aren’t as clear cut as I just made them seem. Which of course is true to life. Nothing is ever completely beautiful, rosy and perfect. But, nothing is ever completely awful and broken either. In every good or bad there is a touch of the opposite.
The stories are all very mature in nature, which as someone who considers themselves out of “girlhood” it’s almost a little refreshing to see an anime focusing on real (Japanese) women and real (Japanese) woman’s issues. Even if their portrayal or message I don’t completely agree with at times. The anime tackles things like sex, marriage, delinquency, infidelity and so on with a tasteful hand. Those things are part of these women’s lives, as they are a part of many grown women’s lives, and to have excluded them would’ve been insincere to what the anime was trying to do.
In all I think my favorite episode was the first one, though I’ll run through a quick pros and cons for each:
Episode 1 Pros –
It made you feel on the side of a person who was being unfaithful. Which to play that side is difficult and worth praise. (Not praise for infidelity but handling that topic well)
It showed how simple it is to make someone feel valued but how big of a problem it is if you don’t.
It made you feel unashamed of happiness.
Episode 1 Cons –
It showed the woman placing her entire value over her cooking for her husband/significant other. (My personal opinion there on that con)
The use of random live-action cooking sequences was odd.
Episode 2 Pros –
It had a lightness to it that made it almost comical despite it’s subject matter.
It illuminated societal pressures surrounding Japanese women.
It showed that even if you aren’t falling into the norm you can still be happy.
It had a great little twist.
Episode 2 Cons –
The story felt somewhat unresolved as the women ended in much the same place as she was before. Perhaps somewhat more secure in herself but still feeling like she “had nothing” at the end because she had no husband, no prospects, and no children.
Episode 3 Pros –
It showed the struggle of depression in a very handed way.
The character relationships between the mother and the family members were very well illustrated.
They did a cool thing with the animation on the mother’s skin throughout the anime.
Episode 3 Cons –
The mother becomes more assertive at the end, but in the process little in her life actually changes from what was depressing her before.
Overall, I feel like this anime is something that could be shown in an upper high-school or college level course to look at women in Japan and cultural pressures and issues surrounding them. As someone who is a Westerner I cannot relate in many ways. But as someone who has lived in Japan and sees the pressures and expectations women over here have this anime does a very good job at illuminating and discussing them.
Since I have broken everything else down by episode I will do the same for the score and take an average overall, as I think they end up being fairly equal in their pros and cons.
Episode 1 – 3.5
Episode 2 – 4
Episode 3 – 3
Therefore I’m going to give this anime 4 out of 5 because it possesses originality in it’s subject matter and does what it sets out to do fairly well. It definitely falls above average but I’m not sure if it is a masterpiece.
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Alternate Titles:
The Wind is Rising
The Wind Rises
Plot:
An autobiographical film about the life of Jiro Horikoshi, the man responsible for the design and creation of the famous Japanese World War II Zero Fighter aircraft. Inspired by the aesthetics of design and the freedom of flying, Jiro pursues a life dedicated to the creation of a beautiful aircraft. The film covers the passage of time from Jiro’s childhood, filled with dreams of engineering, to adulthood as he creates an elegant, flight worthy plane that eventually is used for something quite different than he expected, war.
Director:
Hayao Miyazaki
Studio:
Ghibli
Review:
by Dustin Kramer
Art is personal. Creative self-expression is, by its very nature, a process of externalizing the internal. Many of your favorite movies, music records, and books were labors of love. But is there a point at which one’s art can become too personal? Can dedication and focus breed myopia? In examining Hayao Miyazaki’s latest film, I may have found the answer.
The Wind Rises tells a fictionalized account of the life of Jiro Horikoshi, the man responsible for designing Japan’s infamous Mitsubishi A6M Zero fighter airplane. The aircraft is known for its use during World War II, particularly in the attack on Pearl Harbor and in kamikaze missions. We begin with Jiro as a child in the early 20th century dreaming of flying machines and idolizing seminal figures in the then-young field of aeronautical engineering. Since poor sight will keep the young man from flying an airplane of his own, he attends university in the hopes of building them instead. Each act is ushered in with a scene featuring a strong gust of wind — a nice bit of theming with the title. The first reel contains some of the best pacing in Studio Ghibli’s entire oeuvre. After that, the story throws on the brakes and crawls through a slight, clichéd recount of the man’s endeavors up to just before the notorious event in Hawaii that brought the United States into the second World War.
The movie is, as expected, an impressive visual outing by the legendary Studio Ghibli. The candy-coated look that has defined Miyazaki’s work since 2001′s Spirited Away is on full display here. The interpretation of the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923, in which the ground and everything upon it moves like violent ocean waves, is probably the most impressive scene in the picture from an animation perspective. In a departure from Miyazaki’s usual fare, there are no cute, strange, or ugly creatures to break up the monotony of animated human beings, but the character designs are attractive and diverse enough to keep things interesting aesthetically.
With the knowledge that Miyazaki is somewhat of an aviation fanatic (he has said as much himself), it’s surprising how decidedly no-frills the flying sequences are. The two main types of flying scenes are test flights of Horikoshi’s designs and dream sequences where he has conversations with famed aeronautical engineer Gianni Caproni. What we get in the test flight sequences are a lot of long wide shots, as though the audience is watching from the ground. The dreams on the other hand are mostly medium shots, two-shots, and close ups that don’t really show off the aircraft that the characters are riding. The two most impressive of these scenes is a dream sequence that opens the flick and, somewhat ironically, a scene involving paper airplanes, but nothing quite as exhilarating is ever revisited. We’ve seen much better flying sequences from the animator in years past, such as in Porco Rosso, Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, and Castle in the Sky.
Joe Hisaishi has made a career for himself as a solo artist who happens to score Ghibli films and in doing so has composed some of the greatest scores of all time. The orchestrated soundtrack to this movie is simple in its melodies and assimilates into the emotional atmosphere of every scene. The vocal theme song is lovely but feels like it came out of a decade about halfway between the present and when the movie is set.
An astute ear will notice something interesting that has been done with the foley effects. They are, by and large, created with human voices. Things like the mechanical locomotion of a train and the roaring ground during the aforementioned earthquake are given a special kind of vitality that I don’t think I’ve ever experienced in a motion picture before.
As Jiro dreams and draws and test flies his creations, we learn little more about the man behind the machine than we did at the title card. Horikoshi is reserved and zealous; this much is clear. A scene early on with his younger sister reveals that he is perhaps neglectful of his family in service of his aspirations. A poignant parallel can be drawn here to Miyazaki, who has been accused of allowing his work to detract from other aspects of his life. The animator even has Jiro smoke Cherry cigarettes, his own brand of choice. The scene with his sister is reflected later when she comes to visit Horikoshi as an adult and complains about his familial inattention yet again. Both scenes outline this character flaw in the engineer but are played for laughs as though ‘little sister nags older brother because that’s what little sisters do.’ The filmmaker clearly admires and relates with his subject, but an abundance of adulation and a lack of honest self-appraisal weaken the core of his most personal work to date.
After a couple of aeronautic failures and an exodus to pre-war Germany, our hero finds love. The adroit development of Horikoshi and Naoko Satomi’s fictitious relationship is managed over just a couple of scenes, including one mentioned earlier featuring paper airplanes. This portion of the narrative is the most captivating of the picture and is a truly touching depiction of young love. However, the whole thing takes a not-so-surprising turn for the hackneyed when Naoko confesses that she has tuberculosis. I suppose the void of dramatic tension elsewhere in the story forced Hayao’s hand, and out popped this done-to-death (pun intended) contrivance. His devotion to his sickly wife plays in contrast to earlier scenes with his younger sister, but because those scenes never cemented the necessary character flaw, the turnaround doesn’t feel like much of a redemption.
The standout performance belongs to Miori Takimoto, who provides the voice for Naoko Satomi. Despite the artifice of the character’s illness, Takimoto imbues the young woman with a delicate strength that is characteristic of a victim of terminal illness. Hideaki Anno’s efforts as Horikoshi aren’t quite so rewarding. Neon Genesis Evangelion‘s director-turned-voice-actor delivers what one might expect of a non-performer. Anno is wooden and one-note. However, he has a weathered quality to his voice that manages to bring something to the character, although it doesn’t make up for the actor’s shortcomings.
It is no secret that the product of Jiro Hirokoshi’s enterprise became responsible for much death and destruction in the years following the events of the film. The irony of his dream to “create something beautiful” being perverted should be the nucleus of this story’s themes. But in the final dream sequence — of which there are several — the horrors of the forthcoming war are swept under the rug in way that absolves Jiro’s guilt and allows him to be proud of what he has accomplished.
Returning to my questions at the outset of this piece, I think The Wind Risesis a perfect example of an artist getting too close to his or her art. The real irony is that the subject suffers from the same affliction as the storyteller. Both are too nearsighted to see beyond their affection for their craft. Horikoshi is as blind to what lies in store for his beautiful creations as Miyazaki is to the very thing that makes this story compelling. Maybe the filmmaker sees too much of himself in the engineer but isn’t prepared to admit his own deficiencies enough to paint a realistic portrait of this imperfect man. In the end, this latest effort by Studio Ghibli lacks the teeth that it needs to tell the tale it should be telling. What we get instead is a war film without war and a love story with a little too much Love Story. And perhaps worst of all, it doesn’t have anything to say.