Gin no Saji 2
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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: A Certain Scientific Railgun S
By Mitsugi:
The first season of Railgun was largely a disappointment. The anime really underachieved in what could have ended up being a great science fiction, action anime. However, the show just couldn’t break away from the moe, fluff and inevitably, the show threw away episode after episode, spending their entire run times on moe and filler.
When I started Railgun season 2, I was very tentative that it would be more of the same of the first season of Railgun. This was a fear that I think a lot of people shared and as a result, many people didn’t make the plunge into Railgun S.
Railgun S is broken down into two stories. The first arc, the Sister’s Arc, is a story about Accelerator, Misaka, and her sister’s. This arc makes up about 16 of the 24 episode run time, with the final fist full of episodes being devoted to an entirely different, but not necessarily lesser story.
This review will mostly cover the first, and primary arc of the Railgun S story. Long ago, Misaka agreed to have her genetic code copied for use in disease curing experiments. The real intent behind this borrowing was the advancement of Accelerator, a level 5 esper, and currently the most powerful in academy city. To this end, Misaka’s genetic code is cloned many times to create, “training dummies” for use in combat practice. This of course, doesn’t sit well with Misaka and driven by guilt, she sets out on a personal mission to destroy the experiments.
This was a really great story arc. In addition to having a huge amount of action, and very little moe filler, the antithesis of the prior season, it also touched upon ethical and moral issues such as the value of human life. The stunning action was on par with other fantastic action based shows from the Spring/Summer 2013 seasons such as Attack on Titan and Majestic Prince. The animation also received quite a substantial boost from the prior season of railgun. Railgun was a hugely popular series in Japan, so the budget boost for its sequel wasn’t too surprising.
The morale issues are something that torment Misaka throughout the first arc. She understands that life is valuable no matter what and rejects the experiments that clearly have no respect for this viewpoint. The story also touches upon “what it means to be human”, as the Sister’s are born into the world through science and not through normal biological means.
The only thing I really didn’t care for from the first story was the conclusion. It really ended quite anticlimactically with the final fight with Accelerator. It lacked the length and intensity of prior fights we had in the season despite the build up that the Accelerator fight carried.
All in all, this first arc was excellent and a huge improvement over the first season of Railgun. I thought it was action packed, incredibly well paced, well animated and fun. It lacked a large amount of the moe fluff filler that plagued the first season. All in all, I enjoyed it more than some other anime, including Attack on Titan, which were touted as the best of the season. I thought it had better action, was just as engaging and certainly had a much higher budget. I recommend this show to anybody who likes action, science fiction and generally a lot of fun.
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Alternate Titles:
From the New World
Shin Sekai Yori
Plot:
Five students with supernatural powers live in a world that is set in the far distant future. They come to realize that the world is not as it seems and begin to slowly learn the chilling truths about their village, the greater world around them, and each other that will change their lives forever.
General Info:
25 Episodes
22 Minutes/Episode
Release Date – Fall 2012
Source:
Shinsekai Yori is based off a novel by Yusuke Kishi of the same name.
Staff:
The director has been involved in a lot, but this seemed to be his directorial debut as the primary director for a series.
About four or five episodes in there was a small shift in the visuals. That was due to a change in the episode director for that particular episode.
Animation:
The visuals are simple, yet stunning. It balances the right amount of details, and colors. Using extreme imagery when needed to really emphasize an important points.
I’ve read it had a relatively low budget but they made it work really well.
Music:
The music is amazing in this series and always fits exactly what the anime needs at that moment.
Fun fact, the name is the Japanese translation of Antonin Dvorak’s Ninth Symphony, From the new World, and the piece makes an appearance in the series.
Review:
This is very likely one of the best series that has come out in the past year that no one gave a damn about.
It took me some time to get around to this review because I wanted to sludge through a lot of crap in my backlog and really give it the attention that I knew a year ago in the first three or four episodes that it deserved. And I’m glad I did.
Shinsekai Yori is an intense, mature, psychological series that questions many aspects of life such as: good and evil, the nature of humanity, mortality, and more. This is a show that is steeped in lore and has some of the best storytelling that is out there in anime. And yes, it starts off with five twelve year olds with superpowers going to school.
A lot of this review as a result will be me convincing you to make the right decision that is watching this anime. In doing so I’ll likely be mentioning things here and there that you may have heard that may be keeping you from watching it.
Shinsekai Yori starts off as what I have heard some describe as “slow.” While I personally did not experience this I think a lot of this negative feeling comes from the fact that it does star out as sounding horribly cliche. There’s even a ball-rolling contest in the second or third episode. But, what these episodes function as is intense world-building that is essential for a series of this length. Right off the bat you begin to get the uneasy feeling – and some foreshadowing – that there is something far darker surrounding these children. All of this is somewhat put together around episodes four and five when they meet a “library” creature with all the data that led up to the fall of humanity – did I mention yet that this story is set in the far future? No? Well it’s set in the far future.
The information dump isn’t so severe that you’re shockingly overwhelmed, but gives you enough to start to make sense of what you’ve seen until now and begin to piece things together going forward. It also introduces some things that will become relevant later in the series. Foreshadowing? Paced details? These all sound like great examples of storytelling. Yep, they are.
The next four or five episodes focus around a war of some animal-esque tribes. One of which is a spider clan and let me express that I watched icky spiders for you all. I HATE spiders. And that just shows how worth it this show was. I could stomach the spiders.
At one point in the series there’s even a what would be the start of a sex scene between two twelve-year olds. Which just saying that makes this series sound cheap, cliche, or one that’s worth putting down by virtue of that lone. But the way in which it is presented and what it means to the series is rather integral. The scene is not fan-service or self-serving. But in all it’s tastefully done glory it serves as an example of humans – Saeki – overcoming what is engraved in them to do.
Anyways, spiders aside and awkward potential sex, shortly after we come to the first time skip at episode 9. Time skips are something that occur throughout this series but not in such a way that it feels like we’re jumping away from the characters. This first time skip is actually substantial in that it does a great job of illustrating the changes that occur between the ages of 12-14. One of the things that I’m not sure I like about where this series went with things was the illustration of the sex-drive and romance. I understand it’s an important part of the series about sex and what it means for society. But some of it still felt contrived. Maybe it’s just me…
Come halfway through the series if you’re not completely sucked in there is a huge shock, or it was for me, that really changes things for our characters.
The second half of the anime takes more time really explaining the world and fleshing out things that you came to understand, or maybe not really understand, in the first half. What I really liked about Shinsekai Yori was that they tied up everything neatly in a bow. Any assumptions you made on what things meant in the first half, any questions on how the world worked, were fleshed out and explained in the second. But, it does so in such a way that you can still draw your own conclusions about the real questions of what the show is asking: the nature of humanity and human society.
The characters are a driving force of this anime. Watching them navigate through this almost painful to experience world is something that instantly pulls you to them. At times you want to punch them for their willingness to just conform. Or throttle them for their acceptance of injustices as ‘they are the way things are.’ But, because of these things they are so deeply human that I think part of the anger comes from an introspective look on ourselves as we watch. Because of this, when characters do break the mold watching them do so is as intriguing as it can be torturous.
There is a necessary painfulness to watching this anime. Each chilling moment will captivate you only if you let yourself be drawn into this world. I don’t see how it can’t happen, since the world is so unbelievably engaging but I understand that it could be seen as slower in the first half. It’s an anime that deserves to be watched, and that deserves to be respected.
Alternate Titles:
A Letter to Momo
Momo e no Tegami
Review:
by Dustin Kramer
In a narrative, most human emotions are generally considered universal constructs. No one has trouble recognizing when a story is trying to make you sad or happy or uncomfortable. But not all elicitations are so cut-and-dry. When dealing with the topic of grief, storytellers have their work cut out for them. Creating a world in which characters can believably exist and grow is hard enough, but handling one of the most trying and subjective of human emotions can complicate what could otherwise be more or less emotionally ubiquitous. While I love more abstruse takes on the subject — Lars von Trier’s Antichrist or Darren Aronofsky’s The Fountain, for example – there’s something extremely satisfying about the deft handling of the theme in a family film. Seven years in the making, Hiroyuki Okiura’s A Letter to Momo is one such film.
Momo Miyaura’s father has died. Just before an accident at sea took his life, the 11-year-old expressed hatred for her dad in an overreaction to a broken promise. Saddled with the grief of loss and the guilt of a sour last conversation, Momo rifles through her father’s desk in mournful remembrance. There she finds a letter with the words “Dear Momo” written at the top — beyond that, a blank page. Moving to a small island with her mother Ikuko offers her recently downsized family a chance at a new start, but Momo isn’t taking to it well. Having difficulty connecting with local children, she spends her days lazing about the house when she begins hearing voices and seeing ghostly shadows. Eventually these apparitions reveal themselves to be yokai, a kind of Japanese spirit. The ogreish Iwa, the reptilian Kawa, and the minuscule Mame have been charged with watching over Momo’s family while her father’s spirit is in transit to heaven, and only she can see them. However, the benevolent nature of their task is in no way indicative of their moral fortitude. They are proud troublemakers and thieves, constantly in need of sating their curiosity and hunger. When Momo gets her hands on the goblins’ passport to the human world, she achieves the upper hand. The creatures play to her mercy, swearing that they’ll stay in line as long as she doesn’t break the wooden plaque, which would kill them. Until her father arrives at his otherworldly destination, the demons are hers to deal with.
What really stands out about A Letter to Momo is how effectively it can juggle the verisimilitude of Momo and Ikuko’s mourning and the lightheartedness of the monster trio’s antics. In what eventually becomes a celebration of the resilience of the human spirit, each main character’s arc is handled with care, allowing everyone to hit the most resonating notes of truth. Ikuko hides her grief from Momo in the hopes that it will expedite her daughter’s healing process, not realizing that it appears as though she has already forgotten about her husband — something that is very troubling to the young girl. In dealing with the yokai, Momo relearns how to connect with people. Their shenanigans force her into situations where she must be brave, as in a scene where they are being chased up a mountain by wild boars. The whole affair is distinctly Miyazaki-esque, pulling from Japanese legend and folklore to fill out this contemporary tale of a young woman’s path to strength.
Despite its merits, the script is front-to-back predictable in its peaks and valleys and doesn’t offer much in the way of surprises. The movie mostly makes good use of its 120-minute runtime, but cutting a couple of disposable scenes, like one in which it is revealed that a little girl in the town can also see Mame, could have brought the whole thing down to a tight 100 minutes or so.
The main characters are very relatable and well-defined. Momo acts very much her age, that of a girl on the verge of puberty. She’s reclusive, skittish, and a bit disinterested with everything but manages to summon the curiosity and energy of a child when it’s called for. Hats off to the casting director who chose 16-year-old Karen Miyama to portray the 6th grade schoolgirl. Miyama’s young voice brings a necessary truth to Momo’s childishness. She delivers a commendable performance but is perhaps more importantly appropriately cast — something that unfortunately can’t be said about the young actors in Mamoru Hosoda’s Wolf Children. Momo’s relationship with her mother is decidedly sisterly, and Ikuko’s youthful appearance and vocal performance by Yuka is all at once refreshing and tragic considering what the character must be going through. Side characters like the aformentioned girl who can see Mame and the other local children aren’t very fleshed-out. A couple of nice scenes between Momo and her grandfather provide some backstory, but the grandparents don’t really offer much aside from being dialogue stand-ins. However, the amiable mailman who has known Ikuko since childhood and has clearly been carrying a torch for her gets a bit of time to shine. The yokai are the real stars of this movie, constantly providing genuinely funny comic relief and pushing the story forward with their actions. Iwa is a lovable dolt, ignorantly spouting exposition for which is he immediately called out by Kawa (who thinks he’s a lot smarter than he is). Mame manages to walk the line between creepy and cute with surprising finesse. The three of them have quickly become some of my favorite characters in Japanese cinema.
This is a very nice outing by the insanely prolific Production I.G, leaning more toward the realistic side of the animation spectrum style-wise. Those familiar with Okiura’s earlier work Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade should know what they’re getting into visually, although this film is much lighter — both narratively and aesthetically — than that dark, dystopic, sci-fi fairy tale. CGI is used sparingly and blends into the hyper realistic character and background cels relatively well. In a particularly impressive scene at the climax of the film, the three demons call on their spiritual buddies to help Momo out. The myriad creatures creeping, crawling, and oozing out of various nooks and crannies around the small island village are animated in stark contrast to the rest of the film, utilizing a technique anime critic Hope Chapman calls “runny eggs.” The unhinged style, which looks something like an animated napkin doodle, really catches the eye in an otherwise painstakingly animated feature where even the hint of an off-model character or inconsistent color is nary present.
The orchestrated score comes courtesy of Mina Kubota, a composer who has worked mainly on animated television series prior to A Letter to Momo.I first became familiar with Kubota’s work watching the 2013 series Photo Kano, a sub-standard show with great music. Now, after hearing her whimsical, often exciting, and occasionally heartbreaking soundtrack to this film, I can safely call myself a fan.
Mourning a loss isn’t the same for everyone. To Momo it means needing to know that she’s not alone; that it hurts just as much for her mom. To Ikuko it’s about allowing her daughter to heal properly — something that proves to be a process of trial and error. For some it may require a hospitable support network of friends and loved ones. For others, perhaps an abundance of time alone to meditate and self-assess is the best path. While grieving, the rediscovery of laughter can be a revelation. In creating a successful comedic family film about grief and loss, Okiura proves that he understands the disparity and dynamics of these feelings. He ties the whole thing up with a satisfying, albeit predictable ribbon.
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