Seeing as it it is Go Nagai’s birthday today, I thought I’d repost this article. Yeah, I’m a lazy opportunist.

I’m not usually someone that indulges too much in nostalgia, especially for the 1980s. But I cannot deny the mounting excitement I’ve been feeling over the last couple of months, knowing that the original Star Fleet/X-Bomber Ｘボンバ TV series was to be finally given an official DVD launch in the UK. One of the reasons I usually avoid nostalgia is the almost inevitable feelings of disappointment that are associated with it – anyone that’s gone back and played a retro video game from around that time only to realise that their rose-tinted spectacles are broken will understand exactly what I mean. The question is does Star Fleet suffer the same fate nearly 30 years later?

For the uninitiated, X-Bomber was a Japanese puppet and models based children’s sci-fi show created by manga legend Go Nagai. Heavily influenced by Star Wars and the mecha/giant-robot stories that Nagai and others had been crafting for years, it was a moderate success in Japan, and was bought and re-dubbed by now defunct British TV company London Weekend Television, who started airing it on Saturday mornings. Overnight it became a huge cult hit, not just with Star Wars obsessed kids but adult sci-fi fans too. At first glance, due to it’s use of puppets and it’s futuristic setting, it is reminiscent of Gerry Anderson shows like Thunderbirds and Captain Scarlet, but on closer inspection it’s very different. The character and mechanical designs are instantly recognisable as being of Japanese origin, and it’s ongoing, 24 episode story arc – with a surprisingly dark vibe at times – sets it apart from western work. I was never much of a fan of Anderson’s work as a child, but I remember becoming instantly obsessed with Star Fleet – something about the way it looked, the action sequences, the pacing and it’s epic storyline caught my attention fully. Along with Battle of the Planets and Speed Racer it was my first, very early, introduction to animanga and Japanese culture in general (even if I didn’t know it at the time), and as such I’m fairly sure that without it I wouldn’t be running this website right now.

So how does it bare up to inspection some 29 years later? To my surprise and delight, pretty damn well. The character and vehicle design work still makes it a joy to watch – most of the model work is fantastic, and is a thrill to watch knowing that everything you see is hand crafted, especially when we’re so used to being bombarded with CGI. Even more surprisingly, after watching just a handful of the 24 episodes, it’s clear the plot and script still stands up to my now-adult scrutiny, and I’m looking forward to sitting down and catching up on the whole show, time permitting. It’s no 2001, but it’s still Saturday morning space opera at it’s finest, and better written than some other franchises I could mention.

The DVD box-set itself, apart from the slightly garish packaging, has been nicely and thoughtfully put together. Aside from the 4 discs, there’s also a fold out, double sided poster and a collection of the British drawn comic originally serialised in the 80s teen magazine Look-in. All 24 episodes of the show are intact, with a re-mastered soundtrack from composer Paul Bliss, and the best quality visual transfer you could hope for considering the show’s age and TV origin. There’s a number of extras included as well, one of which is possibly the highlight of the whole package for me. The 30-minute ‘Making of’ featurette on disc 3 includes not only interviews with the English dub’s director Louis Elman and some of the voice actors, but also Go Nagai himself, and even Gerry Anderson. It’s a fascinating insight into the show’s origins, development and journey across the continents, and for me the only thing lacking would have been some sample footage with the original Japanese soundtrack included, as a comparison. Presumably this wasn’t possible due to copyright issues, and it in no way detracts from what is a carefully put together, great value package.

There is a rather tragic story that comes out in the documentary, however. Apparently the show was such a huge success here in the UK that Elman had no problem, based on just a short treatment, in securing funding from LWT for a second season. In fact, they were so enthusiastic about the project, they even agreed to fund the original Japanese studio to produce it. However, when Elman made the call to Japan, he was shocked to find a fire had gutted the studio, destroying all the models and sets. A tragic loss certainly for the modelers and producers that had put so much time and passion into this lovingly crafted series, but perhaps a blessing in disguise for the memories of it’s fans – maybe one perfect, unique series that we can now treasure again is what makes Star Fleet/X-Bomber so special.

I can’t write a piece about Star Fleet without giving props to Andy Thomas’ awesome fansite SF:XB, which has given me years of fanboy pleasure.

First off I’d just like to say a huge thank you to everyone that read my list of ten anime films you should see before you die – the response has been phenomenal – not just the number of people that read it, but also those that took the time out to get involved in the following discussion at Reddit, Stumbleupon, Twitter as well as here on TMB. Some people loved my selections, some people thought I was well off the mark, but it was clear that there was no way I was going to be able to avoid putting together another list, this time of TV series and OVAs.

It has been a far harder list to compile. Not only because of the vast selection to choose from, but also that I knew from the start that I would be leaving out some shows that a lot of people hold very dear. As such I hope that at least some visitors will read the next paragraph first before scrolling down the list to see what is missing and getting upset.

Just like last time, the aim of the list is not only to present ten examples of the anime medium that showcase the art form at its greatest, but are also accessible to those mature viewers for whom the scene is new or even completely alien. They are works that I would show to those friends – we all have them – that turn their noses up at anime to prove to them how utterly wrong they are. To do this they must be not only masterpieces of animation, direction and storytelling, but immediately accessible to any viewer. As such, I have had to leave out popular fan favourites, slice of life comedies and high school dramas that are aimed to much at the otaku demographic and rely on an understanding of the genre and Japanese pop culture to fully appreciate. Similarly, for us older fans, I’ve missed out some series from my childhood that I hold personally very dear – groundbreaking shows like Macross, Speed Racer, Gatchaman, Star Blazers and even the original Gundam – as though I look back at them with with a fond nostalgia for their retro stylings and dramatic storylines, I have to admit they don’t have the maturity and production values of the best of what was to follow. Although there is, as always, some exceptions.

Again: they are in no particular order, the term ‘mature’ is kind of loose, seeing as at least two are really kids’ shows, and this is purely personal opinion. If you disagree, see you in the comments section.

Cowboy Bebop (1998)

TV, 26 episodes

When it first hit Japan at the end of the 90s, Shinichiro Watanabe’s seminal Cowboy Bebop broke new ground for anime on TV. An overly stylistic take on the established space opera genre, its the story of a disparate bunch of planet hopping bounty hunters struggling to make a living, and giving Watanabe a chance to shamelessly take influences from all his favourite pop-culture sources – from Star Wars and cyberpunk literature to Hollywood westerns and Quentin Tarantino movies, all set to Yoko Kano‘s eclectic, vibrant jazz infused soundtrack. The result was a international hit; one of the few shows of the period that found itself transmitted not only on US TV but also across most of Europe, spawning a theatrical movie as well, various different DVD realeases, merchandise and giving shameless inspiration to Buffy creator Joss Wheedon to pen cult favorite Firefly.

It’s easy to criticize Watanabe’s direction as style over substance at first glance, but in reality it’s Keiko Nobumoto’s skillfully crafted scripts that are the reason for the show’s success. Throughout the 26 episodes he manages to do the impossible – combine outlandish plots and settings with believable, empathetic characters that the viewer feels a genuine, true attachment to. For all the choreographed fight scenes, orbital dogfights and John Woo style shootouts, Bebop’s true heart lies in it’s dry humour, sexual energy and the gentle, masterful unfurling of it’s characters’ back stories. If I had to pick one episode of one anime to show to a non-believer, it would be Episode 17 of Cowboy Bebop (Speak Like a Child); a perfect 25 minutes of script writing that starts with gentle comedy and ends in emotional heartbreak. Watanabe tried to recreate the vibe with his Chanbara-meets-hip hop follow up Samurai Champloo, but the characters and plots were limited by the setting, and although ingenious and riveting throughout, Cowboy Bebop still remains his masterpiece, and one of the most exhilarating, watchable works of anime ever made.

Paranoia Agent (2004)

TV, 13 episodes

The term auteur is often overused by critics – especially in anime circles – but if there’s one director that truly lives up to the title then it’s arguably Satoshi Kon. After completing his masterpiece trio of experimental, reality bending films – Perfect Blue, Tokyo Godfathers and Millennium Actress – Kon found himself wanting a break from the long production cycle of high budget anime features, and with an abundance of new ideas. Turning to television the result was the Madhouse produced Paranoia Agent; a dark, deeply twisted story of two cops tracking a mysterious teenage hoodlum dubbed Lil’ Slugger by the media. As the two detectives investigate the case, it’s the lives of his seemingly random assault victims that become the series initial focus, with there seemingly being no truly innocent bystanders. But just as Kon leads the viewer down one apparent path, he of course pulls his usual reality shifting, mind bending, plot twisting trick with the show’s surprising climax. Paranoia Agent is an unusual, brave and at times challenging example of what anime can achieve, and perhaps what no other art form can, and even just a few years after its first broadcast it seems hard to believe that it was made for television – especially in today’s recession hit, conservative climate.

Gunslinger Girl (2003)

TV, 13 episodes

It’s impossible to deny that vast majority of anime and manga rely heavily on established genres, well trodden cliche’s, recycled storylines and archetypal characters. Which is why refreshing when a show like Gunslinger Girl comes along to challenge the accepted standards of the medium. Set in modern day Italy, it follows the activities of the Social Welfare Agency, a shadowy government group that uses abused, brain-washed young girls as trained assassins to eliminate political rivals, and focuses on the relationship between the girls and their older, male handlers. A story about over-cute, teenage girls turned cybernetic killers is nothing new, but writer Yu Aida (who also penned the original manga) turns it into a chilling, scathing deconstruction of anime’s moral values. Everything is questioned – the over sexualisation of young girls and their idolizing relationships with older men, the continued, accepted association of children with violence, and the celebration and stylisation of that violence is challenged in the most brutal, disturbing and heart wrenching of manners. Gunslinger Girl holds a mirror up to anime and it’s moe obsessed otaku follwers, asking them to look at what they find so titillating and exhilarating as if the blood and consequences were real and in their hands. It’s challenging plot and message is backed by strong production values and it’s gentle European ambiance, making it one of the most important anime productions of the last decade.

Neon Genesis Evangelion (1994)

TV, 26 episodes plus various OVA releases and alternative versions

Few anime franchises have had the lasting impact on anime and wider Japanese pop culture as Gainax’s Neon Genesis Evangelion. The story of giant mecha battling strange, powerful creatures it is yet another show that takes standard anime cliches – angst ridden teenage pilots, over the top battle sequences, end-of-the-world scenarios – and uses them to try and tell a different, deeper story. Focusing largely on the lives of the children that are forced – at times against their will – to defend earth from this unknown, mysterious enemy it moves from being a simple coming of age story to dealing with psychoanalysis, mental illness and the essence of human nature. Similarly, in amongst the teen drama and city-leveling action sequences Hideaki Anno’s script plays with Christian and Biblical symbolism to explore philosophical and spiritual concepts as well as questioning the nature of reality itself. As such it has become one of the most widely discussed and analyzed anime ever produced. As if the series wasn’t complex enough, an OVA – The End of Evangelion – was released that gave an alternate telling of the series’ climax. While it’s philosophical explorations have helped it to stick in Japan’s collective consciousness, it’s visual style also played a massive role in revitalising the medium, and on mecha and character design in particular. Spurning not only many imitators but also a current movie-trilogy retelling, it is still the original TV run that remains compelling and essential viewing.

Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex (2002)

TV, 26 episodes

Masamune Shirow’s Ghost in the Shell manga had already been a huge hit in Japan before Mamoru Oshii’s 1995 film version turned it into a global cult hit, so the idea of it also spawning a TV show must have been circulating at Production IG for years. It wasn’t until 2002 that it finally happened, and as well as allowing the powerhouse studio another chance to mine the property they also took it as an opportunity to appease disgruntled fans that felt Oshii had strayed to far from the source material. The series recaptures some of the more lighthearted, action driven feel of Shirow’s manga, but still remains a dark, serious story of hi-tech special forces tackling hackers, terrorists, corrupt government regimes and rogue AIs. Each episode is densely packed with complex plots that can, at times, be tough to follow, but are backed up by another eclectic, brooding Yoko Kano directed soundtrack and probably the best depiction of Shirow’s distinctive weapon and technology designs, including the now iconic Tachikoma mechs. Those that can’t commit to the entire 26 episode run can try the Laughing Man compilation film, that edits together key scenes to tell the series’ over-arching main plotline, but risk missing out on some of the more interesting stand alone episodes. And for those that get understandably sucked in, there’s always the second season – Ghost in the Shell: S.A.C. 2nd Gig – which is as equally well crafted, complex and even more politically challenging.

Future Boy Conan (1978)

TV, 26 episodes

A good decade before they turned Studio Ghibli into the internationally renowned animation powerhouse it is now, Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata where making shows for TV, most notably amongst them Future Boy Conan. After global catastrophes have threatened mankind with extinction, the show tells the story of a man and his 11 year old grandson Conan, the only survivors of a group attempting to flee Earth, but whom became stranded on a remote island after their spaceship crash landed. Believing themselves to be possibly the only remaining humans, their world is turned upside down when a young girl is washed up on the shore, perused by mysterious military forces.

What’s fascinating about watching the show now is how obviously and distinctly the 30 year old production feels like a more contemporary Ghibli classic. All the elements are there. Despite the obvious low budget and simple animation, the visuals exude the Ghibli magic, with the character and aircraft designs so clearly Miyazaki’s and the pacing and background vista shots so blatantly the product of Takahata’s storyboarding. Even more importantly it foretells the pair’s stunning gift for storytelling, with many of the themes of Ghibli’s output – environmental destruction, industrialisation, conflict and children facing up to their roles in the world – prototyped here. It’s a magical series that somehow manages to feel as much fresh as it does nostalgic, and one that should be shared with the whole family.

Planetes (2003)

TV, 26 episodes

Sunrise’s Planetes manages to accomplish something that few sci-fi TV shows – animated or otherwise – have: convincingly combine slice-of-life soap opera, humour, a realistic scientific basis and an analysis of global politics in to accessible, polished entertainment. Set at a time when mankind is first venturing into living permanently in space it shows you the high frontier from the bottom of the social ladder as it follows the lives of the crew of the Toy Box, an ageing debris collection ship – basically the orbital equivalent of a road sweeper. Their mundane work gains more danger and significance as their orbital world is threatened by downtrodden third world terrorists. It’s here – and in it’s grim portrayal of the very real threat of cancer to those that spend to long in space – that the show as much questions the real importance of as well as celebrates human space exploration, accusing it of not only being politically and economically divisive and a waste of money and resources, but perhaps also biologically unnatural. It’s beautifully drawn throughout, with obvious visual nods to NASA, Stanley Kubrick’s 2001 and classic sci-fi literature, but its Ichirō Ōkouchi’s always tight script and believably fleshed out characters that are the show’s winning assets. While frequently mature and serious, through out it is paced with well handled comedy and subtle romance that makes it a joy to watch. It’s this skillful balance and it’s compelling plot that make Planetes not only perhaps my favourite anime series of all time, but one of the best examples of science fiction that television of any form has produced.

Serial Experiments Lain (1998)

TV, 13 episodes

Set in ‘present day, present time’ according to the shows opening, psychological thriller Serial Experiments Lain focuses on Lain Iwakura, a teenage girl living in suburban Japan, and her introduction to the Wired, a global communications network similar to the internet. At a time when internet use first blossoming amongst young people and online subcultures were first taking, Lain was the first anime series to truly try and capture the emotional and social attachments that are so easily formed to virtual worlds, and how reality can seemed blurred when you divide your them between them and the actual. But it didn’t end there – Lain went beyond looking at the psychology of internet culture to touch upon themes of philosophy, theology, mental illness, depression and existentialism. Director Ryutaro Nakamura and writer Chiaki J. Konaka set out to create a show that would deliberately be open to different interpretations, and they certainly succeeded, with Lain being the most vigorously analysed and discussed anime since Neon Genesis Evengelion in both academic and fan circles. With so much going on thematically it’s easy to forget the series’ visual impact; the angst-ridden character design would influence not just anime but also Japanese and gothic fashion for years afterwards, and the slightly trippy, surrealistic background art questioned the constant quest for realism in animation at the time. A challenging work at times, but ultimately a rewarding one.

Denno Coil (2007)

TV, 26 Episodes

In many ways Mitsuo Iso’s Denno Coil covers similar thematic ground to Serial Experiements Lain, but from a refreshingly different perspective. Centered around a group of Japanese elementary school children, the show is at first glance apparently aimed at that age group, but with closer inspection that’s about as useful an assessment as dismissing My Neighbour Totoro or Spirited Away as just kids’ films – and the comparison between Denno Coil and some of Ghibli’s better crafted output is a wholly deserved and justifiable one. Set in 2026, it tells the story of young Yūko Okonogi, who moves with her family to the city of Daikoku, the technological centre of an emerging half-virtual world, created after the introduction of internet-connected augmented reality eyeglasses.

It isn’t merely the age of of it’s protagonists that gives Denno Coil it’s fresh perspective compared to Lain however, it’s also the decade between when the two were written – DC’s understanding of how networked technology has become so interwoven with our daily lives means that it often succeeds where Lain tried but failed. One of my strongest beliefs is that good science fiction always makes social commentary on the time in which it was written, and it is here that Denno Coil excels, presenting a world where children are more in touch with technology than their parents, are obsessed with video games and Pokemon style fads, and where peer pressure and owning the latest gadgets can become almost disturbingly important. Truly a classic series, that exudes subtlety and elegance, and not to be missed.

Mononoke (2007)

TV, 12 episodes

In 2006 Toei released their eleven episode series Ayakashi: Samurai Horror Tales, an anthology of three separate stories based on traditional Japanese myths, and written and produced by three separate teams. The show was a moderate success, but it was the third and final story about a mysterious traveling medicine seller that caught the fans imagination, largely due to it’s unique visual style that mimics traditional Ukiyo-e art. A year later Toei span the character of into his series, and the breathtaking Mononoke was born.

Given an obviously larger budget and 13 episodes to work within, director Kenji Nakamura was able to push his vision to the limit. The result was one of the most stylish, visually compelling series to emerge from Japan in decades. His use of traditional colours animated over an exaggerated textured paper effect, and sprinkled with frenetic action and psychedelic sequences all held together by a masterful eye for framing and direction makes every single second of Mononoke a mesmerising joy to behold. But again it’s not just a case of style over substance; Mononoke combines sinister plot lines and minimal, subtle sound effects to create a truly chilling, creepy horror story experience, and an anime series that genuinely feels like no other.

So, what have I missed out? Last Exile? Flag? Patlabor? Think I’ve completely missed the point here, and I should be trying to convert non-anime fans by subjecting them to 12 hours of Lucky Star? Hit the comments below and tell me what a fool I am. Go on, it’ll be therapeutic. For both of us.

The Spring 2009 anime season marches on, and as always time is my enemy. Trying to keep up with the shows I am interested in is hard enough, let alone taking time out to sample the season’s other offerings. But sample I have, and here I present my findings on the first episodes of four shows that, while I may not follow them, you may want to check out.

K-On! (2009)

There’s no denying that Kyoto Animation’s K-On! is the fan favourite this season, with the internet buzzing with enthusiasm and otaku bed-wetting glee. And it’s easy to see why – the story of four girls who join their high school’s music club to stop it from being shut down is a beautifully animated, professionally polished, and occasionally genuinely funny production. Sadly (for me at least) the things that make it appeal so much to foreign otaku – the moe fetishism, the over-kawaii character design, and the use of unsurprising, very established archetypes for all the main protagonists – are exactly the same things that bore me about current, mainstream anime. While I can see the attraction, but I can’t ever shake the feeling that I could just be watching yet another US high-school drama – the sort of thing that as a fully grown man just doesn’t appeal. The fact that it’s set in Japan and (admittedly very well) animated just isn’t enough for me sadly – but I’m sure I’m very much in the minority amongst the hardcore anime fans, so check it out yourself and make your own mind up.

Saki (2009)

Another teen drama about girls in a high-school club, Gonzo’s Saki seems at first sight to be very similar to K-ON! in it’s premise and characters – and in many ways it is. However this isn’t the music club – it’s Mahjong club, something that makes the show seem – to non-Japanese viewers at least – seem gleefully insane at times. The way the Mahjong games are portrayed in the show has to be seen to be believed – tiles are thrown like they were Pokemon balls, J-Pop-techno pumps away in the background, and the ‘action’ is frequently interrupted by cut-scenes explaining the rules of the game or particular special moves. It’s so exhilarating and colourful – like the traditional game has been transformed into a battle sequence from a Japanese RPG – that it feels like the whole thing is a marketing exercise by some Mahjong Society of Japan to lure new recruits. Apparently it’s not, but it is baffling, kinetic and surreal enough to almost demand my attention for the rest of the series.

Unfortunately, Saki does one thing – and does it a lot – that will probably stop this from happening: fan service. Regular readers will know this is one of my bugbears, and again maybe this makes me an outsider from the otaku-hardcore, but watching barely teenage schoolgirls wearing skimpy clothes being soaked in the rain does nothing for me. In fact, it makes me feel pretty damn uncomfortable and party to exploitation. But that’s just me, and if that’s your cup of green-tea then you’ll love this, and I’m pretty sure I’ll probably check out some more episodes, if I can manage to avoid cringing and flinching between the Mahjong action sequences.

Ristorante Paradiso (2009)

I was drawn to Ristorante Paradiso primarily because of it’s subject matter – an anime show about a small restaurant in Rome is unusual enough, but even more so when it’s staffed by mature gentlemen rather than scantily dressed young waitresses. In fact, that’s spectacle wearing mature gentlemen to be precise – the secret of the establishment’s success. It seems the clientele – also slightly mature, well-to-do Roman women – like that sort of thing. Yeah, Ristorante Paradiso is an unusual one.

Intriguing as the plot is again I can’t help thinking that as I’m not a Japanese housewife, perhaps I’m not exactly the target demographic here. Mildly erotic soap opera has never really been my bag, to be honest. That’s not that I’ve ruled the show out completely – I’ll probably be back again to check in on the elegant artwork, European art-house vibe and gentle pacing, plus as it’s the first solo outing by outsourcing studio David Productions I feel like I owe them a chance to show what they can do.

Valkyria Chronicles (2009)

Based on the popular Sega tactical RPG of the same name, Valkyria Chronicles is set in a alternate, fictional 1930s Europe. and is centered around the story of militia group defending their quiet Germanic town from an approaching army of invading enemies. The first thing that strikes you about the how is it’s visuals – not only do they stick very closely to the graphics of the game, but they also ape it’s water colour art style, right down to being able to see the texture of the canvas below. It’s a similar technique as used in 2007′s Mononoke – although to create a far softer, less radical look – but it is no less aesthetically pleasing.

After watching and enjoying the first couple of episodes, I’m still not sure how closely I’ll follow the rest of the series – while the plot and artwork are interesting, so far the characters seem quite flat and basic, and the setting and historical background feel like they need more fleshing out. Hopefully the latter will come with time as the story unfolds. Oh, and it also features tanks. Big, bold, cool-looking, almost steampunk, stylised WW2 era tanks. Which, I have to admit, usually equals quick-win for me.

With the anime industry facing recession and accused of creative stagnation, a common recent tactic has been to take two well established genres and weld them together, often with questionable results. Satellite Studios‘ Basquash! pulls the same move, merging sports drama and mecha action to depict a futuristic world where basketball is played with giant robots.

Let me just say that again: basketball played with giant robots. While Basquash! is ostensibly a kids’ show, some of you may – like me – be unable to resist watching something based on that concept whatever your age. Set on the planet of Earth Dash, it is centered around Dan JD, a teenage street basketball player that inadvertently becomes the hero of the sport. I say inadvertently because Dan actually hates the giant robots (or ‘Big Foots’ as they are known) – partly because the basketball they play is slow and uninspiring – but mainly because an accident involving one left his little sister crippled. However, when he accidentally re-invents the sport as a high speed, skillful street game he finds himself thrown into prison for a year, emerging to a world obsessed with his new creation. Egged on by his friends, and seeing an opportunity to raise enough cash to take himself and his sister to the Moon – where their advanced technology will allow her to walk again – he reluctantly agrees to take the controls again and play.

So far it sounds like a pretty standard teen action anime show – but there a number of things about Basquash! that make it stand out from that, pretty large, crowd. The first one that strikes you is it’s incredible production values. The world of Earth Side is incredibly fleshed out – its messy but always sunny urban setting is a beautifully rendered playground meets junkyard, infinitely detailed and teaming with life. It is reminiscent of Studio 4°C’s high budget movie Tekkon Kinkreet in many ways, especially in how it manages to convey the feeling of a believable, lived-in world that always feels like cartoon fantasy. The background art is astonishing throughout, especially the iconic, vast, hologram-festooned, neon-jeweled Moon that hangs in the sky both day and night, dominating not only the city visually, but also the lives of its inhabitants economically and psychologically – the source of their oppression and the object of their desires. It is the show’s defining image, both beautifully mesmerising and threatening in equal measures.

Similarly the character designs grab the attention immediately. While obviously drawn up with the teen market in mind; their street-wise urban look also seems just clumsy enough to feel convincing. Even their kawaii genetically engineered pets – seemingly only there to provide an opportunity to shift more collectible capsule toys – don’t grate to hard. But of standout interest are the designs of the Big Foot mechas themselves – instead of going with the almost generic, current trend for post Gundam and Evangelion style of gleaming, ultra hi-tech robot designs the show goes in the completely opposite direction. Scrap built and awkward looking – with their cockpits fashioned from scrapped retro car bodies – each Big Foot looks unique and customised, fitting perfectly with the shows junk yard aesthetic. In fact, almost every aspect of the show’s visuals suggests a staff that, while still ensuring they ticked every box on the marketing checklist, managed to maintain consistent artistic vision throughout the long, laborious production process and apparently with a considerably higher than average budget. A true rarity in the current climate, and making Basquash! worth checking out for this alone.

And there are other ways in which Basquash! is slightly unusual. One of it’s most baffling is the amount of sexual content in the show. Fanservice is, perhaps regrettably depending on your viewpoint, not uncommon in modern anime TV, but there seems to be something qualitatively different about the show some fans are already calling Boobsquash! There seems to have been an attempt to make the shows sexual side fit naturally – as though its an essential part of the chemistry that fuels the shows playful, energetic pulse. It takes the form of more than just the familiar T&A close-ups – though there’s no shortage of these either – there’s a strong, explicit sexual energy amongst some of the key characters, with one female player seemingly orgasming when she loses to a male rival. It’s hugely suggestive but done in a stylistic, knowing way that implies eroticism rather than screams it, but while its a device employed skillfully in past shows like Cowboy Bebop and Michiko to Hatchin, theres no denying that giving Basquash! a sexual edge feels jarring at times – even considering how differently Japanese pop culture treats sexuality – in a show that seems so primarily aimed at children.

And that is perhaps Basquash!’s biggest enigma – what exactly is it’s intended target demographic? It’s common anime industry marketing practice to create child-orientated product that also appeals to wealthier 20-something otaku – but Basquash! pushes it so far at times that it almost feels like, perhaps unintentional, satire. With some interesting things to say thematically about social inequality and the media, hopefully this is part of the writers intentions, and we’ll have to watch some more of the following 21 episodes to see if it lives up to this deeper potential. What is clear is that they intended to create a show that oozes cool, street smarts and above all fun – and whatever you think of Basquash!, it’s hard to disagree that they have, so far at least, succeeded.

The first thing about Shinji Aramaki‘s Viper’s Creed to grab my attention when scanning through last season’s schedules was that it is a mecha series that deals with life within a Blackwater style Private Military Company, or PMC. Set in the crumbling, flooded Fort Davia, a fictitious city attempting to rebuild itself after the devastation of global warming and a subsequent world war, it follows a squad of ‘Blademen’ – mecha pilots employed initially by Arqon Global Security (AGS) to defend the city from rogue, discarded automated weapons. However, as the plot unfolds events become far more complex, with the main characters finding themselves embroiled in conspiracy and the object of hatred from a dissatisfied public.

Not that you get even a hint of that from the first episode, which is nothing but pure action. The squad is sent out in their shiny, transforming bike-mechs to take down a BugMech, a rogue robot walking tank that’s speeding towards the crowded city. What we get as a result is 23 minutes of high octane CGI mech-fighting and colorful explosions while a wholly inexplicable and logically unnecessary gaggle of moe office girls – sorry, ‘operators’ – look on spouting similarly unnecessary encouragement and advice. Sadly the whole thing feels a little a studio not wanting to take to much of a risk of alienating it’s audience – as if it’s saying ‘yes, this might look a bit serious – but we have got pretty girls and big robots kicking the shit out of each other, honest. Oh, and here’s some big-breasted fan-service for you – in the opening credits.’ And it’s a message the show seems to be trying to get across quite a bit in the first few episodes.

Which is a shame, because even in these early shows there’s some quite interesting themes emerging. With the AGS troops facing not only the bug mechs but also terrorists, kidnappers and civilian protests at their activities, there’s obviously the potential here for what could be an interesting critique of the role insurgent facing US troops and PMCs play in Iraq and Afghanistan. For example, the squad run into trouble in episode 3 when they inadvertently kill some of the civilians they are trying to protect, causing a backlash from the already downtrodden public. But again there’s the feeling that, as the anime industry stares the cold, dark reality of Japan’s recession in the face, that producing studio Sony Pictures doesn’t want to take any risks, and that someone, somewhere, did everything they could to try and make this just another mecha drama.

Sadly, one of the places where this is most obvious is in Viper’s Creed visual style. While the automated, disposable BugMech’s have a believable, Shirow-like industrial design, the transforming ‘Maneuver Blades’ deployed by AGS look far less realistic, much more plastic and a little too much like they were drawn up with toy sales in mind. Similarly, the character designs are unimaginative and predictable, and the entire pallet of the show seems to feel a little too light and brash for a show with such a potentially dark subject matter. Too often it feels like the show, at some point in it’s development and production process, has been dumbed down from a tense political drama into yet another easily digestible shonen/teenage drama. For example, do we really need to see shots of our battle-hardened mercenaries boarding their mechs by running down corridors and sliding down pointless elaborate theme-park tubes like something out of Thunderbirds?

In all reasonableness, I may well be being too harsh on Viper’s Creed. The show has just finished it’s TV run in Japan, and I’ve still got eight episodes to catch up with, so it’s early days still. Normally I would probably have ditched this show by now, but there’s something about it that has me holding out hope. There is potential here. I was expecting something tenser, deeper and perhaps similar to early Patlabor in it’s merging of drama, mechs and corporate politics, and maybe, after a few weeks of settling in, the scripts can push it a little more in that direction. Depending on time and what delights the spring season has to other, I’m pretty sure I’ll be back to Viper’s Creed at some point to see if my hunch is right.

(Note: This is the third and final part of an ongoing review of RideBack. Read the first and second parts.)

As Japan’s winter anime season ends, so too does what was arguably it’s highlight: Atsushi Takahashi’s 12 part series RideBack. A refreshingly unique take on the teenage mecha genre, it’s merging of dark politics, ballet and reluctant heroes – while also rejecting anime standards such as fan service and obligitary romance – seemingly dividing fans and critics. It seems partly this was due to show’s gentile, graceful pace – a result perhaps of Takahashi’s Ghibli background, and his wish to never let the viewer forget his main protagonist’s ballerina past – and while it became the show’s trademark, it seems to have left some commentators craving a little more action, along with a quicker moving plot. It’s interesting then, that the director hasn’t shied away from this style, even in the concluding episodes of the show’s finale.

That’s not to say that some of the brutality shown in earlier episodes is absent. Earlier in the series we saw Rin’s kid brother tortured by the corrupt GGP regime, and in episode 10 this is surpassed when one of her friends is mistaken for her at a political rally, with devastating and fatal results. In many ways it’s here that the show is at it’s strongest – it’s depiction of Japan under the control of a global totalitarian authority is one of a seemingly normal and familiar society – until lines are crossed. What we are seeing here is a very 21st century dictatorship; hidden, friendly and nothing for you to worry about – as long as you stay in line. In many ways it feels like Takahashi is holding up modern day politics to us and asking us to face our own apathy towards those things we’d rather not bother ourselves with; civil rights infringements, surveilance, the news nedia and the questionable aspects of the war on terror.

If this is the show’s intention, then central character Rin Ogata is it’s purest embodiment. She never once shows an interest in politics – throughout the series her main motivation seemingly being to find something to replace dancing in her life, and even when ridebacks seem to fill this void she rejects them when the situations around her become too complex. Reluctant heroes are nothing new in anime – the unwitting, angst ridden teenage mecha pilot saving the world has been a standard archetype since Neon Genesis Evangelion, and perhaps even earlier – but Rin seems to take it even further. She rejects the role of symbolic figurehead to the protest movement and abhors violence and the use of RBs as weapons, getting involved in the action only when she sees her friends or family are being threatened. Even in the final episode – while resistance fighters and GGP forces clash elsewhere in what is by far the bloodiest battle of the series – Rin finds her own way of resisting, allowing her friends to escape as she defeats a squad of unmanned mechs using a series of ballet moves. It’s an unusual, but powerful and beautifully animated sequence, and while some fans have expressed disappointment at Rin’s lack of violence considering what she has endured at the hands of the GGP, it brings the show full-circle thematically, and fits Rin’s character perfectly and believably. She is, after all, a ballet dancer and not a terrorist. As she fights the unpiloted mechs on the ground where her friend was brutally killed, it feels like her actions are driven as much by self expression and a desire to not be made into something she is not, as they are by revenge or a quest for political justice.

It’s easy to understand why some viewers will feel disappointed though – while RideBack personally ticked key boxes for me, it’s mixture of political dissatisfaction and calm pacing reminding me in some ways of the first two Patlabor films – for others a more explosive ending would have felt more comfortable, more familiar. That aside, there’s still so much to recomend the show – along with it’s beautiful animation and it’s skillful use of both electronic and classical music, it features what is possibly the most accurate portrayal of computer hacking depicted in an anime show to date. It’s unclear whether there will be attempts to extend the franchise – while the GGP has been driven out of Japan, the rest of the world still lies in it’s grip – but in many ways it feels like Rin Ogata’s story is very much over, with the finale’s final frames showing us yet again, in amongst all the chaos and violence, what she really values the most.

(Note: This is the third and final part of an ongoing review of RideBack. Read the first and second parts.)

It’s the same old story: too much anime, not enough time. The new spring season kicks off in Japan this week, and here I am still trying to catch up with last season’s offerings. Well at least I can save myself – and maybe you – some time; this month’s first episodes round up features two shows I might watch more of and two I’ll shortly be dragging to the trash can. Still, that’s not to say you might not enjoy them.

Kurogane no Linebarrels (2008 – 2009)

What do you do when one tired, creaking, over-milked anime formula just isn’t enough? Why, get two of course, and force them to mate and reproduce yet more dull, retarded spawn. Like Gonzo‘s Kurogane no Linebarrels (Linebarrels of Iron). Based on the shōnen manga by Eiichi Shimizu and Tomohiro Shimoguchi, it combines both the magical girlfriend and mecha genres in the most painfully obvious way possible. Kouichi Hayase is a 14 year old schoolboy who, surprise surprise, is being bullied by some of his school mates, while some of the others, apparently meant to be his friends, just patronise him. That is, of course until a mysterious girl falls on top of him from the sky (they do seem to have a nasty habit of doing that), and somehow gives a giant mech to pilot. Or something.

This show really has nothing to recommend it. The art is at best generic, and at times just nasty – the CGI mechs in particular are hideous to look at, failing completely to sit realistically in front of the 2D backgrounds and looking like they where rendered on a Sega Saturn. The plot is, well, minimal in the first episode, and the characters apparently just another collection of overused stereotypes. The whole thing feels like someone left it to the last minute, panicked, and then just tried to rip off Neon Genesis Evangelion yet again, but with all the clever and beautiful bits left out. Shame, as I had heard interesting things about the manga in the past, and while I might still check that out I won’t be coming back to the anime again. Next.

Kurokami (2009)

Produced by Sunrise and based on Dall-Young Lim and Sung-Woo Park‘s manga, Kurokami (Black God) is, thankfully, much more interesting. While it again plays with established ideas like magical girlfriends and the supernatural, it does so in a more intelligent and challenging way. The plot is based around Keita Ibuki, a young computer programmer haunted by the death of his mother at an early age, and obsessed with discovering to truth about her doppelganger that somehow seems to be responsible. One night, while eating alone at a Ramen stand, he encounters a young homeless girl Kuro, who transpires is actually a Tera Guardian/Mototsumitama – a God-like being charged with maintaining the balance of existence.

The art is better than average, with some nice, moody depictions of Tokyo and some attractive, if not highly original character designs. The dark-edged script is where the show really shines though, with the first episode delivering a shocking, jaw-dropping ending. Worth checking out.

Kuroshitsuji (2008 – 2009)

Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) looks interesting at first – yet again based on a successful manga and the fact that it’s set in Victorian era London certainly grabbed my attention. Sebastian Michaelis is the butler to 12 year old Ciel Phantomhive, the head of an aristocratic family and their sweet and toy producing empire. But, of course, Sebastian isn’t just your average butler – that wouldn’t be in anyway interesting enough. He is in fact – guess what! – a demon.

I’ll be completely honest with you; I didn’t make it past the advert break in the first episode. While the artwork looks interesting at first with it’s kind of moe-goth take on Victorian England, I just couldn’t see past the childish humour and stereotypical characters I’m afraid. Granted, I’m probably not the target demographic for this one – I’m guessing 13 year old emo girls will be loving swooning over the enigmatic Sebastian – so if you fit that description give it a go and let me know how wrong I am.

White Album (2009)

Seven Arc‘s White Album is actually based on a visual novel (or dating sim – a uniquely Japanese form of video game) and a subsequent manga. The central protagonist is university student Tōya Fujii, and the show is based on his angst ridden stumble through life, and in particular his relationship (or lack of it) with up and coming idol singer Yuki Morikawa.

Any show that opens with a dream sequence triggered by it’s hapless main character waking to the sounds of his girlfriend being interviewed on TV instantly gets my attention for some inventiveness with it’s narrative, and similarly the show is highly polished visually. The problem was as I followed it’s characters bumble around campus life, endlessly talking about relationships, I couldn’t help feeling that I might be watching the Japanese equivalent of the OC or Dawson’s Creek. Having said that the scripting is pretty tight, and – time permitting – it is quite likely I might be coming back to check out some more.

So there you go – as always, let me know in the comments below if you think I’m missing the point about one of these shows or just utterly wrong. And check back over the next few weeks to find out what I think about some of the new season’s premieres.

Well, I never thought I’d find myself talking about aging, over-rated pub-rockers Oasis on this site, but here we go – powerhouse studio Production IG announced today that their highly anticipated anime show Eden of the East will feature music from the band. To be precise Falling Down, a track off their Dig Out Your Soul recent album, will be used over the opening credits. Far more interesting to me than the music itself is the business wranglings that must have taken place behind the scenes to secure this sort of deal. Are Production IG so recession proof that they can splash out the cash for this kind of deal? Or are Oasis’ record company really desperate to drum up some interest in the Asian markets? I don’t, for a second, believe that the Gallagher brothers are anime fans, but I’m willing to be proven wrong.

Don’t panic though, IG music composer and living legend Kenji Kawai is back to compose the score. Phew.

The show itself looks very interesting – written and directed by Kenji Kamiyama (GiTS:SAC, Jin-Roh, Blood: The Last Vampire) it is the kind of mature anime that has been sadly largely lacking from Japanese schedules for the last few years. From the IG press release:

On November 22, 2010 ten missiles strike Japan. However, this unprecedented terrorist act, later to be called as “Careless Monday,” does not result in any apparent victims, and is soon forgotten by almost everyone. Then, 3 months later… Saki Morimi is a young woman currently in the United States of America on her graduation trip. But just when she is in front of the White House, Washington DC, she gets into trouble, and only the unexpected intervention of one of her fellow countrymen saves her. However, this man, who introduces himself as Akira Takizawa, is a complete mystery. He appears to have lost his memory. and he is stark naked, except for the gun he holds in one hand, and the mobile phone he’s holding with the other hand. A phone that is charged with 8,200,000,000 yen in digital cash.

Check out the trailer and more info (in Japanese) here. The show premieres in Japan next month, with a connected feature film opening at cinemas later in the year. IG have obviously invested a lot in this project, so hopefully they feel they have something special. More details as I get them.

(Note: This is the second part of an ongoing review of RideBack. The first part can be read here and the final part here.)

If you read my review last month of the first three episodes of Atsushi Takahashi‘s teenage mecha series RideBack then you’ll remember that I was pretty impressed with it, especially it’s more mature take on what is quite an established genre. One element that intrigued me was the way the show’s political backdrop was being slowly introduced; news reports and media clips played out in the background, while it’s teenage protagonists seemed blissfully disinterested. Well, you can only ignore global totalitarian regimes – and the inevitable insurgents that spring up in reaction to them – for so long; both have a habit of making you pretty damn aware of them sooner rather than later. And usually not in a good way. It’s certainly fair to say this is true for ex-ballerina Rin Ogata and her college pals by episode 4, when they start to find it pretty hard to ignore those news reports – especially as they’re in some of them.

For a start, when Rin breaks through an army blockade on her RideBack to get her roommate out of a terrorist attack on a shopping mall, she doesn’t just grab the attention of the media, police and the GGP (the aforementioned, shadowy fascistic regime) but also the piqued interest of the so-called terrorists themselves. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg; despite pleas from club boss Tenshirō Okakura to keep her head low, things start to take a turn for the even more serious when her kid brother Kenji falls in with a gang of RideBack riders on an Akira style rampage, and she steps in to try and bail him out, not realising that the whole stunt has been a set-up to allow the GGP to publicly show off it’s new (distinctly Patlabor like) police RideBacks. It doesn’t end well, with her arrested and being forced to watch her brother being tortured by GGP secret police. With just that one brief scene, both the tone and focus of the show shifts permanently.

I won’t say too much more – I’m not here to give a you a blow by blow account of what happens in every episode or reveal spoilers – just to say that Rin gets busted out by some new allies, we learn some more about Okakura’s murky background, the GGP flexes it’s military muscle, and Rin decides to never ride a RB again. Well, presumably until another friend or family member is danger again in episode 10, at a guess. We also, unsurprisingly, get to see a lot more of the RideBack’s in action – including combat – as well as learning a little about the software and hardware that makes them work, and why young Rin has such a natural talent for riding the things. While the designs – like the initial premise of the show – seem a little outlandish at first, the way the RBs move and operate is fairly convincing, the whole concept of a mech balancing on two tyres and being controlled by its pilot shifting their weight might might seem harder to swallow if we weren’t all familiar with the sight of a Segway and its advanced balance control systems.

And that’s still RideBack’s biggest win: taking a typically unlikely anime premise and making it believable and compelling. If there’s one concern it’s where exactly does the plot go from here – its only just got into gear, and there’s only three more of it’s initial 12 episode run left. It seems that so much as been started that can’t be finished that quickly – or is Madhouse betting on the series being popular enough to get an extended run, a second series or an OVA? Time will tell. Check back in a few weeks when the season has ended and I’ll be sharing my final impression and concluding thoughts.

(Note: This is the second part of an ongoing review of RideBack. The first part can be read here.)

(Note: This is the second part of an ongoing review of RideBack. The first part can be read here and the final part here.)

Michiko to Hatchin is yet another anime series with expectations to live up to. Producing studio Manglobe has formed a fierce reputation for itself in the six short years since it’s conception, already delivering stylish, innovative shows such as Samurai Champloo and Ergo Proxy, both of which had also benefited from Sayo Yamamoto‘s impressive storyboarding skills. M&H marks her directorial debut, but she’s also got some impressive staff to back her up. Most notable is character designer Hiroshi Shimizu, who has an insane CV that includes The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, Jin-Roh – The Wolf Brigade, Ghost in The Shell: Stand Alone Complex and Metropolis. Oh, and don’t forget his stint at Ghibli as a key animator, which saw him working on classics such as Princess Mononoke, Pom Poko and Porco Rosso among others. And did I mention that minor deity Champloo and Cowboy Bebop creator Shinichirō Watanabe acted as music producer for the series?

It’s an impressive legacy, and one that the show never shrinks from. In fact as soon the opening sequence rolls, it doesn’t as much try to remind you of it’s heritage, as much as scream it at you. It’s a hyperactive, over-stylized collage of colour and characters set to a frantic jazz-punk soundtrack from legendary Japanese experimentalists Soil & “Pimp” Sessions that instantly recalls the openings of both Champloo and Bebop. As such, it’s a bold statement.

And as if all that’s not enough, the two eponymous starring roles are voiced by noted Japanese film actresses Yoko Maki (The Grudge) and Suzuka Ohgo (Memoirs of a Geisha) respectively. Getting well known screen actors to play anime rolls is still a rarity in the industry, and shows just how intent Manglobe is to impress with its latest offering.

Set in a fictional South American country clearly based on Brazil, the plot centers around the unlikely pairing of escaped convict and ex gang member Michiko Malandro and orphan child Hana “Hatchin” Morenos. Hana is being raised by the twisted and abusive family of a corrupt Roman Catholic priest when Michiko, fresh from busting out of a famed high security prison and pursued by half of the country’s police force, turns up and rescues her, claiming she is her mother. Unsure whether to trust or believe her at first, Hana tags along not only to escape her hellish situation, but also intrigued that the two share the same, apparently gang related, tattoo.

What follows is a succession of stylised, violent and at times seedy firefights, car chases and brawls as the two try to evade the cops and rival gang members, make some money and find out what has really happened to Hana’s allegedly dead father. In fact, the action is so stylised that it would be easy, at first glance, to dimiss the show as lacking in real substance, but like Bebop and Champloo before it in the end it’s actually the characters and emotive story telling that keeps the viewer hooked. Behind the action and sex appeal is a tale of two broken individuals with tragic pasts, and the story of a mother and daughter trying to fill roles they’ve suddenly been thrown into. At times it’s exceptionally dark and heart wrenching – particularly in the very first episode, as we see Hana’s horrific treatment at the hands of her sadistic foster parents and siblings. This is real, damaging child abuse being depicted – both mental and physical – and just when you think they’ve gone too far, you realise the show’s creators are building to a powerful, vengeful release as bike riding Michiko literally bursts into the house to rescue her terrified daughter.

The animation throughout reaches the usual high Manglobe standards – action sequences are fluid and often breathtaking, and the stylised, sun washed backgrounds reminiscent of City of God, along with the disturbing imagery of gun-totting child gangsters. Shimizu’s character design is bold and flawless, and of particular interest is Michiko herself – her overtly sexy appearance and violent temper is obviously a nod towards to Faye Valentine, yet she also possess a certain courage and perhaps hidden tenderness that her predecessor lacked. There is occasional nudity and frequent cleavage, but the strength of the characters makes the aim seem to be maturity and atmosphere rather than fan service. All this is set to Watanabe guided, latin-tinged music, and while it may lack the careful juxtaposition of Bebop and Champloo‘s soundtracks, there’s no denying it’s perfect fit and synchronisation.

While they might not have the immediate, unusual charm of the Watanabe works they will so clearly be compared to and, and are probably meant to mimic in terms of success, the first five episodes of Michiko to Hatchin are still compelling viewing. Don’t be mislead by my descriptions of the shows darker side – there’s plenty of humour to be had too along with a slightly camp, retro blaxploitation vibe – including a transvestite that possibly looks a little like Spike Spiegel, but it’s the show’s stylish visuals combined with the characters and their yet to be fully revealed back-stories that make this one to follow for the rest of it’s initial run. Check back over the next few weeks for more.