Based on the popular manga series by Daisuke Sato, High school of the Dead presents an extravagant culmination of all that encompasses what is known as the zombie genre within horror. Opening rather subtly through a poignant soliloquy regarding the end of the world offered up by main protagonist Takashi, the series is quite the difficult one to gauge considering its diverse range of topics coupled with its puzzling execution. Both fantastically consumed by its usage of fan service as it is with showcasing the destructive collapse of society if the proper elements are in place, it’s an approach that paints the series unique at best. But it’s through this approach that positions the series within a very strenuous dichotomy, a contrast that could equally alienate viewers as well as garner their appreciation. Do fans of horror appreciate the strides the series makes in producing a well-constructed and honest narrative on the break down of society, or does it stumble in its attempt to do so given the mockery it makes pertaining to its female cast? It’s this conflicted approach that makes High school of the Dead a very compelling series to say the least.

Beginning like so many other forms of entertainment dealing with the likes of a zombie apocalypse, High school of the Dead is both horrific in its portrayal of a dystopian environment and as a look into the psychological deterioration of the individual stemming from such circumstances. While this premise is certainly not original, it allows the series to continually raise many issues concerning the collapse of the social structuring of civilization—particularly that from the perspective of a teenager. This remains the series strongest point in that it focuses extensively on the young adults who are left behind to fend for themselves as the world they once knew slowly collapses around them, with the important role of adults within society loudly extinguished. We as viewers begin to see what these characters took for granted within their daily lives as this normality steadily vanishes, and what they have to learn in its place—such as shooting a gun at both humans and zombies alike—in order to survive. This is where the numerous inner monologues by Takashi provide great insight into the devastation and carnage surrounding him and his peers. They offer up a perspective of a world slipping into chaos and the helplessness of not being able to influence that outcome. The inclusion of such monologues with the series broadens our sympathy for the outcome of his plight, specifically his reoccurring acknowledgement of a past world—and life—in which he will never have the opportunity to return to again.

This notion of young adults surviving in a world where there is no law further extends to the remainder of the cast as well. Whether this is seen through Rei Miyamoto’s questionable relationship with fellow classmate Takashi after he unwillingly has to kill her boyfriend—who is also Takashi’s best friend—after he becomes infected, to Saya Takagi questioning the role of her own parents given their supposed abandonment of her when everything started to go awry, it’s a narrative exploring the emotional corruption and supplanting of moral values in place of Darwinistic principles of survival. It’s in this turbulent landscape where the series thrives as an example of horror with substance, a rarity that is often omitted in many modern exercises of the genre. The narrative—when seriously addressed—is where one can find High school of the Dead at its most elaborate and thoughtful exploration on the human need to survive.

One element of the series that also remains strong is the animation, done here by Studio Madhouse. For a television series, High school of the Dead offers excellent visuals throughout, whether this stems from its zombie-ravaged scenes of metropolitan chaos, to scenes of tranquility as cherry blossoms slowly fall to the ground amidst a schoolyard, Madhouse definitely pulled no stops in realizing the world of series. The technical prowess also extends to the rambunctious nature of the action sequences found throughout the series as well. Done with considerable aplomb, the actions sequences within the series are distinct, well choreographed, and brutal—all elements that culminate in creating memorable scenes in literally every episode. Similar to how the series doesn’t hold back in terms of fan service, in the same vein we find the segments of action as examples of utter savageness as heads are grotesquely bashed in, limbs are quickly detached, and vicious stab wounds are the order of the day. Besides the obvious outlandish female character designs—which one should note that High school of the Dead was main illustrator Shojo Sato’s first non-hentai title, which certainly doesn’t alleviate his influence from within that genre from being viewed here as well—the characters are also given discrete appearances. Madhouse did a fantastic job with this aspect of the series, and really complemented the look the manga series from a visual standpoint.

But for every element exploring the decay of society explored throughout the series, there is an equal amount of fan service put forth, an aspect of the show that may hinder it from reaching its true potential for many viewers. High school of the Dead is one series that doesn’t shy away from showcasing exuberant amounts of the female anatomy, often times in the most ridiculous manner possible. This approach towards the females within the show doesn’t correlate well with the rather somber nature of the plot, but one can certainly see the satirical elements it injects into it. In one episode of the series, this notion is brought forth quite clearly after one of the female characters is asked why she is so ditzy, in which she replies, “Because the author wrote me this way.” Its moments like this one that truly harp on the playful yet raunchy nature concerning the female cast within the show, a cast that are often delegated to increasingly excessive sexual behavior for the sake of appeasing a certain demographical audience. This is where the series may lose some viewers not accustomed—or wanting—to view as it simply becomes too overbearing as the series progresses. There is even an entire episode seemingly dedicated to fully exploiting the female cast in the most absurd way, and while one can understand the humor behind such an episode, it simply obscures an otherwise interesting narrative. Perhaps if less focus were paid upon the grandiosity of a woman’s chest size, then High school of the Dead could’ve spent more time on successfully carrying out its already solid plot.

So how does one view High school of the Dead? One can argue that it provides a look into the social decay of a civilization sadly gone askew. Maybe it’s also just a common horror series with an abundant amount of satire and fan service layered throughout? Or perhaps, in a most unconventional way, it combines both in order to create something experimental but also familiar in nature? While the series does display an appreciable commentary on societal collapse, it’s also marred by its excessive—but often times extremely sarcastic—use of its female cast as they are utilized to specifically appease a male audience. It’s this contrast that can either lead to the discouragement or satisfaction of some viewers, which presents a polarizing view on a series with an otherwise action-packed and interesting story outside its heavy use of fan service. While the usage of fan service does get incredibly repetitive as the series progresses, it has to be taken as is that this is a part of the series, no matter how incidental it may seem given the weighty subject material at hand. Besides these elements of the show, High school of the Dead is still a highly enjoyable and boisterous tale of young adults attempting to survive amidst a relentless assault from undead, all the while dealing with many of the issues that encompass youth—love, friendship, jealously, just to name a few—which makes it one of the finer, yet odder anime horror series to come around in quite some time.

Based on the best-selling novel by author Natsumi Iwasaki, director Makoto Tanaka’s Moshidora presents an analytical and heartfelt exploration on the role of management and what it means to the entirety of a team as well as the individual. Based on the premise of a young manager directing a high school baseball team through the likes of management theory and practice, the film establishes a very unique perspective on the sports sub-genre, a sub-genre that as of late has been regulated to a series of timeworn tropes and stale narratives utilized to safely—and quite effectively—garner a specific demographic of viewership. These tired adherences haven’t exactly elevated the genre to any new heights though, resulting in just a perpetuation of formulaic conventions that aren’t exactly successfully promoting the genre to newer heights. Moshidora could be viewed quite differently though—with the film’s lead being that of popular AKB48 idol Atsuko Maeda, the film attempts to appeal to fans of Maeda as well as complement baseball enthusiasts—but does it ultimately succeed in doing both?

Perhaps the most challenging element concerning a film like this is the presence of a popular celebrity such as Maeda being the film’s lead figure. Many films in the past have delegated a pop idol as the main lead as well, often times with varied results. Unfortunately, Maeda’s role of Minami within the film follows this same course. One must note that pop idols, first and foremost, are not actresses but rather musical entertainers. While some idols have made the transfer from one medium of entertainment to another with relative ease, some are sure to stumble along the way. This certainly is the case here where Maeda gives a rather passionless performance considering the rather passionate nature of the film’s story. In a film where fellow AKB48 peer Minami Minegishi gives a more sentimental performance than Maeda herself, one has to wonder if her placement as the title heroine was applicable based upon acting strengths or simply popularity. With her only other substantial film role being that of her supporting role within Jun Ichikawa’s How to Become Myself (2007), Maeda hasn’t really been given too much to work with in terms of showing her capability as an actress. She’s shown her ability to act in past Japanese television drama series, but taking the lead in a film seems to be quite a departure for her—and it shows here. There is one particular scene in the film where an emotional response from Maeda was warranted, but she doesn’t quite come through, in turn making the scene awkward when it didn’t need to be. Of course, it would perhaps be a sacrilege to most AKB48 fans if Minegishi took the more prominent lead over Maeda in a film shared by both, but it would’ve provided the film with a more spirited lead. Couple this with the fact that Maeda sang the film’s theme song, and with AKB48 providing the ending theme, you have a film that borderlines on the archetypical pop idol meandering within a film’s production—especially if they star in the film. Fortunately though, director and writer Makoto Tanaka doesn’t allow the film to spend a majority of its focus upon Maeda, instead looking at the overall team structure and her influence within it. Tanaka seems adamant on addressing how a team can reach a goal through successful readjustments rather than simply promoting Maeda as the film’s centerpiece, a move that saves the film from becoming yet another exercise in pop idolatry.

This approach is where Moshidora stands as a very unique film dealing with the issue of baseball and team management. Far too often we view films concerning baseball solely concentrating on the follies of a team and their sudden transition from mediocrity to that of attaining superior skills—usually in a rather quickened and improbable fashion. While the film does follow a similar structure, its strength comes primarily from its implementation of authentic management procedures brought about by Minami’s reading of management consultant Peter Drucker’s book Management: Tasks, Responsibilities, Practices. It’s through this adherence of managerial influence that promotes the film more than simply being another sports-related narrative focusing on a team wanting to win, but viewed more so as an attentive and detailed observation on the necessity of quality management with a sports organization. Whether it’s Minami’s learning of what it takes to truly be a manager, to her application of innovative techniques concerning the framework of the team, these and similarly applied measures grounds the film in way that is both believable and authentic in its portrayal of a team attempting to better themselves. Although the film doesn’t allocate these measures beyond the realm of being superficial—Drucker’s book is far more in-depth than what the film showcases—it provides a sense of complexity to a subject that is often diluted down to simple knowledge and is a decision that should appease baseball connoisseurs. Baseball isn’t simply about hitting and catching a ball, and it’s a philosophy that the film handles quite well here.

As we rarely see this sort of transformative approach within a sports-related film, Moshidora stands out as a great example of providing some vitality to an otherwise uninspired sub-genre. Hindered somewhat by Maeda’s rather lackluster acting—a minor complaint given that this is her first major film role after all—the film illustrates the importance of teamwork in a sentimental and reasonable fashion. Here’s hoping that if Maeda does continue following an acting career that she can further develop her ability as an actress. While some viewers may be put off by Maeda’s and AKB48’s musical involvement throughout the film, director Makoto Tanaka allows the film to grow organically around its various characters, never truly abandoning the influence of all the characters upon one another for the sake of just focusing on one. With a conclusion that does rely somewhat on a conventional resolution in regards to character development, the film establishes a narrative that is as distinctive as it is refreshing to view since similar films haven’t truly attempted to break the mold in which they are sadly placed within. While Moshidora doesn’t necessarily shatter that mold, it does break away at its edges ever so nicely, making it one film that should especially please sports aficionados, and yes, perhaps even Maeda fans as well.

Cartoons are not just for kids. It is a truth largely accepted but little utilized by most filmmakers to its full potential. Most cartoons aimed at adults never stray far from comedy no matter how serious the issues it tackles in favor of satire over drama in the case of shows like South Park and Family Guy. A small handful of cartoons like 9, The Triplets of Belleville, Persepolis and The Illusionist stand as testaments of mature, serious cartoons aimed at adults. Though terrific, stellar films in their own right, there is an emotional expression that they never fully utilize.

When we think of the moments in truly moving pictures, we imagine the outstanding performance of an actor like when Charles tears apart his wife’s room in Citizen Kane or King George VI stumbling to give a speech to the people of England in The King’s Speech. However, cartoons have there moments of tenderness too. No one will ever forget the death of Bambi’s mother or the passing of Carl’s wife at the beginning of Pixar’s Up and, in a true testament to an animated sitcoms emotional reach, how Fry’s dog never stopped waiting for his master to come home after he was frozen for over a thousand years in Futurama. So what makes a tearful cartoon different from another award worthy live action movie? To be quite simple, it is the performance. No, not the performance of a real actor but how a character is allowed to express how they feel.

As we watch a man break up a room or stumble over simple sentences, we are moved by what the character is doing. In the case of Bambi and Up, what we see are near wordless wide shots of a little dear lost in a snow swept forest and an old man mourning the loss of his wife set to simple dramatic music. In other words, it is the editing, score and cinematography that moves us, not what the individual characters are doing. They are a perfect example of what Eisenstein proved montage could do. It is not that cartoon characters are incapable of expressing these feelings themselves. The fact that cartoons have so much comedic range testifies to just how versatile they are, but either because of stigmatism or ignorance, filmmakers have not extended that range to more serious and dramatic expressions.

In some respects, cartoons carried on where silent films left off when talkies came on the scene. The Illusionist and the other cartoons mentioned above are good examples of the same type of body language and mise en scene that allowed Chaplin to express such a wide range of emotions without uttering a single word. When sound seeped into cinema, it added a new level of expression that until then had been limited to the live stage. An actors voice inflections and the ability to hear the words of an actor gave a whole new believability to cinema.

Early animated shorts integrated both sound and the free flowing movement of cartoons to bring the silent film stars’ visual body language to new heights. While cartoons were set loose to portray their comedic chops, in longer form feature length films, their dramatic heft stayed more or less the same as silent films for close to a century of cinematic history.

One area where animation did try and catch up with live action though was in creating movement. Even in the early Disney films there was a strong emphasis on full animation and copying the simple live action technique for the sensation of moving through a space by dollying in and out with a camera with the development of the multi-plain camera. It was not until computers integrated with filmmaking that this sensation became more believable in animation. Throughout the evolution of cinema, there has been a strong emphasis on bridging the divide between the limitless visual capacity of animation and the realistic depictions of live action. Only in the last several years with advanced performance capture technology in movies like The Lord of the Rings and Avatar running alongside the incredible artistry and imagination at animation studios like Pixar have the two worlds of animation and live action begun to merge.

This creates no shortage of debate and speculation about what qualifies as a performance and how true to life a cartoon can really be, leading to the question of whether dozens of award bodies in Hollywood will ever recognize an actor whose real face is hidden behind a computer or an innovative animated film with their highest honors. On the other side of the Pacific though, a different side of the story has been developing.

Japanese cartoons, or anime, most often recognized by its characters with large doll like eyes is less represented and more marginalized than Western cartoons and often for good reason. When not seen as cute and dumb, it is shown as violent and explicit. Adult? Yes. Mature? No. Browse the anime titles available on Netflix and they will often fit into those categories with little quality or integrity worthy of someone’s time. However, this reflects a truth all too common for most art whether it falls into books, movies or television: the vast majority is bad and substandard. On the other end of the stick though, because so much anime reach such incredible lows, a good handful of them (the same as with movies and television) are exceptionally fantastic.

Anime shares some aspects in common with Western animation. Most of it is aimed at children or people ranging in age from middle school to college. They are often funny, exaggerated, feature whacky, over the top situations with many focused on science fiction and fantasy elements. The differences start with the fact that most anime are television series. The demographics for most of these shows are small like one being aimed at elementary school kids, another at middle school boys, one series targeting high school girls and a fourth at men in or just out of college. Most of them also feature a continuous storyline like a serial drama with plenty of melodrama packed in, making it seem more like a soap opera than a situation comedy. Not that many series air in primetime or are watched by a large audience. Most air late at night for only one season, which usually lasts between 13 and 26 episodes. Through all the muck, stigma and mediocrity though emerge some gems in every season.

Anime also does one thing more often than any other type of cartoon with such explicitness: showing people cry. Returning to the issue of lack of dramatic performance in Western cartoons, openly crying done in a serious tone is pretty much nonexistent in American animation. There is plenty of comedic crying or mock mourning, but the second a scene needs emotional weight, it returns to the montage and relegating a character’s grief or sorrow to atmosphere like Bambi and Up.

A few titles that come close to the type of crying that anime does so readily occurs in Beauty and the Beast when the Beast slams the door to Belle’s room behind him, ordering her to come down to dinner, and she falls on the bed weeping. The reality of her imprisonment finally sinks in, but the camera pulls away as she cries to transition to the next scene, and when we return to her room, she is nearly done. In Family Guy, Brian, the family dog, cries in the bathtub because he believes his life is worth less than that of a human. Likewise, in the last episode of season one of the animated version of The Boondocks, Huey begins to tear up when he prays for his friend who is about to be executed. What all three of these instances share in common is that they convey the characters’ sadness, but they are never the emotional center of the scene the way Kane rips apart a room or the King of England speaks into a microphone. The filmmakers put these depictions of sadness into these moments to inform the audience about what the characters feel though the scenes have other points to them besides a character’s emotions. That works for those sequences. They execute them well for there intended purpose, but they are no moment of grieving like in Bambi or Up where we return to the same situation.

None of these movies or TV shows express a character’s emotions in bad or poorly executed fashions. The trouble comes when this seems to be the only way cartoons go about expressing serious moments when there are so many more possibilities. Spirited Away, the anime film by Hayao Miyazaki, shows a scene where the young girl Chihiro visits her parents in a pigpen after they have been transformed into hogs. Right after, her friend Haku gives her some food, and as she eats, all the feelings that she had been holding back come pouring out. She cries uninhibited. Stuffing her face to try and fill her stomach as all her pain comes out. In a similar scene of true grief, at the end of an episode of Neon Genesis Evangelion, a young Major named Misato comes home to find a voice message left behind by her estranged lover before he was assassinated. As she listens to his confession, she realizes what has happened and begins to fall apart, leaning on her table and burying her face in her arms as she cries.

Both these sequences feature music, but unlike a montage where it would drive the emotion, it instead compliments the action. The score does not drown the characters voices out. Since the 1960s, anime developed its own cinematic tropes for portraying moments of sadness.

Like in the rest of the filmmaking world, in anime, eyes bear a huge importance for connecting an audience to a character and a story. With such large eyes, it is not difficult to add reflected light to a person’s pupils, highlighting the water on their eyes, which an animator can wiggle to give off the impression that their eyes are welling with tears. Just like in the most extreme dramatic moments of a live action film, the outpouring of a person’s tears precedes the full breakdown where they howl or collapse on the floor. Anime also offers subtle variations besides the waving reflected light on the pupils. One quite common approach involves an extreme close up of a person’s cheek, shown from the side, with the eyes out of shot where a single tear runs down the cheek. In another, the camera lingers on the ground just beneath their face as little drops fall to the floor. (This example can be seen in the same scene from Evangelion.) The benefit of animation allows filmmakers to make moments like these more apparent without requiring actors to tear up on queue. It is also not difficult to believably portray a character crying in the rain, which is another common trope of anime.

However, not all crying is serious. Anime sticks in plenty of comedic forms of sadness from tears coming out the eyes as little fountains or waterfalls waving down the cheeks, which can also express joy. A characters mouth could also suddenly enlarge to cover more than half their face in the shape of a deformed bean to clearly represent someone’s overreaction. Even the extra-reflected light on the pupils can be changed to express glee or delight. It all comes down to a question of context. What does a scene require?

When the advancement of CGI at last allowed performance capture to emerge from the other side of the uncanny valley of dead eyed Polar Express endeavors, the path split in two directions. On one side, you see a complete mirror image of reality in the case of the ape in Jackson’s King Kong or the age back process of Jeff Bridges in Tron Legacy in which we recognize performance captured characters’ all naturally proportioned anatomical and facial features. On the other, we have characters with larger than normal eyes and exaggerated bodies with that of Gollum in The Lord of the Rings and the Navi in Avatar that are basically photorealistic cartoon characters. So why has this split emerged?

It does not often occur to us how vast and powerful the human imagination is given that pretty much everything surrounding us in some way traces back to an idea in the mind. That capacity allows us to see objects and people in the ever-shifting shapes of the clouds. The same tactic applies to seeing a smiley face from nothing more than a circle with two dots side by side near the top and an upside down arched line near the bottom. That concept drew classical, simple cartoon characters like Mickey and Bugs on the other end of the uncanny valley against photorealistic images. We retained the appeal of that type of approach all the way into the 21st Century where photo-real, cartoon-like characters in the vain of Gollum can give dramatic performances in scenes like the argument between two sides of his personality from The Two Towers just like anime characters can, fueling the debate about whether to honor these accomplishments during the awards season. Because this type of performance capture exists in a grey area between animation and live action, it sides steps the lack of dramatic performances in more cartoons, yet it shows how effective they can really be even to a majority of Western audiences.

In his review of United 93, film critic Bob Mondello talked about consciously using the technique of noting how a scene was shot, edited and scored during the most intense moments of the film to lessen their impact, which did not work for the final twenty minutes. In the real world, people can be scarred and traumatized for life because reality can sometimes be too much for us to handle. Some great films compose such intense scenes to overwhelm the audience with the reality of a situation like the events aboard Flight 93 or the torture of Christ in Mel Gibson’s The Passion. Other times, the intensity of certain types of actions can overwhelm the actual point of a scene, which is why one of the sequences in Kill Bill Vol. 1 was done in the anime style to avoid an NC-17 rating. Likewise, some of the deeds in South Park would be abhorrent no matter how they were done in live action instead of being funny. Anime goes a similar route with their material too.

In Evangelion, fourteen-year-old children pilot giant robots, go through horrific experiences and are physically exposed in ways that would be indecent in live action. Yet much like overlooking the age of the boys on South Park to see the humor, Evangelion uses those moments for comedy and exposing the sexual tension during puberty as well as dramatizing how a monstrous situation forces young people to grow up on an epic, large scale canvas. In an interview about the anime film Grave of the Fireflies, film critic Roger Ebert notes a scene where a little girl, starving to death, makes mud pies. He talks about how different that depiction would look in live action. Seeing an animated drawing of a starving child has a different effect than images from a documentary of starving people in a developing country.

When we look at a simple drawing of a cartoon character, our imagination projects the necessary emotion for us to believe that figure is a real person for the course of a story. A cartoon character is the distortion of a person the same as montage is the distortion of time and place. The emotional impact of a character’s entire life fit into four minutes in Up can be just as great as an old man tearing up a room in real time in Citizen Kane.

All movies distort time though. Even in Russian Ark, an entire feature length film technically shot in one long take, still travels through more than a century of history. Montage, in some respects resembles more the way our thoughts and memories work like the way nostalgia edits out the bad bits of our past to make it seem more appealing. The renowned montage of Potempkim with the massacre on the steps presents a horrible situation in the way memory would organize a chaotic reality, conjuring our own feelings of mortality in such a situation. The distortion of montage makes us more empathetic to the characters. Whereas with Kane in the bedroom or the De Niro character in Raging Bull, punching the wall of his jail cell, yelling “Why?” invokes our sympathy for someone we watched drive themselves into a corner. Montage is able to keep so many unrelated shots together with the accompaniment of music.

Music can conjure strong feelings in us even without the aid of lyrics or images. Simple chords have become the melodies of famous songs. Likewise, we attach meaning to simplified versions of objects like the famous flower petal like shape of a heart symbolizing love. Put a little detail into two circles next to each other, and you can create eyes. Music creates a rhythm and a tone for a montage that tells the audience how it is supposed to make them feel. In a similar vain, if light reflected on the eyes is animated to wiggle around, it tells the audience the owner of those eyes is sad. In those respects, we see how montage can induce our empathy and how tearful eyes, breaking apart a room or hitting a wall provokes sympathy.

The major difference between the room tear up scene in Citizen Kane and the climatic address in The King’s Speech is that though both center on great performances, one has our sympathy for a frustrated man in two shots, and in the other we empathize with the King, begging that every word comes out right as the music swells and people all across the nation are shown listening. We know montages can make us empathize with what happens on screen, and an uninhibited performance with no music and minimal cuts also opens us to sympathize with a characters plight. Cartoons in motion, just like montage, distort an aspect of reality. So what happens when one distortion of reality like cartoons combines with a set loose performance that shows the emotional culmination of a series of events like the room break up in Kane?

In the anime series Clannad, a construction company rescinds a job offer to the young man Tomoya because his alcoholic father was arrested for robbing a store. He and his girlfriend Nagisa visit him in jail where Tomoya chastises him for continuing to interfere with his life. When his father remains unresponsive, he storms out with Nagisa close behind him. Outside, he beats his fists against a stone wall, his knuckles beginning to bleed with Nagisa grabbing hold of him and trying to get him to stop. It ends with the two holding each other in their arms, collapsed on the ground and against the wall on the verge of tears. As the scene closes, Tomoya asks Nagisa if she’ll marry him, and she replies, “Yes.”

Just like the prison scene in Raging Bull or the tearing up of the bedroom in Citizen Kane, we sympathize with what happens to Tomoya and understand why his anger and frustration come out this way. No music plays through this whole scene, and nothing is done over the top unless the fact that cartoon characters act it out counts. However, we also empathize with Nagisa because she tries to stop the man she loves from hurting himself. Like her, we do not want to see him hurt himself even more because a difficult situation was made worse for him. If this scene had been done in live action, the realism might overwhelm either our sympathy for Tomoya or our empathy for Nagisa when the purpose of the scene requires a balance between both. The point is really to show how much Tomoya needs Nagisa and how much she really cares for him, so we understand why these two people now realize they want to be with each other the rest of their lives. For a cartoon, the violence is already pretty down to earth, and a more realistic image of bleeding knuckles, blood on a stone wall and two people desperately pushing against each other could easily tip the scales.

Avatar, in some respects, represents the latest culmination of combining the strengths of animation and live action. Throughout the near entire history of the cinema, animators went and continue to go to great lengths to imagine the most believable and full movement of a character. Editing is a process unique to cinema. A good editor can cut a sequence where the audience never notices the change between one shot and the next, or an editor can make it more obvious as montage often does. Animators likewise can animate very realistic movement, making the audience believe they are watching real movement. Animators also produce movement that defy logic or physics, but this is not limited to mere exaggeration.

Besides characters with large eyes, anime also has a reputation for limited animation. True, watch any anime and the character movement in no way resembles the full animation of Disney, Pixar or the snappy, consistent motion of TV shows like South Park or Family Guy. Anime often does not try to reflect the motion of real life. However, with less animation, it brings a different kind of sensibility to character believability.

In both stage and cinema, filmmakers sometimes parse the expression of a character out of a given situation in the form of a soliloquy, aside, voice over or breaking of the fourth wall so the audience receives information the other players are not aware of. Adaptation put this to great effect with the Charlie Kaufman character played by Nicholas Cage when he VOs Charlie’s stream of consciousness thoughts. Another character in the film though warns against the over use of voice over to get a person’s thoughts and feelings across in what is by principal a visual medium.

Anime utilizes tons of various types of visual queues that inform the audience about how a character feels or what they think that is not apparent to the other characters. One character might turn away from the others, facing the camera to hide a change of expression or begin talking to themselves, almost like they are addressing the audience. Sometimes the other characters are aware of what that person is saying but not about their sudden change in expression. In fact, it is not uncommon for a character’s expression to go from serious or straight to sarcastic or comedic.

In a scene from the first of four new films of Evangelion, Misato and protagonist Shinji are lost in huge base. As Misato tries to figure out where they are, Shinji comments that they have been through this place before. Misato’s expression changes from the typical anime eye style of large detailed pupils to smaller and simpler colored ones without the white of the eyes to note frustration and dislike. Instead of the full animation common in the West where an animator would gradually lower the brow above a character’s eyes and the ends of the mouth to make a frown, the animator dissolves from one pair of eyes to the other. Shinji is never aware of Misato’s change in expression, suggesting it is meant to inform the audience about her sudden change in attitude. The exaggerated nature of her expression also tells us it is meant to be humorous.

In real life, our feelings can change from one instant to the next. We may be having a good day, all joyful, and then we see a newspaper headline saying a city was bombed and our whole mindset will change to shock and concern. Reading on we may learn no one was killed, so a feeling of relief sinks in. Other times, we must hide how we truly feel, keeping the same face through a whole banquet even after we hear little snippets of information telling us our partner cheated.

Anime visually portrays this instantaneous inner process of our feelings by cutting from one facial expression to another instead of going through all the beats of full animation or instigating a voice over. Often, this “cutting” from one expression to the next happens within the same shot with the result being the characters performance is edited rather than animated.

This process is put to masterful work in the anime series NANA. Two girls with the same name, but polar opposite personalities, meet each other on a train and strike an unlikely friendship. In that one scene, they go back and forth between drama and comedy with almost no effort. As they drink beer, one girl proposes they do a toast. When the other girl asks what they should toast to, the first girl’s face cuts from a face of delight to one almost devoid of any detail other than two dots representing her eyes looking down in contemplation. When she proposes they toast to her boyfriend passing a tough exam, the other girl’s face cuts from a straight face expression to sarcastic and dismissive. Cutting back to the first girl, she looks tearful and hurt, but this is shown as simple and exaggerated, meaning it is supposed to look funny. When she then suggests they should toast to each other, the other girl’s face goes from dismissive to delighted, leading to her noting that they are both named Nana.

This technique propagates an incredible balance between comedy and drama. The versatility of expression allowed to these characters results in performances virtually impossible in live action. The point is not always to show how the characters act with each other but how they act to themselves.

Filmmakers in the West have shown the beauty and brilliance of how animation blends with our sense of reality just as editing can seamlessly cut from one shot to the next without us being aware of it. However, Eisenstein proved that even when cuts appear obvious, their distortion of reality brings forth whole new meaning to a sequence. Likewise, images that are clear distortions of reality hold whole other possibilities. The only unfortunate truth though is that too few of those possibilities are explored or acknowledged here.

Why is this happening?

“The physical anime business in North America has shrunk substantially over the last five years, and shows no sign of returning to its former glory. A couple of times we were hit with huge returns, and the financial result were pretty bad. The pricing range for our products kept dropping in Western countries, and people tended only to buy sets with very reasonable prices, which we understand is what fans want, but it lead us to a different strategy than what Japanese licensors wanted,” – Ken Iyadomi

This was from a recent interview Anime News Network had with Bandai Entertainment president and CEO Ken Iyadomi. It’s quite an interesting read and you can check out the full thing here. Well its 2012 and its pretty much safe to say that we are full on into the digital age. We now live in an age where everything is within the grasp of your fingertips. You don’t have to wait long before you find the answer you are looking for. Unlike its contemporaries—music and movies—anime has not quite found where it truly belongs. While the music and movie industry have found some way to adjust, here we are in 2012 still asking anime what it wants to be when it grows up. Now over the years I have observed what Bandai has been doing business wise. Now, Mr. Iyadomi is 100% correct in that the anime business in North America has decreased over the years and will never return to the way things were in the past. It’s a sign of changing trends I’m afraid. However, I do like what Bandai Entertainment was doing over the years as they were on to something. As the years went on, you noticed that the number of anime they were buying, distributing and licensing from for DVD releases were decreasing. What they were doing was still putting out their own products produced in-house (i.e. Gundam, Code Geass, Cowboy Bebop) but for those outside products they were really looking to pick a hand full—titles that would bring some revenue in for them. One would think would a difficult move but when you have a company like Funimation that is licensing and distributing whatever left and right, but it’s not that bad. That way you can focus more on in house distribution for English releases through digital distribution and broadcast and less on in-house anime where more than likely the non in-house products they were aiming to purchase the rights for were picked up by another company such as Funimation.

Another thing Bandai Entertainment doesn’t really get a lot of credit for is their Anime Legends box sets. I myself thought it was a good way for them to remain relevant and competitive when it came to pricing and fan demand. For those not in the know, Anime Legends is very similar to Funimation’s S.A.V.E. box sets except the Legends box sets were more consistent. The original box set would come out with a more fancier and usually more expensive package and after that had run its course, you didn’t really have to wait too long before you got an Anime Legends version. The package was not as nice looking, but it was cheaper and it was a good way of continuing making a profit on an older item. Sure, anime isn’t selling as well in general, but I thought Bandai Entertainment was doing a decent job in staying relevant within industry because of these business decisions. So it didn’t make sense why the stoppage of DVD, Blu-ray and manga distribution was a choice made for the future of the company. Even Mr. Iyadomi agrees with what I’m saying, in that they as a company had more than enough fuel to keep going for years to come. So why the immediate stop? It didn’t really take me long to find the answer I was looking for: “The decision was made in Japan by the contents SBU (Strategic Business Unit).”

Lost in Translation

The fact that this was a decision made by the Japanese branch actually puts a different spin into this tale. Now, usually the usual suspects are “Oh, it’s because no buys anime anymore” and/or “The companies don’t make money and everyone just pirates the titles”. But in this case there is way more to it than just that and honestly, in 2012, companies still shouldn’t be complaining about the state of industry but finding alternative ways to expand the market for people willing to buy anime or support it in new forms. Now, back to the Japan decision—It’s no secret that the Japanese license owners and American distributors don’t necessary see eye-to-eye on many issues. What has been happening in Japan is they will release an anime over there, a few months later an English version will be released in America—but many Japanese anime fans will buy the American version. Why is that you ask? It’s actually quite simple; it’s because the American version is substantially cheaper for Japanese viewers. I mean, sure some of these box sets can be quite pricey, but they do not compare to the prices they go for in Japan. The Japanese companies are seeing what is happening and to prevent “reverse importation”—a practice where viewers from one country buy a title when its released in another country rather than their own—they tell their American distributors to hold back on their release, and the release is subsequently pushed back. However, what they are doing now is that many of these Japanese anime DVDs are coming with English subtitles as a way to encourage those outside Japan to import as a way to combat the longer release dates. One quote in the article by Mr Iyadomi explains the situation perfectly:

“Only one thing is clear: the role of a distributor for anime in North America is changing, and some well-equipped licensors can now cut them out of the process entirely, if they choose. Japanese publishers can now create Blu-rays with English subtitles, ready to import to English speakers worldwide. While those won’t sell as many copies as American-produced discs, the higher price point and lack of middleman can still result in a decent amount of revenue with little additional cost. Bandai Visual Japan recently discovered this for themselves with their release of Gundam Unicorn. They found the results pretty good, and that’s how I think they would like to move forward.”

So in a nutshell it comes down to this. Bandai Entertainment was selling products at various prices and some prices were a hit and some were not. They looked at what prices clicked the most with fans and went with that and tried to provide at or at least close to that range of pricing—basic supply and demand. Meanwhile, Bandai in Japan is simply not interested in that and is focused on one thing: generating profit at the maximum range. A perfect example would be this: Lets say I am a ticket seller. I sell my tickets for $25 a piece. Now, there is another guy about 2 blocks from me that sells the same tickets, but sells them for $10. Now in theory, I’m making more money because after all I sell two tickets, I have $50. With the other seller, it would take 10 people just to make $100. However, what’s going to happen when people start to find out there is someone selling the same tickets as me but at a cheaper price? The market says that more people will flock to him of course. And that’s what happened with some of the potential Japanese buyers. They saw the American version at a cheaper price with more features (English dub and subtitles) and they went with that. However, just because I’m losing potential ticket sales, it doesn’t mean I’m not making a profit. You have to remember that if I want to make $200, I just have to sell 8 tickets as opposed to 20 tickets the other seller has to sell. Sure it will be easier for the second seller to do as, as he sells them at more reasonable pric, a decision that most buyers would approve of. But in the end, I’m still making profit at the maximum range and I don’t really need to sell that much to make a bit of money. That pretty much describes the mind frame of the Japanese company when it comes to anime, as well as other forms of media. So Bandai in Japan did not agree with how Bandai Entertainment was doing things, as they were not seeing profits in the ranges they wanted, so they shut them down despite any form of success they were having. And lets be honest here, Bandai is such a huge company that it’s not exactly in danger of going completely under. It just came down to the big brother telling little brother that his way was simply no good anymore.

What is their way?

Big brother’s way in this case was Bandai in Japan basically saying, “how can we now supply English subtitles in our anime releases? We don’t need you to do it anymore—we can do it ourselves. This way we are making profits at the maximum range. If some people want to import, that’s fine too as it helps because we are still making profit at the maximum allowed range.” Aniplex recently did something like that with the Fate/Zero box sets. There will be no English release but instead the Japanese version will be available for import complete with English subtitles, but at a very hefty $380 price tag. The fact of the matter is that Japan has always been where most of the primary profits are generated and to some companies, the other markets are simply aftermarkets. So what Bandai Japan did was they relieved Bandai Entertainment of distribution and had them focus on others things while they take that portion of operations over. By offering the import version as an English subtitled version, they are not losing too much and are still selling at a high price. Now, I agree that cutting the middleman is a good idea but the way these titles will be sold will definitely limit potential customers, a move in which Bandai in Japan is well aware of. It boils down to three issues:

1. People really, really love their English dubs.

It’s true. It’s more convenient for many viewers to listen to a series/film in their native tongue rather than read subtitles. Most of these imports will now contain English subtitles but no option for English audio. I’m sure the premium series will have English dubs, but those can be far and few in between.

2. The price.

You’re definitely going to be tested on hardcore an anime fan you are with the increased pricing. I admit, some of the US titles pricing has been a little on the high end at times, but it was still relatively purchasable. Now, in this case, changes can be made to the pricing if warranted by the market—this is one aspect of change that remains to be seen.

3. The quality of the subtitles.

Okay, lets say the first two issues don’t really bother you. Let’s bring up a hypothetical situation: Let’s say you buy your product at the increased price and the translation is simply not as high quality as you would’ve hoped. Usually the subtitles are of decent translation but sometimes there are situations where this is definitely not the case and where “Engrish” interferes with one’s viewing enjoyment.

So where do we go from here?

In my opinion, digital distribution for anime is a great thing. Websites such as Crunchyroll, Hulu, and Netflix provide streaming anime and in the case of Crunchyroll and Hulu, they often provide new anime within Japan already subtitled in English. This is a great approach on their part, but I personally don’t think this approach is the future of anime; I see a future in which digital and physical media can co-exist. It doesn’t have to be one over the other—both can benefit from one another. For example, there have been times where I watched a series and after finishing it in my head I say: “I got to own this thing when it comes out on DVD and/or Blu-ray”. There are always going to be people like this. Getting rid of the middleman may be a nice approach at times, but also severely limiting the purchasing access the audience has can also be detrimental. One has to wonder how Bandai Entertainment is adjusting to the field. This is an interesting trend and if it really starts to catch on, the role of the American distributor might truly be on its last legs. It’s very interesting situation and it’s one that one should keep an eye out for. For me personally, I think they jumped the gun on the stoppage of publishing for Bandai Entertainment. I think it was way too early for a move like this and was bit extreme on their part. But business decisions are business decisions and one can only wonder at what could have been.

Director Yoshihiro Fukagawa’s Patisserie Coin de rue—like most films pertaining to delicacies of food—presents an aesthetically delightful film concerning the intricate nature of that of a patisserie shop, a place where pastries and cakes are sold to the general public. But while on the surface the film may appear as simply a showcase for a plethora of appetizing sweets, it also offers a look into the livelihoods and personal dilemmas of the individuals behind the creation of such luscious mouthwatering pleasures. Displaying a thoughtful albeit fairly predictable tale of tragic loss coupled with overcoming that loss, Patisserie Coin de rue’s narrative doesn’t seem nearly as unoriginal as it should be due to its strong performances and endearing premise, a facet that is often times omitted from many films dealing with similar subject material—material that usually relies heavily upon aesthetic qualities over effectively contributing towards the development of its plot.

With such a focus on delivering a visually pleasing viewing experience alongside that of developing characters with meaningful purposes behind their artistic talent—or lack thereof in many cases—the narrative definitely trots over very familiar territory as seen in previous films. The premise of the outsider coming from abroad to learn and eventually shake up the establishment is certainly a common narrative focus for many films, but here that conventional focus is supported by a substantially strong cast—particularly that of the young and talented Yui Aoi. As the stubborn and naïve Natsume, a cake-maker’s daughter from Kagoshima, her character transformation towards being a dedicated and confident patissier is both modest and believable given the acting strength showcased by Aoi. Given her considerable aptitude as an actress, Aoi has certainly grown with each film she’s done and proves here yet again that she is one of the most accomplished young actresses within Japan. She essentially carries the film through her display of emotional expressions and enlivens every scene she’s in through her exuberant nature. One particular standout scene occurs between her and “Patisserie Coin de rue” head pattisier Yuriko (Keiko Toda) that showcases a rather tipsy Natsume affirming her need to change her life that is as funny as it is poignant towards her development as a character. Another notable mention would be that of Yosuke Eguchi’s portrayal of Tomura, a patissier who has left the trade due to facing a horrific accident years ago. Viewed more so as antagonistic in nature from the outset of the film, Eguchi’s delivers a powerful performance that truly brings some emotional leverage to the film’s rather conventional outlying. His and the remainder of performances are what provide the film a great deed of leeway in pushing aside the orthodoxies that our present within the script, in turn magnifying the triumphs and tragedies of the individuals within the film.

With the strength of the acting taking a prominent role in approaching the film’s rather generic narrative in a unique way, Patisserie Coin de rue is not without it faults. For all the scrumptious sweets and culinary mastery shown throughout the film, director and screenwriter Yoshihiro Fukagawa can’t refrain from eliciting many of the excessive tropes that have plagued this particular genre of film. With a sense of predictability that will certainly awash viewers accustomed to viewing similar films dealing with the likes of culinary expertise or even sports-centered tales of overcoming a superior team to win the championship game, the film delegates much of it final half towards the tried-and-true plot trajectories that have all but been overly utilized within films in the past. Whether this stems from its use of a “race against time to complete a major unforeseen challenge”- climax, to the brooding nature of some of the characters coming to a cheerful head by the film’s end, it’s all seen here. Fortunately, if it weren’t for the film’s strong casting, Patisserie Coin de rue would have easily become yet another film marred with a mediocre narrative that relied too heavily upon its exquisite visuals to satisfy viewers. While this approach can still be seen in certain respects towards the plot, Fukagawa isn’t simply reliant on these rather superficial elements of his story, a move that promotes the film’s premise from simply being about food—which is still retains to a degree—but also about the conflicted lives of the people involved in its creation.

Overall, Patisserie Coin de rue still remains a very strong film for the many reasons, even if it does suffer from a lack of originality. One thing the film does right is that it constructs a solid story around a rather conventional premise, therein making the film far more an exercise in acting forte than simply being about patisserie. Fukagawa enriches this common premise with a surprisingly affectionate flair that is carried through by the prowess of its actors, a move that saves the film from becoming too tiresome for its own good. This is especially seen in the case of Aoi, who gives a fantastic and spirited performance that is only hindered by the lack of a strong script. As such, the film never truly rises above the crop of films that deal with similar material, which is somewhat unfortunate for both Aoi and Fukugawa. But as a whole, the film still remains a promising showcase from the like of Aoi, and further establishes her as one of the premier actresses within Japan today. With its current script, Patisserie Coin de rue is one film that greatly adheres to a formulaic approach, but does so in such a way that it can still be considered a joyous and emotional look into the artistry of culinary extravagancy.

As a longtime fan of Rumiko Takahashi’s Ranma ½ manga series and subsequent anime adaptation, it was exciting to hear that a live-action television special was in the works. Granted, having read all the manga volumes and seen anime series in its entirety, the inevitable question arose pertaining to how exactly a live-action Ranma ½ could be brought forth and effectively realized; how would a 38 volume manga and 161 television episodes fit within the confinement of a two-hour television adaptation? As anyone who is somewhat familiar with the premise of Ranma ½, its episodic nature could certainly be applicable towards creating a one time live-action television special, but would it be sufficient enough to appease longstanding fans as well as provide some insight to new viewers as to why Ranma ½ has had such a strong following today as it did a decade ago? Perhaps the existence of this television special is more than enough proof as to the steady popularity of Ranma ½ as franchise? With a cast consisting of Yui Aragaki, Kaku Kento, and Natsuna Watanabe, the live-action adaptation of Ranma ½ has all the necessary elements to be an exceptional homage towards the original manga series, but the true question remains—does it succeed in doing so?

In many ways, this adaptation can be viewed as a proper, nostalgic nod towards fans of the original source material more so than its attempt to inform unfamiliar viewers as to why the source material has still remained popular to this very day. With a focus towards showcasing many of the nuances that longtime fans will instantly realize (i.e. Akane having to fight a sleuth of male peers asking her for courtship, Ranma and Gemna’s constant bickering, etc.), many unfamiliar viewers will also discover the same unique charm of the series albeit in a drastically diminished fashion. For a two-hour television special, Ranma ½ sadly befalls the same fate as most singular adaptations of long running series do—it doesn’t necessarily try to enhance the original premise in any way but rather safely remains within the margin of simply appeasing the already established enthusiasts out there. The plot doesn’t fare much better in that it can be viewed as unnecessary filler akin to a uninspired episode found within the coinciding anime series, where ridiculousness is abound and character development is constantly halted for the sake of humor, a decision that would have played out better if this wasn’t a single television special. In this diluted form, Ranma ½ presents a rather lackluster adaptation in both narrative and character development, two areas that while not advocated as strong elements within the source material, appear even weaker in this adaptation due to its compressed nature. There are noticeable changes to the way the characters are perceived as well, a major one being the interaction between Ranma and Akane. While the manga detailed Akane’s initial distaste of Ranma—which usually were resolved in Ranma facing bodily harm in some hysterical fashion—the special never really explores this aspect, instead dictating that Akane like the girl form of Ranma more than anything, a departure that may dissatisfy some viewers accustomed to the original manga. Additional weaknesses stem primarily from the absence of crucial characters as well as pivotal events explored within the manga and anime series—key elements that made the previous incarnations stand out.

Besides these rather unfortunate decisions, one area the special does relatively well in is it casting choices. With the gender duality of Ranma’s character remaining a prominent part of the series, both Natsuna Watanabe (female Ranma) and Kento Kaku (male Ranma) do a formidable job in their respective roles, especially that of Watanabe. Reflecting the tomboyish attitude of Ranma’s female half, Watanabe does a fantastic job of balancing out the feminine qualities that were highlighted within the source material without over being too overindulgent. While the narrative doesn’t necessarily allow her to showcase the sexual prowess of her character as much as in the manga—this is a television special after all—there is just enough to parallel our understanding of her portrayal of the character here with that her manga counterpart. Perhaps the most striking performance here though belongs to Yui Aragaki, who plays the tomboyish Akane Tendo. Conveying the dutiful yet fragile nature of Akane as a character, Aragaki displays a resilience that is key towards bringing Akane to a fruitful depiction, an excellent casting choice that should please fans of the source material as well as viewers who simply adore her as an actress. The remaining cast do an exceptional job too, visually adhering to their manga counterparts and bringing forth their mannerisms, and while the special may not focus as extensively on them as the manga or anime series does, they provide adequate enjoyment to an otherwise mediocre plot.

In conclusion, how should one view this live-action adaptation of Ranma ½? While the special expresses the atmosphere of the original manga and anime series, it also doesn’t promote its characters or narrative outside the realm of simply being viewed as an elongated—and worse—filler episode. While the cast is both visually and characteristically devoted to their manga counterparts, the special is aimed at satisfying the longtime fans more so than new viewers, but even then it stumbles in its execution. It would be best to say that Ranma ½ would have worked out much better as a standard live-action drama series within a multitude of episodes rather than concentrating on creating one sole two-hour special, a move that isn’t surprising but is detrimental to the expansive material offered up through Rumiko Takahashi’s work. By enlarging the scope of the television special, perhaps it would have made for a better-rounded viewing experience, but for where it currently stands, the live-action adaptation of Ranma ½ will undoubtedly go down as a missed opportunity and unnecessary adaptation—even for the most dedicated of fans.

While many videogame to anime film adaptations usually deteriorate into an endless barrage of tediousness that do little to complement the strengths of the very games they are derived from, a select few make it through the fold to showcase that such a proposal can be successfully accomplished. Films such as Final Fantasy VII Advent Children (2005) and Street Fighter II: The Animated Movie (1996) are fine examples of adaptations done relatively well, bringing adequate justice to their video game counterparts by expanding upon the worlds and characters established within the source material. But for every decent videogame to anime film adaptation released, there are considerably more films that don’t necessarily complement their source material, therein bringing about a feeling of cynicism by some viewers concerning their impending release. Based on the bestselling Nintendo DS game, Professor Layton and the Eternal Diva is a film that has much to live up to, mainly for the simple fact that it is one of those titles whose source material is quite popular amongst video game fans—a base group where cynicism is fervently expressed.

For starters, Eternal Diva is a film that doesn’t necessarily require a viewer to be familiar with the game series to enjoy its inception as a film. While many other films do require a viewer to comprehend the background and history of the game’s plot and characters to completely understand its own working as a film, Eternal Diva establishes itself as a very standalone experience despite some references to past games. While there are certainly characters and minor plot continuities from the game series present in the film, they are rather subdued and kept to a stringent minimum in order to focus primarily on the main, original narrative the film offers. One fine example of this is that within the first few moments of the film, we are introduced to the main cast of characters as if it was the first time, which offers a crucial step towards involving those viewers unfamiliar with the universe of Professor Layton. This notion further extends to the overall narrative itself, which is constructed in a matter that doesn’t alienate newcomers to Professor Layton’s expansive universe. With film’s focal point being on the Legend of Ambrosia—a myth based on authentic Greek mythology—the film also surrounds itself with real world mythos and does a sizable job of nicely implementing elements of it throughout the film. The film delegates an original tale that is structured in a way to accommodate both fans of the game series and newcomers alike, a move that reinforces the standalone nature of the film.

For those who are pertinent fans of the game series though, Eternal Diva works out extremely well in providing a considerable focus on all the elements that have warranted the popularity of the Professor Layton game series. The film brings about the sense of mystery and intrigue offered through the games, all the while inserting a diverse range of skillful puzzles and riddles to pique the solving abilities of viewers. While this approach is simply reminiscing on aspects the game series showcases, it removes the viewer from being able to actively participate and influence the outcome of the film’s puzzles and riddles. We are essentially treated to numerous rather energetic visual sequences that showcase Professor Layton’s attempting to resolve a particular puzzle through the consolidation of clues, only to see him come to a solution with considerable ease. This approach that the film takes does indeed fall in line with the game series, but also somewhat removes the urgency felt by active participants of the games to solve these puzzles through their own accord. While this approach doesn’t hurt the film overall, it does seem rather odd to see Professor Layton and his crew make it through dangerous situation with significant aplomb. Which brings me to my next point, which is the very nature of the film itself residing in the universe of Professor Layton as a game series. With Eternal Diva being a film taking place between two games—Professor Layton and the Last Specter and Professor Layton and the Diabolical Box—the desperate nature of some of the film’s more adventurous moments is given very little urgency considering that we as viewers know that none of the main characters will perish in any way since this is essentially a prequel. This somewhat dilutes the strength of the film, with its dire moments not truly being as alarming as we may think.

Besides some of these flaws, Eternal Diva works out exceptionally well as an ode to the visual and musical style established by the Professor Layton game series. With animation work being done by P.A. Works—whose résumé includes Canaan (2009), Angel Beats (2010), and even partially animating several of the Professor Layton Nintendo DS games—the visual quality of the film is well done and truly elaborates upon the look of the games. It’s this distinct visual style that offers a unique feature to the film, in turn making it one of the more aesthetically pleasing video game to anime film adaptations. The film also uses a considerable amount of CGI for some of its more harrowing moments—a decision that could’ve drastically undercut the visual quality of the film but fortunately doesn’t. With its usage remaining strictly within the realm of the mechanical, it doesn’t distract or seem unwarranted, as most other films often do. Paralleling that of the visual nature of the film is also the music, which was produced by Tomohito Nishiura and Tsuneyoshi Saito. As with P.A. Works having contributed to the game series in the field of animation, Nishiura and Saito produced the music for several of the Professor Layton game titles as well, which again reinforces the collaborative efforts shared between the game series and film. With the film heavily focused on the element of music, the soundtrack to Eternal Diva is filled to the brimmed with classical compositions that should appease viewers, particularly those who are fans of the game due to its comparable style.

As a standalone film, Eternal Diva works on many levels, but primarily is successful because it bridges the gap between newcomers and longtime enthusiasts. Supporters of the game series will find plenty here to enjoy—whether it’s the abundance of characters, beautifully composed musical pieces, its clever plot, and even several references to past titles—while those viewers who aren’t familiar with the game can still enjoy all the elements mentioned. While flaws certainly exist with the film—it’s rather convoluted towards the end—it still remains an enjoyable endeavor into the world of Professor Layton and his puzzle-solving crew. With Professor Layton essentially being the Japanese equivalent to Sherlock Holmes, even those who dislike or are unknowing to aspects of anime could find some pleasure with the film. While not the greatest anime film, Professor Layton and the Eternal Diva is one of the better video game to anime film adaptations thus far, and with director Masakazu Hashimoto suggesting possible sequels in the future, the film provides an adequate example of a concept with a healthy foundation in which to build upon.

As a director, Makoto Shinkai has found quite the success within a relatively short period of time within the field of animation. With two impressive films already under his belt—works that include the visually stunning The Place Promise in Our Early Days (2004) and 5 Centimeter Per Second (2007)—he has already been labeled by various critics as the “Next Miyazaki”. Quite a strong appraisal for sure, given that he has written and directed only three feature-length films and several short films and television segments. Compare this to Miyazaki’s rather outstanding and impactful breadth of past works, and you can see that while the comparison can be made—and even justifiable to some capacity—the fact remains that Shinkai simply doesn’t have the work behind him to elicit such a comparison. Couple this with Shinkai’s adherence towards not truly implementing different thematic qualities in his films, and you can see that his growth as a writer and director has become somewhat fixated on one particular genre—that of romance—without venturing towards exploring a more broad appeal within his works. With Children Who Chase Lost Voices from Deep Below, it is apparent that Shinkai is aiming to establish that crossover appeal, bringing about a film that may alienate fans of his previous works, but also garner him respect for his willingness to widen his creative sphere as a director.

It would be wise to mention that Children Who Chase Lost Voices from Deep Below is unlike any of Shinkai’s past films. Expanding upon creating a more realized world than his previous works, the film imagines a breathtaking alternate world—known here as Agartha—that exists in the center of the Earth. With a worldly background quite reminiscent to Mesoamerican culture in its usage of mythology, attire, and architecture, the film is easily Shinkai’s most imaginative and creative setting as of yet. Always a strong point within his creations, the visual quality of the film is certainly it’s strongest attribute. From the lush country backdrops of Asuna’s home town, to the vast mountainous and rolling plains found in Agartha, the environments of Children Who Chase Lost Voices from Deep Below are some of the most impressive scenery viewed in an animated film for quite some time. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the film’s characters, many which aren’t particularly creative in their design. This has always been somewhat of a weak spot for Shinkai, where the locales of his films are considerably more elaborate in appearance than the character themselves. There are numerous characters throughout the film that are strikingly similar to the designs brought forth by Studio Ghibli, which may further comparisons between the two directors, not in the likes of creativity, but for Shinkai and character designer Takayo, Nishimura they would appear to be simply imitating the style of Miyazaki. Whether this stems from the facial features of the characters, to even the Quetzal Coatl creatures found within Agartha, the similarities are certainly visible and apparent. Perhaps if Shinkai pushed to retain more of his own visual styling in terms of the characters and creatures, the film would’ve been more distinctive in this sense, but the similarities don’t necessarily help the film to any degree. With his own stylistic touch and visual flair seen throughout the environments he creates, Shinkai should be subject towards improving the character design to the same degree, with Nishimura following suit.

Putting visuals aside though, the narrative of the film is also somewhat different in its approach. Those looking for significant traits of romance to be the focus of the film—a prominent aspect his past films—won’t see much of that here. This in itself may come as a surprise to some viewers expecting the film to be centered on romantic themes resulting in first crushes or loving embraces, traits that Shinkai has proven to be adept in portraying in the past. While some of these themes still find their way into the narrative, they certainly don’t take precedence over what is essentially a tale centered significantly on loss and the emotional costs it takes to overcome that loss. This is certainly a new direction for Shinkai, as it has the film dealing with a diverse range of genres that definitely expand the depth of his abilities as a director. As such, Shinkai is essentially exploring new ground within Children Who Chase Lost Voices from Deep Below, which in turn—as with anyone trying something new for the first time—showcases that he has some difficulty with the material at hand. While there are sporadic moments of familiarity to Shinkai’s previous works showcased towards the beginning of the film, once the film enters the world of Agartha, it exceedingly becomes a rather uneven combination of action segments and dramatic interventions. This approach does indeed break away from Shinkai’s conventional directorial style, but it also shows his shortcomings as a writer to fully develop such an expansive narrative as the one seen within the film—and the various genres that coincide with it. Given the scope of the film’s story, the film’s central theme seems to be that of loss and dealing with the ramifications of that loss. As most of Shinkai’s previous films focused on the act of separating from a loved one in some capacity, he approaches Children Who Chase Lost Voices from Deep Below from a different perspective, this time focusing specifically on the aftermath of losing that special individual. This is where he does excel at as writer—perhaps due to it being familiar territory for him—bringing about a rather truthful reflection upon such a saddening issue. While this thematic quality of the film is present throughout, it appears most prominently at the film’s conclusion, which provides the film with an emotional backing that is unfortunately quickly concluded.

Given that this was a considerable task for Shinkai and studio CoMix Wave—it was their most expensive undertaking yet, which should be duly noted—one should view the film simply as a preview to Shinkai’s considerable potential as a director more so than being a film that can stand alongside his stunning previous works. The ambitious nature of the film doesn’t particularly play well to Shinkai’s strengths, but it does allow him to test the waters surrounding such ambitious narratives, hopefully further developing his talent in the future. If more effort were implemented towards expanding the intricate and universal theme of loss, the film would’ve easily been viewed as a significant step in improving upon its rather superficial premise. While fans of his previous works will certainly find the film as a great departure from many of the elements that made him famous, one can see the imaginative process and effort that are necessary components for growth as a director. Perhaps if the writing was cleaned up, the story would have been much, much intriguing to follow, but this doesn’t deny the film from being an extraordinary visual treat for viewers old and new alike. While certainly flawed in many ways, Children Who Chase Lost Voices from Deep Below still remains a very visionary and expressive film that should appeal to those viewers outside the range of Shinkai’s previous works, even if it is hindered to some extent by its unoriginal plot.

The Mahou Shoujo (Magical Girl) sub-genre of anime has always been a genre not only aimed at exploring the realm of young girls with magical abilities, but many series include a variety of elements that coincide and reinforce such a seemingly simple premise. These elements range from fabulous transformation sequences, enchanted objects, conflicted identities, and cheerful and idealistic reflections upon youth and the power of magic use. Perhaps the most important elements of the genre though is its focus upon the emotionally charged depictions of maturing alongside one’s duty to save the world from evil, as the responsibility of growing up is ever present through the form of radical villains, disastrous circumstances, and the loss of a loved ones. While these elements remain the staple of the genre itself, series that subscribe to these elements are also usually upbeat in their portrayal of the young protagonists and the discovery of their newfound powers, emotions, and growing responsibilities of such. Director Akiyuki Shinbo’s Puella Magi Madoka Magica does contain all these elements as well, but inverts the outlook of the genre to a surprisingly significant degree, in turn making it quite an effective narrative on the very foundational premise of magical girls.

Written by Gen Urobochi, a man known for his dark and twisted tales, the series is one filled with tragic consequences and dire circumstances. Essentially, Puella Magi Madoka Magica is a deconstruction of the very mahou shoujo genre it subscribes to. While many series may look into the duality that exists between its young female protagonists as they attempt to live an ordinary life alongside that of a magical girl, Puella Magi Madoka Magica is a series that edges itself continuously towards exploring the dark recesses of becoming a magical girl, a choice that is given considerable weight, as the series ultimately suggests. Rather than rely solely on showcasing the magnificent nature in becoming a magical girl and all its joyous attributes, the series showcases the tragic results that stem from making that final leap into becoming a slayer of evil minions and witches, exploring the psychological states of self-doubt and personal criticism as the young girls come to grip with the harsh reality of their choice. It’s that choice that remains at the forefront of the series—a choice that fulfills a single desire, but only in exchange for a life of obligation. Whether it’s a choice to remedy a handicapped friend of their affliction so that they may be able to play the piano again, to wanting to reverse the grievous death of a friend, the series peers into the tragic irony that accompanies the life of being a magical girl. This is simply not a tale that attempts to romanticize “magical girls” in any fashion, in fact doing away with many of the genre’s—and audiences—conceptions.

As with numerous series before it, Puella Magi Madoka Magica also explores the idea of maturation coinciding with the battling of supernatural nemeses, but the realization brought about by the series conveys the true nature of a life of such responsibility—that of being a life of solitude and confinement to one’s duty. In many ways, the series is rather cruel in its depiction of the sorrowful implications of living such a lifestyle, but in doing so the series becomes a well-crafted and plausible look into a genre that has become quite tiring within the last several years due to its lack of creativity. Puella Magi Madoka Magica is not a happy series because of this directorial decision, a choice that may deplore longtime fans of the genre, especially those viewers who have grown accustomed to the simple and cheery-laden plots of past series. The narrative of the show is one of incredible fortitude as it makes it way through a diverse range of subjects that are explored in a matter that is both creative as it is courageous given the genre. Subjects such as death, psychological instability, suicide, jealously, and even rivalry are taken into consideration as viable dynamics of a plot that is as mature as it is sensible in its deconstruction.

Working as a rearrangement of the conventional understanding of the mahou shoujo genre, Puella Magi Madoka Magica biggest strength is that is focuses heavily on its characters and their outcomes instead of simply on their abilities as heroines of magic. The series remains grounded through its logical explanations of the decisions these characters make—whether it’s from Madoka’s indecision to help others because she is afraid to do so, to Mami’s discourse on the loneliness on being a magical girl, to even Sayaka’s inadequacy to work through her own feelings for the one she loves, the characters of the show are exemplary in their realistic deliverance of emotions and decisions. This is not to say that other series within the genre haven’t done the same, but one can certainly see that the darker tone of the series elevates the dilemmas that these characters face to a higher emotional sentiment. This realistic approach further extends into the realm of the story itself, where the logical construction of the plot helps in bringing a sense of practicability—with the universe approaching a heat death, the harvesting of power from the magical girls works as a way to stave off the impending disaster, for example—the series yet again repositions our perceptions on the mahou shoujo genre, expanding upon its ideas in new and imaginative ways.

With the innovative territory in which the show explores, the experimental nature of the animation also breathes much life into the show as well. With animation done primarily by studio SHAFT, the visual quality of Puella Magi Madoka Magica is a sight to see. With exquisite futuristic landscapes, to the intricate look of their interiors, the visuals remain quite strong throughout the series, with practically no reduction in animation quality to be seen between episodes. However, where the animation truly shines is during the battles segments that take place within the underworld where the magical girls and witches do battle. This is where the aesthetic value of the series comes through strongly in an original and creative fashion that is at times frightening as it is marveling to view. These particular segments within the show were done by animation duo Gekidan Inu Curry, a team that utilizes animation techniques such as stop-motion and hand drawn illustrations within their work. This approach lends the series a certain mystique that reinforces the bizarre nature of the underworld, giving us as viewers a visual adherence towards the psychological frameworks of the characters in their battles of personal confliction.

All these elements culminate in Puella Magi Madoka Magica being a compelling tale of redemption, sacrifice, and frienship. As a medium for storytelling, the series revitalizes—but doesn’t reinvent—the structure of the mahou shoujo genre, expanding upon a wealth of elements that produces a series that plays upon the very foundation of a genre that is often associated with a level of cheerfulness and fantasy. While these elements are indeed still present throughout the show to some capacity, the narrative is more attuned towards the fate of its characters rather than simply relying on the formulaic adherences that often hinder the genre as a whole. What the series ultimately does is parallels the ordinary nature of teenage girls—accompanied by all their emotional instability and conflicting thoughts—and places them within a supposed environment that will happily fill their every wish, which sadly proves to be rather difficult. Temptations in the form of wishes, these young girls are lured into a tumultuous lifestyle in their most vulnerable moments, and where the efforts by writer Gen Urobochi and director Akiyuki Shinbo deliver a challenging and emotional take on mahou shoujo, completely deconstructing the genre itself—a courageous move that solidifies Puella Magi Madoka Magica as a series worthy of exceptional praise.

Here is some info on the book:

Building on and bringing up to date the material presented in the first installment of “Directory of World Cinema: Japan”, this volume continues the exploration of the enduring classics, cult favorites, and contemporary blockbusters of Japanese cinema with new contributions from leading critics and film scholars. Among the additions to this volume are in-depth treatments of two previously unexplored genres – youth cinema and films depicting lower-class settings – considered alongside discussions of popular narrative forms, including J-Horror, samurai cinema, anime, and the Japanese New Wave. Accompanying the critical essays in this volume are more than 150 new film reviews, complemented by full-colour film stills, and significantly expanded references for further study. From the Golden Age to the film festival favourites of today, “Directory of World Cinema: Japan 2″ completes this comprehensive treatment of a consistently fascinating national cinema.

You can pre-order the volume at these locations:

Amazon.com

Amazon.co.uk

As someone who is a contributor to this volume, I can vouch and say that it will be a fantastic release and great educational resource for those interested in foreign cinema!