が望む永遠/Kimi ga Nozomu Eien / The Eternity You Wish For

Kimi ga Nozomu Eien really hits me on an emotional level. Nutshelled, the plot is that a boy and a girl begin dating, even though the boy actually prefers her best friend. This best friend likes the boy too, but doesn’t show it because she only made his acquaintance in the first place to set up the romance for her friend. After some time passes, the boy starts to realise he really does like his girlfriend enough to fall in love with her, but then she is involved in a traffic accident, ending up in a coma. After three years, she wakes up – but the boy is now in a relationship with her best friend…and they have to keep it a secret, fearing the damage the shock of learning the truth might do.

The boy, Takayuki, makes me despair. He’s too cowardly to make a choice, so strings along both girls – deceiving his original girlfriend while letting the newer relationship crumble. I ended up wishing the girls would just leave him, especially the newer girlfriend, who he treats in such a cold, cruel manner. But of course relationship drama wouldn’t be drama if everyone made the right decisions all the time, and I doubt anyone put in such a difficult position would act much better.

I watched the anime at a time when it meant a lot to me…so it feels strange that it’s one of the anime from the period I remember least clearly. There’ve been OVAs since then, and it took a long time for me to even remember what happened in the original episodes when I heard the news. But Kimi ga Nozomu Eien is actually one of the best dramatic anime to centre purely on a relationship, and certainly one of the most mature anime to be based on a visual novel with sex scenes.

(Adapted from original impressions, 1.11.04)

プリンセスチュチュ / Princess Tutu

As I wrote when I first saw it, ‘Princess Tutu is a wonderful, weird and wacky anime about ballet with a lovely soundtrack [made up of] new interpretations of the great ballet themes by Tchaikovsky, Bizet, Delibes et al. Where else can you see a duck-girl taught by a crazy Puss-in-Boots teacher who threatens to marry pupils if they misbehave watching an anteater girl perform the male part of a pas de deux with a prince in the place of the girl?’ (Oct 20, 2003).

There’s something about Princess Tutu that makes it very, very special. I quite genuinely call it amongst the best anime of all time, and I’d quite vehemently defend an assertion that it’s the very best anime ever to have a very, very stupid premise, stupid name, stupid way of having characters resolve their problems and stupid overall world. Because what Princess Tutu grows from is very daft, and where it goes is masterful. I pity those that can’t get past the name or premise.

Princess Tutu is, probably unsurprisingly, an anime about ballet, and most of the most popular ones get a reference of one sort or another. Tchaikovsky is at the heart of the plot: in a ballet school in a romantic fantasy kingdom, a young girl is at the bottom of her class. Her secret, barely known to her, is that she is in fact not a girl but a duck with a magical pendant: indeed, her name is Ahiru, which simply means ‘duck’, and if she quacks, then she transforms into a cute duckling until she gets into some water, when she changes back. But the pendant allows for a further transformation, from the brave girl into the beautiful ideal ballerina, Princess Tutu. Ahiru is in love with the mysterious Mytho (pronounced ‘Myuuto’, probably better transliterated as ‘Mute’), a quiet and strange boy in the school. But as the mysterious Drosselmeyer sets a new story into motion, all the central characters find out that they are connected to the characters of an old story, and soon are forced to question whether they are real at all, or just characters in a story with an inevitable fate.

The balance of the story works brilliantly, for any audience prepared to give it the slightest chance. The first episodes are carried along by the sheer eccentricity and humour of the world - the aforementioned cats and anteaters, not to mention puppets and strange prawn-like innkeepers. Where normal magical girl series might feature a fight, Tutu features a dance that reveals the innermost heart. Really nothing very compelling, but fun and idiosyncratic enough to engage. But that is when, more or less with the shift to a second season, Tutu got darker and more sophisticated, although the ideas behind the change were obviously in place from the start. By the end, very little turns out as expected. At the time I finished it, (Dec 5th 2004), I ‘felt the end was so unfair on poor Ahiru, the noblest character in the anime, despite her humble nature…’, but the more I thought about it, the stronger the ending was because it wasn’t fair. Princess Tutu is not a story of magical happy endings and contrivances. It’s about a cruel (but likeable) madman manipulating others, and the struggle to stop him.

It doesn’t matter if the idea of ballet puts you off, or the first episodes seem babyish and trivial. Princess Tutu will impress you by the end. I feel I can say that with complete confidence. Its quality by the end is some of the best anime can offer, if not in aesthetic then in writing. And of course, it has some of the best music in hundreds of years.

ローゼンメイデン / Rozen Maiden (season 1)

It may be slightly surprising, given that it was one of my favourite anime, but all I wrote after the first season of Rozen Maiden was, ‘I tell you this: it may only have been 12 episodes, but Rozen Maiden really was an excellent anime. I’ll have to read the manga. What seemed a childish premise bloomed (forgive the pun!) into a moving, sophisticated coming-of-age story, full of symbols of puberty and based on some great humour.’ But back then I wasn’t writing out full impressions.

Rozen Maiden was the first of Peach-Pit’s series I encountered, and I think it is by far their best – although Shugo Chara is an extremely good complement to this darker and more striking work, showing the duo’s versatility and great skill in balancing humour and drama. Rozen Maiden is iconic and instantly recognisable, and if it’s part of a fad that included the likes of Saint October, it managed to be sincere and affectionate in portraying the idealised tropes of the Lolita fashion subculture and contain some of the most striking characters, designs and magical abilities in all anime. Oh, and great music.

Jun is a ‘hikkikomori’, a shut-in who has become acutely socially withdrawn after problems at school. He amuses himself by ordering things with a trial period and then returning them before having to pay. At one point he finds a mysterious message asking him if he wishes to ‘wind’, and flippantly answers yes. He then receives a beautiful doll in Victorian-style clothing – who soon awakens and treats Jun as a servant. She is one of seven dolls striving to defeat one another to become the perfect daughter, but as apart from one they are all on one level or another very human and sympathetic – for dolls – it is not a simple case of undertaking a series of battles.

The seven sisters’ different personalities and appearances are perhaps the central draw of Rozen Maiden, and it deeply impresses me that the series could have so much character-based humour, and yet each and every one of those characters when serious can be formidable and impressive. Rozen Maiden has beautiful art, amazing performances, hilarious humour, moving drama, a gripping concept, some superb visuals – all it needs is a strong conclusion. Alas, Peach-Pit have yet to provide us with one of those, and their track record for providing one is…not spectacular.

The anime ended up taking its own direction anyway – but there is still the Rozen Maiden II manga to adapt…

スクラップド・プリンセス/ Scrapped Princess

‘I am so glad I watched “Scrapped Princess”, a privilege it seems to me few Westerners have enjoyed. It’s a wonderful, clever, inventive and moving story, particularly episodes 21-23. The ending was typical anime – a bit unconvincing, reminding me of Eva – but the characters were just sublime. An awesome anime, universally appealing. I wish there were more.’ - October 12, 2003

It’s been a long time, now, since I watched Sutepri, but it remains a favourite of mine, from a period of anime I consider to have been a fleeting golden age – just as anime was getting really pretty, more cerebral and had firmly established its stock characters without them yet growing too stale, but before the mid-decade gimmicks of moéblobs, psychotic yandere characters and, more recently, overwrought irony tarnished it all again.

The first episode of Scrapped Princess is a stunner: in a medieval-style world, a stubborn blonde noble is under the protection of two bodyguards. She is the princess of the unfortunately Engrishy title: discarded by the royal family at birth because she is prophecied to bring great ruin to the world. I usually don’t like plots driven by prophecies, but they are after all classic, and this one at least centres on the idea that the prophecy could just be nonsense, and whether it is worth killing a child over something mystical. The first episode ends with the Cassul siblings, the two bodyguards, taking care of a threat, and the way Shannon remains so motherly and pleasant even as she displays her impressive abilities forever cemented her as one of my favourite characters. Indeed, it all goes a bit lazily sci-fi at the end, but that doesn’t stop it being an anime with a great world, outstanding characters and a very pretty aesthetic.

It’s proven quite an enduring title, so my ‘few Westerners’ comment seems a bit off now: while still certainly not an anime that could pass as mainstream, it often crops up in discussions of good anime of the past ten years, and its theme song proved popular, often cropping up in mixes for the likes of Stepmania or anime-based mixtapes.

One of the slew of anime that made me into a lifelong fan rather than someone who casually dips into a show or two a year, I will always have fond memories of Pacifica and co. I really ought to rewatch the whole lot.

R.O.D. the TV

I’m sure I mentioned before that Read or Die (the OVA) was the first thing I ever saw with the Cambridge anime club – and it was a riot! A ridiculous premise, a big-boobed character with power over paper, daft Engrish names…and a whole variety of stupid action sequences. But R.O.D. the TV turned out to be far better – less laughable and considerably cooler. It was a spinoff, essentially, but the characters, style, pacing and basic ideas seemed to be a step up from its predecessor.

The series was such a success because it took something so bad it was good and turned it into something so GOOD it’s good. At least until they have to get back to the main plot, when it all gets silly again – but the first half of the series is fantastic…because it focuses on the characters, and in particular Anita King – the pink-haired, strong-willed, utterly adorable girl with a harsh past. It’s not her fighting skills or her past that really matter, though – it’s seeing her going to school, making friends, then finally having to say goodbye to them that’s really important. It’s the soap opera of the action show that make it special – and other characters, especially Maggie and Junior (who for some reason have almost identical personalities), just make the whole thing work, despite the daft story they have to keep going back to: while this means amusing glorification (and disgrace) of a mythologised British Empire, it also means a lot of nonsense about the mind of one ‘Mr. Gentleman’ and a war between China and Britain’s secret services. And really, ‘Ziggy Stardust’?

The show is at its best when the lives of its characters are in focus, and Junior and Anita make such an adorable pair. It’s so rich with ideas. But…when the shounen parts take up too much time, I end up longing for the shoujo elements.

For a story about characters who have magical paper-related powers, based on one of the most absurd animations I’ve ever seen, R.O.D. the TV managed to be one of the best shows of its decade. And the music wasn’t half bad either.

(Collated from impressions on 6.12.03, 16.12.03 and 12.8.05)

L’illusionniste / The Illusionist

Not to be confused with The Illusionist, the 2006 film with Edward Norton and Paul Giamatti, itself easy to confuse with 2005’s The Prestige. All centre on stage magicians and prestidigitation, but L’illusionniste is very different, no thriller or murder mystery, but a small-scale drama from the director of Les Triplettes de Belleville, Stephen Chomet.

The story of the script is quite interesting, written by renowned mime Jacques Tati in 1956 but never produced. The animated illusionist is clearly a depiction of Tati himself, with a section in a cinema added to the film just to drive this point home, so this is something like a new Tati film. It’s also worth knowing that the dynamic of the characters is intended to mirror the fondness of father for daughter, because without knowing this beforehand, it is very hard not to see the film in a very different way – and besides, the matter is complicated by the fact that the daughter in question was abandoned by Tati as an infant…although even the matter of which of two estranged daughters the script was inspired by is in dispute. Indeed, central to the problem of this film is that it often doesn’t make its concepts clear enough.

Les Triplettes de Belleville was of course in many ways a tribute to Tati and his Hulot character, but L’illusionniste is altogether more melancholy and realistic than Chomet’s previous film. With stage magicians losing the attention of their audiences, the central character decides to leave France for England (it was Czechoslovakia in the Tati script). Having no luck in London, he goes to perform in Scotland, and there makes friends with an impressionable young woman who marvels at his talents. He buys her a train fare to Edinburgh, then pays for her board and lodging, and lavishes gifts upon her, struggling hard and working several jobs for the money. She, meanwhile, does nothing but keep house and do some cooking, not only for him but other down-and-out performers in the lodging house.

In the end, she finds a dashing man and the illusionist leaves her behind to find a new way to live, all but penniless and alone. If you see the story from his point of view, it’s a bittersweet tale of self-sacrifice and affection. But focus on her and her motives…and you start to wonder. If you accept that she genuinely thinks the Illusionist can work magic and has unlimited resources, then she’s at first a bit thick and by the end a total moron. Even without common sense her experiences should have made things clear, and they clearly aren’t living lives of luxury. If you think she’s figured it out, she’s a leech and a scrounger. Either way, there’s no reason why she shouldn’t get a job, why she shouldn’t realise that finding a new man in her life could upset her illusionist friend.

Some parts of the film are very funny, especially when the illusionist thinks his rabbit has been cooked. One shot at the end, when light moves as the pages of a book are blown in the wind, is stunningly beautiful. Edinburgh looks incredible, and its realisation was testament to the local artists used for the film. But there is so much more this film should have been, but wasn’t. I would be surprised – indeed, disappointed – if the film won the Oscar, even if it is more sophisticated and artistic than Toy Story 3 or How to Train Your Dragon. For sophistication and artistry are not all that go into a good film.

雲のように風のように/Kumo no you ni, Kaze no you ni/ Like the Clouds, Like the Wind

Often mistaken for a Ghibli movie thanks to its character designs and charm, KumoKaze was in fact produced for TV by Studio Pierrot (who make the animated versions of many shounen classics, like Naruto and Hikaru no Go), and for a TV movie from 1990, it’s very kind on the eyes. The premise – a girl strives to become the Emperor’s head wife in 17th-century China amidst the turmoil of civil war – makes it seem the movie will be an epic, but in fact it is a rather gentle little gem, light and silly and fun.

True, the movie tries to do a little too much at once. It starts out very comic, endearing the childish and vulgar Ginga to us, plus introducing various memorable minor roles, from the mad old woman who guides girls into the palace to the ice-cool girl who just lies on her bed and smokes, but then towards the end brings in some rather overblown drama that doesn’t really sit well with the tone of the rest of the film. Also unconvincing is the sheer coincidence of the antagonists being people Ginga met on her travels. Suddenly what have been rather daft fight scenes are abruptly meant to be taken seriously, and we’re supposed to swallow that Ginga has become rather more adult and assertive without really seeing much in the way of character development. Still, with a cheery grin from the young Kiki-lookalike and a bit more of that fantastical but absorbing period detail, we can forgive these little issues.

Kumokaze isn’t particularly clever, nor especially gripping. Its vast palaces and gorgeous costumes look nice, though some jarring watercolour imitations, repeating backgrounds and economised fighting animations keep the standard definitely below contemporaneous Ghibli (though once again, this was a TV anime). In all, it was like its protagonist a loveable upstart, an underdog that wins affection by brazenness, daring and good humour. I can’t say that I really loved it, but I certainly enjoyed its simple charms and was left feeling very much like I felt after I had watched Majo no Takkyubin – warm and, yes indeed, slightly fuzzy.

(originally written 7.5.07)