Eastern Standard - issue 3

Reviews of Dead or Alive, The Cat’s Return, Godzilla: Destroy All Monster’s Melee

Nihilistic Manga - Korea, Asia’s New Cinema Powerhouse - Impace in Evangelion

Eastern Standard Magazine 4 00

Winter 2003

no. 3

Volume 1

Issue 3

Life after Lain: Yoshitoshi Abe’s Latest Opus

Eastern Standard Magazine Publisher Adam Ferraro

Zen and the art of yoshitoshi ABe

by Derek Guder

Editor-in-Chief Eric Chon Senior Editor Sean Broderick Editors Eric Chon Derek Guder Jana Colonna-Romano Graphic Design Eric Chon Frankie Benevides Front Cover Art Jeremiah Colonna-Romano Back Cover Art Victoria Reed Staff Writers Eric Chon Derek Guder Andrew Cunningham Contributors Mait Walker Mike Mearls Leigh Bradford

Pg. 10 Ninjas, kimonos, and oni, oh my! What makes the work of yoshitoshi ABe so compelling and unique? While a lot of manga borrows thematically from history, where is the artistic connection to their Japanese roots? We explore Zen Buddhism’s contribution to ABe’s work and why Derek thinks he seems more “Japanese” compared to his contemporaries. An introduction to Haibane Renmei follows on page 16.

Korea - Asia’s New Cinematic Powerhouse

by Eric Chon

Top 5 Strongbad E-Mails 5. Monster Truck 4. New Hands 3.Comic 2. Japanese Cartoon 1. Dragon Contributions and Submissions dguder@eastern-standard.com For Advertising, please write ads@eastern-standard.com Donations We will accept your unwanted computers, money, fan art, and toys Special Thanks

Mike, Emily, our friends, Kinko’s, GameCube, Homestar Runner, Kikkoman - Soysauce Warrior, Trogdor - The Burninator Eastern Standard Magazine is published bi-annually. No articles may be reproduced without prior consent. Zombies are for burning.

Volume 2, Number 3.

Pg. 19 Welcome to Korea - land of Bulgogi, Tae Kwon Do, and Asia’s fastest growing cinema industry! More and more Korean movies are grabbing the attention of the world and not letting go. What makes them unique and noteworthy compared to the films of Hong Kong and Japan? And where did this homegrown industry come from? A quickie guide to some of the more significant films from this penninsula begins on page 24.

This magazine is funded and published by all those who’ve helped make this a reality. All articles are copyright their respect authors and all images and characters are copyright their respective owners. Please don’t sue us, we can’t pay as we’re all poor and destitute. If anything in this magazine is similar to any person who is dead, living, partially dead, not really living, or undead...this is pure coincidence and I promise it won’t happen again. Unless it does. ©2003

Mindless Gibberish

Does dealings with the occult, human sexuality, and pocky rockets make Discommunication worth checking out? Read on and find out why Ueshiba Reach is one of the most original manga-ka today.

Pg. 6

Presumptions of Godhood What the goddamn (no pun intended) was the Human Instrumentality Project? Apparently, one of our very own has an idea.

Herr Guder takes a stab at unravelling Evangelion. Warning: Spoilers Ahead!

Pg. 37

Columns and Departments

Discommunicating Arts

Why do we have three classic ova’s for review? What pains did we take to get this issue to you? Find insights and complaints and a personal look at our progress since Otakon. Learn about the mistakes we made and fixed. Even learn about why we changed our name! Our editors bitch and moan, but also provide nuggets of joy - like leprechauns!

Pg. 4

Contact and Submission Information Want to write for Eastern Standard Magazine? Good!

We want you to! Check here for what we’re looking for and how to get in contact with us. Send us your praise and complaints.

Pg. 39

Neko No Ongaeshi

Graphic Nihilism

The Cat’s Return has a lot to live up to - especially following the blockbuster Sen to Chihiro. Does it? Find out!

Pg. 30

In the face of escapist fantasy and popcorn entertainment, Andrew digs deep and unearths two manga that buck the status quo. How does social commentary work in these manga? And how far do they go?

Step deep into Takeshi Miike’s twisted mind and find out what this punk rock Yakuza thriller is all about.

Pg. 32

Dead or Alive

Classic OVAs Revisted!

Pgs. 18, 34, 36

We get some fresh views at some tried and true classics. You love ‘em, you grew up with them. But what happens when you unleash them onto new fans? Or non fans?

Do they still hold true?

Godzilla: Destroy All Monsters Melee

Want to ruin Tokyo? Or San Francisco? Tear through real life cities in this monster Battle Royale!

Pg. 35

Heaps of Korean Movie Reviews A companion piece to our exposé of this peninsula’s burgeoning cinema industry - check out what movies you have to see, and what might dissappoint.

Pg. 24

Other Reviews

Pg. 28

I Burninate You! I have a few things on my mind that I wish to address. First, the name change. We were originally called Eastern Standard Time. But this brought confusion between us and a book with the same name (they came first), so we just shortened it. I own the book and I dig it so I’d rather not step on anyone’s toes.

Second, our classic OVA reviews. They’ve just recently (within the past few months) been released on DVD, and while Derek and I both love ‘em to death, we figured we’d give them to some anime n00bs and see how they faired. After all, these can become pure nostalgia for fogey’s like us and it just be 450 words of gushing.

To us, their place in the annals of anime is well known and understood (even experienced).

Third, how this issue was birthed (so to speak). There’s a lot to be said about being an amateur rag. We’re able to change design standards and be a little risqué with the content. We’re given room to grow without pre-conceived expectations. But there’s a ton to be said about profesionalism - timeliness, standards of quality, and the ability to meet deadlines. Doesn’t it always come back to that? We’ve won some battles and continue to improve...but man! We always seem to push it to the very edge - a little better this time than last. At least we’re learning!

I feel this issue is a huge step forward for us in every respect. And this couldn’t have happened without the team we worked with. If you enjoy this magazine in any way, shape, or form, they are the reason. Thanks guys.

-Eric (who is sometimes an asshole Editor-in-Chief)

The Perils of Popularity A while back I visited my old college to attend a meeting of the anime club drum up interest in Anime Boston (I’m on the board of directors for it, consider that my shameless and obligatory you-should-attend-or-die plug and let’s be done with it). Someone there wanted to know my opinion of anime’s growing popularity. If I thought it was a good thing.

I was kinda surprised, actually. Like there’s actually doubt as to what my opinion could possibly be. I want a world where anime is not considered exotic, strange or something most people "just don’t get." I want anime on every television station. I want full-scale theatrical releases for anime blockbusters. I want two-dozen different anime magazines in the stack next to Cosmo and Maxim at my local newsstand. Hell, I even want well-known celebrities to be brought in to work on dubs.

Even if most that is filled with DBZ, Pokemon or (God forbid) Yu-Gi-Oh!, I’ll still be able to find more than enough to fill my time and empty my wallet. Just look at the American television and film industry. I have no interest in most of it, but even ruling out "most" from something that expansive leaves me with a great deal to watch and enjoy. Sure, more anime in the mainstream means more dubs and more edits, but they provide the cash that keeps the uncut and subbed versions cheap, especially with the power of the DVD format. Greater popularity of anime, even those I don’t care for, directly translates into far more anime that I do really want for far less money. And that can only be a good thing.

Remember that the next time you start ranting about how Bandai has "sold out" and needs to die because they’re talking about putting the Ghost in the Shell TV series on Cartoon Network.

If you and your buddies just want to revel in some esoteric and isolations hobby that lets you feel more 1337 than the plebes who pushed you around in high school, find another hobby.

- a sometimes rather bitter little Derek

Like many authors, the kind of story Ueshiba Reach has been interested in telling has changed dramatically over the years .

Unlike many authors, this has not prevented him from successfully continuing his series in any way, shape, or form. Instead, Discommunication has simply changed genre a few times quite abruptly.

Loosing interest in his course of study at college, Ueshiba decided to turn his life long love of drawing weird doodles into a career. He did the logical thing, and promptly joined the manga club. Sadly, the manga club never did anything but play mahjong. In fact, he constructed his penname from mahjong terms. However, at some point he managed to gather his wits long enough to draw a twenty page short story called Discommunication.

He submitted it to his favorite magazine, Morning, and it was accepted and printed in 1991, despite a fairly amateurish drawing style. It proved popular enough that he was asked to turn it into an ongoing series in the newly launched monthly spinoff Afternoon.

The Discommunication short story is an odd bird. It seems to stem from the author’s frustration with the clichés of the romantic comedy genre, and is heavily centered in mystery. Togawa is a fairly normal, bespectacled high school girl. At lunch with her friends, they express confusion about her boyfriend, Matsubue. None of them can tell what he’s thinking, he skips school all the time, rarely talks to anyone, and frequently stares out the window, oblivious to the world around him. Togawa herself seems fairly confused about her feelings for him; she returned to the class after hours one day to find him still there, still staring out the window, unaware that school was over for the day.

Suddenly, she was in love. Her confession took him completely by surprise. Fascinated by the idea of a girl being in love with him, he drags her off to his dilapidated house. She grows increasingly nervous as she first learns that he has no parents and lives by himself, then when he tells her to sit on the bed and starts rummaging around in his drawers for something. But the central joke of the story is that she is the only one ever thinking about sex. He produces a razor from the drawer, and wants to shave the back of her neck. This is the first in a series of strange requests: tickle sessions, ear cleanings, sleeping in the same bed to see if his dreams are different, listening to her heart beat, and the most powerful image of all: tasting her tears. It’s amusing to watch her frustration that he isn’t trying to feel her up. She starts to wonder if there isn’t something broken with his sex drive. On top of that, there’s his enormous collection of religious documents, statues, and paintings, the fox mask he wears, the way he seems to see things no one else can, and the strange rattling that comes from the corners whenever he stares off into space. The more she learns about him, the greater the mystery.

She begins to constantly question her own feelings for him, and begins to understand that, in order to understand her own feelings, she will have to understand him. In fact, she concludes that the secret to lasting love may, in fact, be this lack of understanding, this feeling that there will always be more to discover.

When the series proper began in Afternoon, the occult aspects of the short story leaped into the foreground.

In the first serialized issue, Matsubue takes a sleep deprived Togawa down to his basement, where six statues wearing fox masks guard a shrine nestled in the heart of a steampunk furnace. The shrine houses a state of Shoukangiten (Ganesh), of two elephants hugging. Togawa declares it all scary. Matsubue pricks her finger, and sticks it in his mouth, tasting her blood. The statues begin to rattle.

He pricks his own finger, and persuades her to taste his blood...at which point the world explodes. As they embrace, they find themselves floating in a void, surrounded by Buddhist symbolism. And then she wakes, all caught up on sleep.

This starts something of a pattern, that lasts for the first couple of volumes. Togawa tries to set up some sort of shoujo manga intrigue, tries to make him jealous or get him to prove his love for her. He fails to react at all until things reach a breaking point, at which time he hypnotizes her, regressing her back through childhood into the womb and beyond, to the infinite field of light where all things in life make perfect sense.

Also appearing at the Shinto chicken, an evil mirror of Narcissus, a mind reading lantern, ghosts of small children, and a story in which Togawa lays an egg. He also lays the seeds of future events with Mishima Touko, a psychic who wanders through issue five, very, very drunk, and convinced her destiny is tied to Matsubue’s. She then vanished for seven years before showing up again in the fourth major section of Discommunication, the Ancestral Spirits arc.

Ueshiba gradually begins to grow accustomed to drawing his characters during these two volumes. While his backgrounds have always been crammed with information and nifty things, albeit completely without perspective (he can draw perspective if he has to, but it clearly bores him) the initial charm of his designs sort of fades. The faces grow more rounded, more practiced, and sort of bland. It doesn’t really hurt the series, but it wouldn’t be till volume 10 that he perfected the off kilter over simplified style he seems to be aiming for. The very unrealism inherent in his art is vital; in this section, it merely adds to the surrealism, but in later stages it becomes a valuable asset, allowing him to depict the sensational in safety.

The Meikai storyline is his first attempt at a long, involved storyline, and runs from the last issue in volume two until halfway through volume eight. Possibly under some editorial pressure to kick the series into high gear, the bulk of volume three is a massive magic duel between Matsubue and a couple who have come from the same place as him, here to challenge him. Matsubue attempts to avoid the fight, but Togawa wants to know more about him, and gets herself captured.

The fight, which is unexpectedly well drawn, tense, and inventive, brings many minor elements from the first two volume back into play. It is finally confirmed

without a doubt that Matsubue is not human, and Togawa herself taps into a source of power that she never really expected. And the Shinto chicken turns out to be an aspect of Matsubue’s personality he’d separated from his own body for safe keeping. The fight ends with them thrown into Meikai, which seems to be a sort of purgatory/hell. In Meikai, splintered, alternate universe versions of themselves wander through imaginary realities, surreal nightmares, duels with evil selves and agents of Meikai, trying to climb the mountain and return to reality. Togawa’s consciousness has been placed into a new reality, in which Matsubue has never existed. In college, she meets Matsubue, who is remarkably like him, except human. But a constant feeling of wrongness eventually leads her to the Ganesh ritual, and contact with their old selves in Meikai. Eventually, the universe fractures, folds in on itself, and is defeated in time for sunrise.

The power of the Meikai arc is its balance. The action and mystery of the Meikai are just as fascinating as the romance with the human Matsubue in Togawa’s college. The surreal dreams and glimpses at the truth behind everything are tantalizing. It’s an ambitious work that clearly demonstrated that he had the capability to bring a complex storyline to a satisfying conclusion.

Buddhist lore forms a strong backdrop to a firm understanding of how the human mind works, and how we react to the unnatural. It is in the Meikai arc that he begins to play with using sexuality, especially aberrant sexuality, for dramatic effect.

As if tired of the deadly serious Meikai storyline, Ueshiba plunges into the ensuing School Days storyline with farce on his mind. Everything is now played for comic relief, and the occult takes second seat to twisted sexuality. Cross dressing boys, men who enjoy drawing on girl’s skin, a boy who takes snapshots of the wind blowing girl’s skirts up, but

finds all photo’s of one girl come out with a giant red eye instead, and a girl who regresses back to kindergarten, throwing off her clothes without a second thought. It doesn’t really work at all.

The stories grow progressively less interesting, the sex stuff blatantly feeding off the author’s own appetites, and Matsubue is consistently out of character. The editors seem to have noticed, because they failed to collect the two worst storylines.

Volume ten jumps ahead six months abruptly, and the series promptly swings back towards the occult, regaining its footing and turning out some of the best stories in the entire series.

(The missing issues were eventually collected in a volume numbered outside the continuity: Discommunication: School Days.)

These new storylines continue to mine Buddhist lore, especially where that lore is concerned with sex. One girl they meet has visions of human sexuality in the air above their heads, a rod for men and a sphere for women. Her own is shattered. She broke it herself when her childhood friend roughly pushed her to the floor and kissed her, and she saw his rod turn dark and stormy, like that of a molester who had groped her on the day she first discovered her powers.

The vision of angels firing laser beams through children’s hearts, murdering their innocence as their sexuality arises from the bloody gaping wound upon their sexual awakening is precisely the sort of balance he had lost in the early stages of this arc. His art reaches his peak with this storyline as well, the panel count and detail level rising dramatically.

As his art and storytelling mature, so does their relationship. Matsubue finally grows interested in sex play, although never in a terribly normal fashion. In my favorite issue of the series, Togawa confesses that she is unable to understand how people can do the terrible things she reads about in newspapers. Matsubue agrees to show her.

He takes her outside, and they sit down to wait for the moon to clear the horizon. But it isn’t even dark yet. She soon needs to pee. And he won’t let her. She holds it in for hours, and finally the moon rises. She starts to make a break for the toilet, but he grabs her and kisses her. As his tongue enters her mouth her body relaxes

despite herself, and she pees herself. As the urine runs down her legs she receives a vision of the darkness at the bottom of the human soul, the darkness that exists within all of us.

There are a few bum stories in volume 13, as he scraped the bottom of the barrel for ideas, but he manages to wrap everything up and conclude the series in a highly satisfying manner. Volume 13 would be the last volume of Discommunication proper.

[Somewhere in the middle of this, they released a CD book, containing drama tracks of the first seven or eight issues. It’s unspeakably bad.

Horribly cast and badly acted.]

But the series continued on the next month, with a new subtitle and new cast members.

Discommunication: Ancestral Spirits is a three volume series that connects Discommunication and Yume Tsukai (Dream Masters), his current series. Mishima Touko and her sister Rinko, two of the legendary Dream Masters, team up with Matsubue and Togawa to take on an especially difficult case.

The Dream Masters are extremely fascinating.

Their powers are based off of children’s belief in the power of their toys. Most modern games have actually descended from magical rituals: not only tarot, but everything else. The dream users tap directly into the fertile power sources of imagination and dreams. When Rinko plays in a sandbox, Togawa finds herself actually chased by a dinosaur along a sandy beach as a volcano erupts overhead. Rinko’s powers are based off fire, which she personifies and refers to as a lover. She carries an insane number of matches with her, and lighting them allows her imagination to become illusion. Her sister Touko, has a Seirei (ancestral spirit) living in her left eye. Touko has people build dioramas of key points in the mystery, and the dioramas eventually provide a gateway to a solution.

At full power, the Dream Masters wear Miko robes, and carry gigantic Holy Brooms, with shrines concealed within the bristles. They place transforming robot toys inside these broom, and can then use the power of that robot’s ultimate technique to fight against evil. It’s a little

disconcerting to see a child’s head split open and two spinning electric Frisbees emerge, to say the least. Heavy influence from Giant Robo and magical girl shows. In Dream Masters proper, they demonstrate a new set of tools based on the ancient game of Rock, Scissors, Paper, and we meet a new dream master who uses not robots, but Pocky missiles, and other deadly confectionary.

These stories are structured like mysteries, and Discommunication: Ancestral Spirits winds up really poorly in a massive exposition. The first storyline of Dream Masters blended it with action in a much more satisfactory fashion, and the second storyline is ongoing.

It is in this section that the sexuality really became too weird for some people. While the controversy is also presumably winning new readers, I wouldn’t be surprised if some people are disturbed by storylines involving the perverse symbolism of rainbows, at the end of which is a giant supercomputer powered by the imaginary pregnancies of twenty six fourteen year old virgins, who become pregnant by transforming into a sexual robot and eating their partner during imaginary sex with a boy who looks like a girl and was beheaded violently a few years before. I find the ideas fascinating, the execution admirable, and the art just unrealistic enough to make this all palatable. I’d go so far as to admit that I enjoy receiving the odd shock when I turn the page and the immense earth mother scratches her son’s belly and licks off the blood.

However, it certainly isn’t for everyone, and not even for everyone who enjoyed the bulk of Discommunication proper.

At no time can anyone accuse Ueshiba of being anything less than completely original, and that makes him one of the most important people writing today. [

Zen and the Art of yoshitoshi ABe Master of the Japanese aesthetic

by Derek Guder While it may seem silly to call one anime "more Japanese" than another, all anime comes from the same country after all, right? That’s like trying to decide which Hollywood blockbuster is "more American." It is undeniable, however, that different cultures hold certain aesthetic ideals more closely than others - tastes and preferences which may show through to wildly varying degrees in any medium.

Despite all the kimonos, ninja and yakitori, relatively little anime clings to traditional Japanese artistic values. It is a clear sensibility for these aesthetics typified in Zen and closely associated art forms that makes the work of yoshitoshi ABe (Serial Experiments lain, NieA_7, Haibane Renmei) so unique and compelling.

Zen Buddhism has had an enormous impact on Japanese culture and history, and its shadow is particularly clear in the arts. Many Zen ideals filtered into Japanese culture through the arts during the nation’s medieval period (CE 1160-1600), insinuating themselves to the point where they became inexorable parts of Japan’s artistic vocabulary. It is virtually impossible to find a conversation on Japanese poetry, gardening, Noh theater or the iconic art of the tea ceremony that is not built upon several of these central values. Collectively, the four aesthetic ideals most commonly associated with Zen and its accompanying atmosphere and mood are called furyu.

Aware (also mono no aware, or "the sadness of things") is commonly translated as "sadness" or "gentle melancholy", though it is often used in a context where "moving" might be a more appropriate meaning.

It is a connection, a pathos or a sense of motivation of empathy. The recognition of the transience or impermanence of the world can arouse a poignant nostalgia, a sense of aware. Less commonly referred to than the other elements, it is often simply implied or almost superceded by them.

Yoshitoshi ABe in print There are a number of art books and manga available for yoshitoshi ABe fans, even in English. Fanboy Entertainment put out the slim Essence, which was an art book containing a number of sketches and color pieces, including the "Charcoal Feather Federation" series, which later evolved into the Haibane Renmei doujinshi and anime. Additionally, TOKYOPOP recently announced that they have licensed the NieA_7 manga.

Perhaps the most significant un-translated publication is the massive lain: an omnipresence in the Wired, a hefty hardcover in a slipcase filled with gorgeous sketches and color images that provide a peek into the development of the anime, including initial designs that were never used. The SCRAP art book for NieA_7 also contains numerous sketches and covers for the DVD and CD releases for the anime in Japan. It also has a great deal of kinetic, colorful manga.

The closely related elements of wabi and sabi are inseparable and almost interchangeable, and carry something of the same sense of melancholy as well (particularly wabi). They are more concerned with austerity, understand, isolation and aloneness, however, as well as the appearance of age and being weathered, worn or even decayed under the passage of time. Wabi and sabi hinge on the ideas of the inherent imperfection of the natural world along with a sense of poverty or humbleness, though they often take a quiet joy or appreciation in them. Age and the effects time such as rust, weathering or even just the transition of day to night are also a part of the meaning behind the pair, most particularly sabi. This might be described as objective in contrast to the subjective: a tarnished silver bowl (wabi) as opposed to the feeling of the transience and impermanence of things it may inspire in an observer (sabi). Rarely discussed independently of each other, the pair is often referred to simply the single concept of wabi-sabi.

Finally, the term yugen came into use during the Kamakura period (1185-1333) to describe a sense of hidden mystery or a sublime truth just beyond the reach of simple words. Essential to the idea of yugen is the suggestions of something beyond mere representation or clear symbolism, an indefinably vague and thus eternal or spiritual truth. The light of the moon hidden behind the clouds or a lake bathed in a rising mist both posses yugen in their simple beauty and suggestion of something mysterious beyond the obvious.

A clear example of these ideas can be seen in both the history of the tea ceremony as well as the props it utilizes. The ideal tea cup, for example, is not an ostentatious display of wealth but a simple and plain earthenware utensil with just the right amount of imperfection and asymmetry. Even more, some cups were intentionally broken so that they could be carefully reconstructed, joining the cracks with hints of gold. Thus the wabi-sabi of a simple, humble and imperfect cup is wedded to the yugen of the hint of mystery and something intangible with the traces of gold.

Vague implications and veiled suggestions are the tools of many types of traditional Japanese art, as opposed to direct allusion or symbolism. The furyu are not descriptions of anything that can be easily expressed or described so much as they are traits of things that can only be felt, experienced or simply understood within oneself, which is itself a very Zen attitude. The essence of this Zen aesthetic lies in its ephemeral and vague nature.

How this applies to ABe’s work should be apparent.

From the vague hints that constituted the majority of Serial Experiements lain to the melancholic core beneath NieA_7’s comedic surface, the Zen aesthetics that have come to that dominate much of Japanese artistic tradition find their strongest expression in anime among at his hand. ABe’s appreciation for the furyu only becomes more and more pronounced as he becomes involved in the creation and production of each show to a greater extent.

Hidden Mysteries – the Overpowering Yugen of lain While the understated cityscapes, desolate Iwakura household or even Lain’s own unique and asymmetric hair could be said to epitomize wabi-sabi, it is the mystery and intense feeling of a hidden and enigmatic something going on behind everything we see, the sense of yugen. The entire anime is filled with strange, frightening and wondrous events, most of them with little or no explanation or context to provide any sort of clarifying (and comforting) definition. These vague and suggestive images create a perception of depth where an ephemeral truth lies hidden, the exact nature of which is never directly addressed.

It is clear from the repeated and emphatic refusals by the show’s creative staff to illuminate the "truth" behind Serial Experiments lain that this atmosphere of yugen is the core of the anime. Both ABe and the writer Chiaki Konaka have said that sharing their own personal explanation of the show would not only spoil the fun of speculation, but that it would defeat the purpose of the show. Fellow creator and producer Yasuyuki Ueda has gone even further, stating that he didn’t want Americans to have the same interpretation of the show as the Japanese audience did. Though often misquoted as stating that he doesn’t want Americans to understand it at all, Ueda has further explained that what he hoped for is a wildly different reaction from an American audience (and thus, by extension, perhaps any culturally distinct and separate audience). The conflict between an American view and a Japanese one would create what he has often called a "war of ideas." This conflict would invariably bring to light aspects of both sides and encourage further communication, a process clearly reflected in lain’s own themes of communication, the sense of self and the intricate relationship between the two.

While clearly steeped in the subtle and moving sadness of aware and undeniably focused on creating a sense of vague and concealed truths (the very essence of yugen), wabi-sabi still lingers around the edges. This was the first major project ABe was involved with, and he had far less direct involvement in the creative process than in his later works.

Ueda had created much of the concept for the lain franchise (it was originally constructed as a Playstation game and the anime version came after) and he approached ABe while the artist was still in school. He had found the student’s web site, and came to him with very clear ideas about many of the characters and images central to lain. Later, it was the screenwriter Konaka who determined the exact course of events for the anime. ABe himself was responsible for the direct visual presentation, the atmosphere and mood – precisely the portions of art that the furyu are concerned with. The weathered and imperfect beauty of wabi and sabi took a backseat to the mystery of Lain and the world she lived in, however. These roles were largely reversed in ABe’s next anime project, the comedic NieA_7.

A Laughing Melancholy – the Two Faces of NieA_7 "We wanted to do a light fluffy story and that created its own hardships," ABe said during a panel at Anime Central. Nominally a comedy created largely in reaction to the dark and heavy tone of Serial Experiments lain, the often absurd NieA_7 still undeniably shows the mark of furyu. Although again written by someone else (Takuya Sato, who also directed it), the idea was originally spawned when the producer saw some of ABe’s sketches and the characters were expanded into a full-blown anime about the passage of time at the edges of modern life.

Even through the outrageous comedy of Mayuko and NieA’s boisterous relationship (another appearance of Ueda’s idea of conflict revealing the truth), the influence of wabi-sabi have on nearly every aspect of the anime is clear from the very beginning. The town of Enohana itself has clearly been in decline for some time and is filled not with vibrant and youthful crowds but with dilapidated and abandoned shops.

Those few places that remain open are run by older owners and have few patrons. The bathhouse that serves as the center of the anime seems like it has always been old and worn at the edges. The boards creak, the tiles are perpetually cracked, and even the gaping hole that NieA blows in the roof is never fully repaired. The building is patched up throughout the series, but there is no denying its age, or its isolation from the bustling city life and the crowds it needs in order to remain open. As much as they would like to deny it, the transient nature of their home is clear to the residents of the Enohana bathhouse. It will not be long before it is forced to close it doors. The fireflies, glowing brightly before they fade away, that appear briefly throughout the anime reinforce the fleeting nature of these last days of Enohana. Isolation, age, a weary sense of erosion, the inevitable passage of time and the undeniable impermanence of all things in the world: almost the very definition of wabi and sabi.

NieA_7 also shares something of the same subdued and even muted color palette that marked the visual style of lain, a restraint (or "humbleness" and "poverty") that is another significant aspect of wabi. The anime’s music is far different from that of lain’s, however, consisting of slow, melancholy blues and charmingly rustic music. The gravely opening song creates a gloomy mood quite in opposition to the initial frenetic and hyperactive comedy. As the series progresses, however, it settles into a wistfully despondent atmosphere of nostalgia.

I was initially attracted to NieA_7 because of yoshitoshi ABe’s involvement and the distinct visual flair he gave to the project, but it was the touching mood predominant in the latter half of the anime that solidified my appreciation for it. While quite a departure from Serial Experiments lain, it still shared many stylistic elements as it explored a different direction. ABe had learned a great deal from lain, something which is even more evident in his next project. Expertly balancing yugen, wabi and sabi in a property he created and developed himself, ABe’s most recent work, Haibane Renmei (aka Charcoal Feather Federation), shows a clear progression from his earlier projects.

Fallen Angels – Haibane Renmei’s Divine Depression From the very beginning as Rakka’s wings burst, sickly wet and bloody, from her swollen shoulder blades, it is clear that the girls of Haibane Renmei (Charcoal Feather Federation) are not angels, despite their halos and small wings. They all arrive in a small, walled city, born of cocoons that mysteriously sprout from the ground of their own accord. Some are born as children, others nearly adults. Aside from the wings, all of the "haibane" share only a single trait: a half-remembered dream that traditionally gives them their name. Even their halo is made for them and they must grow accustomed to it.

No one knows where they came from, or what lies beyond the wall that surrounds them, but most spend their brief lives desperately trying to figure out what their dream was trying to tell them, almost as if they are trying to remember something they would rather forget.

Yoshitoshi ABe’s pet imagery is readily apparent as the show develops. Beginning with Rakka’s dream as she falls from the sky towards the earth, and her cocoon, we follow her birth and assimilation into this new world. With her, we learn that most of the haibane live in Old Home, a cluster of abandoned buildings in the hills outside of town. After she gets her halo and her wings are cleaned, she is shown through town and the details of haibane life are revealed. Forbidden to own new things or to accept money, haibane still work, but they record their "wages" in a small notebook, ripping pieces of paper out in trade for used clothing or unwanted supplies.

This is apparently for their protection, and was set up by the Haibane Renmei itself, though it is never stated outright was this protection is from. The similarity between these grey-wings girls and NieA is striking. Both live at the crumbling edges of society, surviving off their unwanted refuse and detritus, seeming living treasures living off garbage. The town has a number of other taboos that seem strange or arbitrary at first, especially regarding the colossal wall that surrounds it and the countryside. It is forbidden to touch the wall and unthinkable to attempt to cross it to see what is on the other side. Even going near it is bad luck. Only a small group is allowed to pass through it and bring supplies in or out, and they are shrouded and mysterious. No one can talk to them and only a Haibane Renmei official can communicate with them using a special sign-language.

The Old Home and Abandoned Factory that almost serve as nests for the two haibane populations in the town appear just as they sound. Both are large complexes, but in obvious disrepair. While we

only briefly visit the factory, Old Home and its dust-filled and cluttered rooms become very familiar over the length of the series. Virtually every shot has crumbling stonework, a cracked wall or an empty hallway in it, and even those scenes in town have a feeling of age to them with the cobblestone streets and tightly-packed homes. There is nothing new anywhere in the series, everything is worn and weathered, battered by time and age. Rakka and her companions do not live in a dismal garbage dump, however. Far from it, in fact, as they all do their best to patch their clothes or refurbish furniture.

Old Home and the hill surrounding it have more of the majesty of an old farmhouse or the dignity of a lonely mansion overcome by nature than the air of a trash pile filled with the unwanted or discarded debris.

Against this backdrop of the wabi and sabi that we have become familiar with, it is the characters themselves that provide the subtle touch of yugen that makes the series so compelling. Although later there are further delicate touches to the imagery and setting to add that atmosphere of something hidden just beyond sight, it is the casts’ appearance as almost-angels that drive the series. Their desperate need to remember the dreams they experienced before being born into this new world and the high price that can exact are the central conflicts through which we are shown the mysteries hidden in the haibane. Rakka may seem to be the main character through most of the series, but she serves more to point towards something hidden in the other characters, especially the mature and caring Reki.

The 13-episode anime is based off of a doujinshi (selfpublished manga) by yoshitoshi ABe and also he wrote the screenplay for the anime. It has been his creation from start to finish. While I have not been lucky enough to see much of the manga, as it is rather rare and highly sought after, it is apparent from the anime that ABe has taken to hear his experiences on both Serial Experiments lain and NieA_7. He has constructed his own world and story that combines the strengths of both. Haibane Renmei has an undeniably ABe feel to it, laden with weight of time and tinged with nostalgia, but at the same time playing host to an enticing mystery. While not as ambitious or philosophical as lain and lacking the light-hearted humor of NieA_7, Haibane Renmei is perhaps more focused and polished than either, a somber tale of guilt and depression that is arguably more accessible and successful their either of yoshitoshi ABe’s previous masterpieces. [

Haibane Renmei - Charcoal Feather Federation Awakening from a dream of crows and plummeting from the sky, a young girl finds herself in a milky cocoon. Clawing her way through freedom through its soft shell, she collapses in a world both subtly familiar and frighteningly alien at the same time. A number of girls with grey wings and almost ragged halos take welcome her and give her a new name, Rakka, after what she remembered of her dream in the cocoon. Reki, the eldest of these haibane, takes the new-born under her wing, almost literally, and helps her adjust to this new world she has found herself in. As Rakka’s shoulders distend and her own grey wings burst forth, blood and raw, it becomes clear that this is not a world as contently blissful as it may seem.

In a town surrounding by a looming wall the residents are forbidden to cross or touch, and those few who can pass through are permitted to travel through it speak only via hand signals with a designated quasi-priesthood, live the haibane. Bereft of any memory before their birth from a cocoon, they are left only with a haunting dream and a sense of loss or failure. They move amongst the townsfolk, but live on the outskirts in either the dilapidated Old Home or Abandoned Factory. Forbidden to accept money or posses anything new, reportedly for their own protection, the haibane carry small notebooks where they record the fruits of their work and labor, ripping out pages to barter for unwanted and discarded items. Behind all of this is the Haibane Renmei itself, the almost religious Charcoal Feather Federation dedicated to the protection of the haibane, that has made these strictures and provides them with their halos and barter-books.

The world of Haibane Renmei is steeped in a spiritual atmosphere like few others. Taboos and superstitions don’t run rampant; they make up the fabric of society itself. The shadows of the massive wall only the crows are allowed to fly over plays host to pseudoreligious rituals that hint at far more than what they reveal and winged mysteries that live on what it throws away. What begins as the story of Rakka acclimating herself to this strange new world and finding her own place in it evolves into a far more complicated tale of guilt and depression, instead revealing the older Reki to be the focus of the story. With relaxed pacing, subtle characterization and an endearing narrative, Haibane Renmei easily ranks among the best anime of this past year. [

On the licensing status of Haibane Renmei Thankfully, Pioneer has licensed Haibane Renmei for region 1. Reportedly they made an announcement about the show at AnimeExpo, but no one remembers it. They were cited in the credits, however, so it was pretty much a given that they had the license for a North American release of it. Pioneer has done a great job with the Serial Experiments lain and NieA_7 DVDs, so I’m anxious to see how they will handle the series.

Anime Review Vampire Princess Miyu DVD 1&2 AnimEigo 50 Minutes each MSRP $15.96 each

Vampire Princess Miyu

by Derek Guder A forlorn young girl cursed with immortality and sworn to seal errant shinma, unnatural monsters from the dark, Miyu the vampire princess walks through a vividly atmospheric world. Attended only by her laconic companion Larva, she displays kindness and cruelty in turns as her whims dictate, acting like a callous and petty god. Vampire Princess Miyu is a classic horror OVA, one of the first successes in the genre, supremely focused on generating a pervasive mood as opposed to constructing a cohesive plot through all of its episodes. Its influence on subsequent anime is perhaps most prominent in Blood: the Last Vampire, which followed the format right down to the antisocial school girl monster hunting other monsters and an emphasis on tone, sometimes at the expense of a satisfying resolution.

The first volume is the stronger of the two, showing more of Miyu’s capricious nature and casual cruelty. "Unearthly Kyoto" introduces the characters to us, showing us the relationship between Miyu and the meddling spiritualist Himiko. Investigating a vampiric creature stalking women throughout the city of Kyoto, Himiko stumbles across Miyu and becomes convinced that she is a monster that must be stopped. Their relationship remains adversarial for the rest of the series. The second episode on the volume, "A Banquet of Marionettes," is easily my favorite of the series. Focusing more on Miyu herself, we are witness to a petty struggle between the vampire princess and a stray shinma over the possession of a young and beautiful boy both have claimed. Miyu’s inhuman nature clearly shows through, making for a moving episode.

"Fragile Armor" is the first episode of the second volume, and is almost as good as "A Banquet of Marionettes." A story of devotion, bondage and willful self-deception, not only does it provide significant back story on both Larva and Miyu, but it once again demonstrates her callous attitude towards humanity. The central plot twist is perhaps a bit too obvious, but the finale’s cruelty redeems it. The final episode in the series, however, is "Frozen Time", and it’s also the weakest. Attempting to provide an explanation for Miyu herself, it was destined to fall short of whatever the viewer had imagined, thus sapping much of the mystery and mood the series had worked so hard to build.

The Furyu of the Dark

Vampire Princess Miyu is a must-have for any die-hard vampire fans or even just general horror fans, but less focused audiences may come away from it with a sense of dissatisfaction. Despite its masterful construction of a horrific atmosphere, its episodic format offers little over-arcing plot, severely limiting the amount of character development. There are brief and enticing flashes of Miyu’s personality in the middle two episodes, but the series ultimately fails to build to any discernable resolution, and much of its atmosphere is compromised by the expository last episode. Left with a feeling that it was something of a missed opportunity, Vampire Princess Miyu is a good OVA that could have been far more. [

Miyu is definitely one of those shows that benefits greatly from subsequent viewings and some consideration. While I was assembling this combined review after writing Zen and the Art of Yoshitoshi ABe, I felt greater appreciation for the series. The opinion stated in my initial reviews (available on the web site) still remains, but the elements that constitute Miyu’s omnipresent atmosphere were cast into sharper relief. The wabi-sabi and yugen that had leapt out at me in lain or NieA_7 were readily apparent in this as well and in many of the same places, though not as powerfully.

Cinema e s Korea - Asia’s New o Powerh u

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It’s true. My love affair with Hong Kong cinema is over – I never thought it would happen. The “anything goes” attitude that once permeated the entire industry is gone. The cinema that gave us Zu: Warriors of the Mystic Mountain and A Better Tomorrow has started to feed on itself. There is this expectation that everything has to be a special-effects extravaganza (Did you see 2002? Or any of the Andrew Lau Wai-Keung films lately?) that loosely borrows from Hong Kong’s grand past but leaves out all the good stuff. Sure there is still life there and I do not doubt for a second that HK Cinema will rise and shove its mighty steel leg up the ass of modern movies again. But right now it’s content to hobble along, gathering rust – and this is just the kind of opening that Korean cinema needs to explode onto the world.

by Eric Chon

A National Cinema Built Through Adversity Korea’s introduction to film came in the late 19th century when foreign films were imported into the country. They were quite popular and established an appetite that would soon spawn a prolific domestic industry. As more and more theaters opened, Korean viewers yearned for a chance to create their own cinema with its own identity.

In 1919, domestic half-theater, half-film productions called Uirijok sprang up. Begun

by Park Sung-pil (owner of one of the first movie theaters in Korea), Uirijok mixed live acting in front of a moving picture backdrop and proved to be quite popular. As a popular national art, it paved the way for the first domestic feature Plighted Love Under the Moon. But it was the film Arirang, released in 1926, that initiated Korean Cinema’s first Golden Era. The film tells the story of Yong-jin who becomes mentally ill after being arrested and tortured by the Japanese police for leading protesters during the March 1st protest of 1919. Once released, Yong-jin is later arrested after killing the servant of an

abusive landlord. Arirang was written, directed by, and starred Na Un-gyu (a leader of the protest jailed for two years) who, with this film, established the artistic merit of Korean cinema.

Many considered Arirang the beginning of a Golden Age for Korean cinema.

Prior to Arirang, the movies shown in Korea were typically American action pictures, Japanese shinpa (melodrama) adaptations or sad tales of Korean kisaeng (equivalent of Japanese geishas). So important was Arirang that the folk song from which the movie takes its name became an unofficial national anthem during the independence movement and remains popular today. This film shook the status quo and gave Koreans a political and popular voice to contest Japanese colonialism.

Despite the increasing popularity of local cinema, however, Japanese censorship stifled the growth of domestic film making. The Japanese government required all foreign and domestic features were subject to strict censorship screenings prior to showing, and police were present at all times during. Although a few works promoting Korean nationalism were created in 1920s, until the end of the Korean war, Japanese censorship allowed only melodramas, costume dramas, and pro-Japanese films approved by the government. Many features were banned outright and subsequently destroyed.

A second Golden Era began after the Korean War ended in the 1950s. The civil war had destroyed nearly all film produced prior to this era (only five films from this time remain). At the closing of the war, cinema was exempted from all tax, in hopes of reviving the industry. Foreign aid programs provided South Korea with better film equipment, setting the stage for the rebirth of Korean cinema in the late-fifties. This led to much tighter control over imports until the late eighties

Friend

In 1988, the Korean government lifted the restrictions on importing foreign films (except from Japan) and, for the first time in decades, regional movies had to compete directly with those from Hong Kong and Hollywood. These new foreign films began to dominate the Korean market. There needed to be an infusion of life and vitality if homegrown pictures were to remain relevant.

Korean Cinema Enters its Renaissance In 1992, Marriage Story opened to rave critical and popular reviews heralding the beginnings of a third Golden Era for Korean cinema. It marked the introduction of major businesses influencing and funding the cinema, pioneered by Samsung.

They established a process that would consolidate production and distribution into one. This process would continue to hold significant weight as the industry once more began its transformation into a major contender.

The Contact (1997) shattered domestic box-office records sparking an upsurge in popularity for domestic films. This would soon lead to the super-smash hit Shiri in 1999 – marking another recordbreaking performance. Shiri displayed a greater degree of sophistication and technical aptitude geared towards new public tastes – borrowing much from modern Hollywood action aesthetics (e.g.

The Rock and Die Hard). Yet despite this general swing towards a more American approach, Korean films still retain a character and uniqueness that is causing a stir all over the world.

Now Who’s King of the Mountain?

Hollywood has approximately 85% of the world market in movies.

And when an indigenous product usurps that, it’s time to take notice.

Since 1967, the Korean government has enforced a screen quota law making theaters reserve a certain amount of days for exclusively screening Korean product (it’s currently at 106 to 146 days, depending on the number of films released). This measure of protectionism is helping investors and directors ensure that their stories will be seen inspite of Hollywood’s Iron Gauntlet of Doom constantly looming over, With a flourishing indigenous industry in the 80s and 90s, Korean movies finally managed to snag half the box-office in 1998. Each following year saw another hit that outdid its predecessors. Shiri (1999) soon was surpassed by JSA (2000) which was in turn buried by Friend (2001). Unfortunately, its continued growth has stalled.

This past year has been a mixed bag for Korean film. While viewership has remained near the 50% mark, there hasn’t been a runaway success this year like the previous. Instead, there have been some decent hits and some surprises. Because of the growing profitability of domestic blockbusters, many investors poured tons and tons of cash into production companies hoping to make the next big hit. But as it turns out, some of the most ambitious projects just didn’t sit well with the public (Resurrection of the Little March Girl being a sort of poster-child now for a bigproduction Korean flop – think Waterworld) and investors started shutting down projects in mid-production.

A few years ago, heck, a few months ago, most Asian-cult film fans didn’t know Korea had an active film industry.

It would never register as a blip on their “need-to-watch” radar. Japan and Hong Kong had been dominating the market for years upon years with kung-fu epics, animated masterpieces, and some of the strangest plots ever committed to celluloid. Who cared what anyone else had to offer? Everything you wanted was right in front of you! But as Hong Kong slowly began to shift its focus towards Hollywood, a noticeable void in creative and idiosyncratic filmmaking appeared.

Korea was primed to step up and make some noise.

Volcano High

Korea’s Everyman Hero I mentioned vitality and vivacity in film: it’s that ineffable attribute that brings you to tears, that makes you jump out of your seat and holler. It’s like an electric current that taps right into your synapses and grabs hold of your thought patterns. Many Hollywood films have been lacking this trait for years and Hong Kong movies seemed to have nothing but in their heyday with zero to soften its impact. Korean films, conversely, balance their spiciness with a refreshing drink. They subdue the constant explosions (real or emotional) and larger-than-life conflicts with scenes of quiet introspection. It’s not heavy metal 100% of the time.

Movies like Friend and JSA impact us at these levels. They deal with friendship and betrayal. They deal with growing up and accepting the consequences of your actions. These are certainly not the most original concepts to base a tale on – but when your execution is this flawless and powerful, you’ve gotten that power up and made it to the next level.

Friend is an amazingly personal look at the lives of four kids growing up in a wearisome Korea of the 1970s. Small in scope, the film manages to dissect and analyze the lives of these companions as they grow up and take different paths in their lives. It weaves back and forth between them as time passes, all the while deconstructing the meaning behind the word “friend” and what it represents to each character. It’s an amazingly human and emotional movie that magnifies something so “small” as four kids growing up into so much more.

Being based on the true-life story of its director/writer doesn’t hurt either.

Bringing that same level of detail and closeness to something as large as the North/South relationship of Korea is nothing short of amazing. And that is exactly with JSA does. Standing for Joint Security Area, JSA was one of the first films to humanize North Korean troops. Although the actions of the characters were small in scale like Friend, their implications brought the weight of both governments down on them. JSA becomes a political intrigue facing governments against their own

troops. Troops who had bucked the status quo and yearned for something better.

This brings us to another theme that presents itself often - rebellion and personal freedom.

A Rebellious Streak 2000 Years Wide Korea has been a country wracked by conquest.

Its ancient history shows repeated invasions and territorial conflicts until approximately 918 when the Koryô Dynasty unified much of the peninsula. Modern times have proven to be no less interesting. Through war and foreign colonialism, it seems inevitable that a rebellious streak has ingrained itself into the culture – and Korea’s domestic films reflect this.

Many of the themes touched in this new wave of Korean cinema center around rebellion against structured and accepted authority –- whether through outright fists-and-bats violence or via subversive action. It’s shown in workplaces, in friendships, and at schools. The idea of gaining a personal reputation for yourself as an individual – no matter the cause or profession – is central to films such as Kick the Moon and Guns and Talks.

Kick the Moon

These films aren’t telling us that there’s one hero at school that we should all look up to. They’re telling us that you need to be your own hero and solve your own problems. And doing things your own way is good and necessary to be a real man (or woman).

It all boils down to exciting cinema that grabs you like a schoolyard bully and shakes the change out of your pocket.

Looking Towards the Future In 1999, the Korean government eased importation restrictions for Japanese films and almost instantly Korea became part of a Pan-Asia film community. Actors from Hong Kong and Japan were now working with Korean directors and visa versa. Domestic hits in Korea were now given a much wider audience and they were greeted with open arms. While on my trip to Macau and Hong Kong, I snagged a few big Korean releases on DVD that were burning up the charts (My Wife is a Gangster and Volcano High to name two). I even had relatives talking about them.

And it seems that Hollywood is looking for a piece of this pie. Studios have begun buying the rights for Korean movies left and right.

The Way Home made millions at the boxoffice and was sold to Paramount. Other companies have bought “remake” rights (e.g.

The Ring) for hits like My Wife is a Gangster, My Sassy Girl, and Hi Dharma.

If you hit your local movie-rental store looking for a Korean movie a year ago, you might’ve only found the controversial art-film 301/302. Back then I had no idea what it was or who it was about and skipped right to the big hit John Woo section. Recently I went to my local Hollywood Video and found Shiri and Nowhere to Hide on DVD sitting prominently on the New Release shelf. Korean cinema is catching the eye of the world and before you know it, you’ll hear your coworkers talking about Attack the Gas Station ‘round the water-cooler.

Following are several reviews of feature films that might pop up in coversation or in your local video stores. [

Shiri

Attack the Gas Station Kick the Moon Directed by Kim Sang-Jin Imagine a situation where some guy just ticks you off and you think of a million different ways to make it even.

Then imagine the guys who don’t bother with thinking and just act; like robbing a gas station for kicks. In Attack the Gas Station, that’s what happens when four hoodlums do just that. Twice.

Stations of authority get challenged and switched around as the four take over the station itself and start extorting funds from the customers. It sounds violent, and it is. It sounds mean-spirited, and at times this is true. But from kidnapping the attendants (and then asking them for the secrets of gas distribution) to an all-out melee between gangsters, police, and an army of delivery drivers it’s comedic genius.

Giant brawls seem to be a favorite with Kim Sang-Jin as that happens also in Kick the Moon. Here we have a love triangle between one woman and two old “friends” who have switched roles since their High School days.

The school bully (and hero) finds satisfaction as a hardnosed teacher and the quiet nerd turns to a life of crime as a prominent gangster. But their on-screen charisma is more Lemon/Matthau Odd Couple than Deniro/Pacino Heat.

But what really brings these movies together is a very personal and emotional core. Themes of friendship, position, and acceptable behavior are all explored skillfully without becoming heavy handed. There’s a lot more here than meets the eye, and like a Transformer it unfolds in intricate and elaborate ways.

Shiri Directed by Kang Je-Kyu South Korean intelligence is in a bind. North Korean agents have been struggling to obtain a new form of “liquid bomb” called CTX. It’s amazingly powerful and undetectable – it cannot be distinguished from water until exposed to powerful light. Two South Korean agents work the case trying desperately to recapture the CTX and prevent a world-wide disaster, but the enemy always seems one step ahead. Rumors of a leak spread throughout the organization and the once trusting duo now suspect each other. Throw into the mix an assassin that seems to be hampering their movements named Shiri and explosive gunfights are inevitable Shiri was a turning point in Korean cinema. It was a high-budget, glossy spectacular comparable to a major Hollywood release. Special effects and production values were all light-years ahead of any previous domestic effort. It also showed North Korean soldiers as humans and not just military cogs – a significant first.

But it was too Hollywood.

I found the plot hackneyed and totally unrealistic. It relied on too many plot devices (bombs looking like water?) and heavy-handed melodrama. In effect, it was Korea’s first Hollywood movie. Shiri is notable because of the doors it opened and because it set a higher standard for film production. But as an entertaining movie, it’s just stale popcorn.

JSA Directed by Chan-wook Park Two North Korean soldiers lay dead at their border-post. Two South Korean soldiers are rescued from the border in the midst of a nighttime fire fight. What happened? How did these events come to pass?

Those are the exact questions a Neutral Nations Officer is sent to ask. What she uncovers is a secret that all involved would rather take to their grave.

Shiri might’ve been the first to do it, but JSA is how the North/ South conflict should’ve been done. Told in a series of flashbacks, the film reconstructs a friendship built and maintained over the years between two soldiers from opposite sides of the DMZ. Two more are brought into the fold, conquering their own fears and prejudices and creating a fast and strong bond. What starts as a political thriller suddenly becomes so much more. The stakes are higher, the message is more important.

What we take from this film is a missive of tolerance and camaraderie. Within their group, each side is proud of who they are.

They both love their countries enough to defend them, but they both wish for a united Korea where they no longer have to be “enemies.”

It’s this idea of reconciliation that hits home. Powerful and moving performances only help cement these notions; that these four soldiers represent the ideals of each of their countries and that hope is always present.

Although made three years ago, JSA is amazingly relevant and important in today’s period of political turmoil and government grandstanding. It sheds a potential light in the actual darkness of our time.

Volcano High Directed by Kim Tae-gyun There are many films that purport to be an anime come to life. Well, screw those guys because Volcano High kicks them in the ass and eats their kids. No, seriously! It is, quite possibly, the most fun I’ve had watching a movie in a long time. It’s a no-holds barred, bare-knuckle brawl of an action/kung-fu/superhero action comedy – weak words for such powerful moviemaking.

Volcano High fronts the vitality like extra-strength Viagra. It’s all about this one high-school kid with this amazing knack for getting into trouble. He’s been kicked out of every school and Volcano High is his last chance. But this school is different. It houses some very powerful and uppity students – all vying for the sacred manuscripts or somesuch. And of course, the factions are split along after-school clubs; the wrestling team is out to get the rugby team, who wants to conquer the kendo club. Pure entertainment!

And the characters are as colorful as their hairdos – wild and crazy, but with honest emotions that expose themselves when given the chance. All this can get lost, however, in the constant battling and challenges that occur. This could also be a fighting game come to life – but it’s good! And I mean really good! And this is all before the kick-ass teachers from The Matrix come in and clean house!

You can bet that it’s all presented stunningly. Scenery, CG, costumes – it’s too cool for words without being pretentious.

Volcano High is a madcap lark that’ll leave you cheering for more.

Friend Directed by Kwak Kyung-taek Quite possibly the best of the bunch and one of the most powerful films I’ve seen, Friend exemplifies everything you expect from brilliant filmmaking. It is small in scope, centering on the lives and growing pains of four friends, yet grand in execution. Based on the true-life story of Kwak Kyung-taek (the director), it is as close to his real life as his memory allows. Friend is an evocative catharsis for old memories and feelings that never seemed to have been resolved. As the group continues their journey from childhood to adulthood, adversity claws its way into their friendship and tests them at every turn – making them wonder what the real definition of the word “friend” is, and what it means to them. The film’s brutally honest delivery is thanks to commanding performances by the entire cast. But it’s Yoo Oh-Sung (as Dong-su) who steals the movie. His charisma is palpable and he dominates every scene he is in.

Friend is also a triumph cinematically. In this heavily sepia-toned movie, momentary sparks of color become indicators of intense emotion, tinting your perception of the characters actions and words. In every sense of the word, Friend is art. It is a masterpiece of Korean cinema that must be experienced. [

Two Reviews by Derek Guder

Foul King Directed by Kim Ji-Wun This was probably the very first Korean movie I ever heard about, reading through a report on one of those Asian film festivals that Canada is lucky enough to get but I always miss out on. It sounded somewhat interesting at the time, and when I was finally exposed to the blossoming Korean cinema scene, it was one of the movies I bought in my first wild shopping spree of Korean movies.

It’s largely a familiar story of a rather childish businessman who takes up a secret career as a masked fighter and gains a degree of confidence and conviction because of it – except that this time he’s a pro-wrestler instead of a martial artist. There are shades of HK classics such as Love on Delivery, particularly in a few scenes that share the same absurd comic brilliance as Steven Chow’s best work, but Foul King suffers from an unfocused, disjointed construction that invariably ruins its pacing and leaves everything unresolved.

Despite those scenes that did have me busting out laughing and rewinding to watch them again (our hero stoically dishes out retributive justice upon small-time punks, clad in a tiger-striped white-and-black luchadore mask, as onlookers stand agape) and even despite the captivating performance of the lead, Song Kang-ho, the movie just never quite manages to deliver. It starts off very well and establishes a number of interesting sub-plots, from the expected love-interest-right-under-his-nose to the unexpected seeds of corruption in his workplace, but as the end nears everything begins to lose cohesion and unravels in a "climax" that literally had me screaming. Perhaps the point was that "It’s not that easy," as the over-bearing boss tells our hero, but it still makes for an unsatisfying movie experience.

While there were enough good scenes (and the limited edition extra of a "swimming cap" version of the mask in the movie) that I don’t regret my purchase, I certainly wouldn’t recommend this movie over the masterpieces tumbling out of Korea now.

Guns and Talks Directed by Jang Jin

With a title like that and a cover just consisting of four guys standing around in various states of trying to look cool, I have no idea what I was expecting from this.

Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t what I got. Definitely one of the best black comedies I’ve seen in a while, Guns and Talks takes the kind of irresistible and irascible characters that populate Hong Kong cinema and gives them a fresh and energetic atmosphere for a comedy of errors.

Our four heroes unabashedly make their living as assassins, even having frank interviews with their clients and requiring them to fill out request forms and paperwork. Leisurely strolling through subplots and big hits, our heroes learn lessons of life and love as they bite off more than they can chew, the movie masterfully maintains the distinctly Asian mixture of comedy and drama. Much of the humor arises from the assassins’ outrageous personalities and the absurd situations they leap headlong into; the light touch of drama is used to keep everything from going completely around the bend and losing all sense of reality.

With its whole-hearted appropriation of many familiar Hong Kong characters and relationships to present them with a distinct Korean feeling, Guns and Talks may serve as the perfect entry point for those weaned on the more serious Hong Kong drama. Contrasted against those tropes and almost clichés that we all know and love, many of the elements that make Korean cinema so distinct are brought to the forefront in this very accessible dark comedy. [

There’s a popular stereotype here in Japan.

I don’t think anyone really believes it, but it serves as useful fodder for desperate jokes.

Namely, the foreigner who comes to Japan and is completely shocked by the complete lack of samurai, ninja, and geisha. This mystic foreigner has presumably learned all about Japan from The Mikado, The Seven Samurai, and even Memoirs of a Geisha. Translated literature, film, and even manga reflects a heavy slant towards historical fiction, portraits of a country that looks a lot more alien than Japan does now. But I thought I was reasonably well informed.

Then I moved here. I love Japan, I love Japanese, and above all, I love their popular entertainment. Idol singers aside. But sometimes I also hate the place with a passion that can only be achieved through bitter experience.

About three months after I moved to Japan, my class was shown the film “kazoku gaamu” “The Family Game.” A brilliant satire of Japanese middle class family life, it banged a huge nail into everything we were frustrated by in our host families. I think this sort of knives out entertainment is a vital, important part of societal change and upheaval.

Flying in the face of the overwhelming amount of escapist music, movies, television, and manga, there are a small number of artists with a leaning towards social criticism. I’m going to take a look at two manga that take a satisfying bite out of their country of origin.

First on the list is Real, by Inoue Takehiko. Yes, he’s still drawing Vagabond as quickly as humanly possible, but he manages to slip in a few issues of Real every year as well. Like his first big hit, Slam Dunk, Real is a basketball story. But basketball itself plays a very small role in a story that is about three men trying to find a new reason to exist after their dreams are torn away. Nomiya Tomomi was the captain of his school’s basketball team, but a motorcycle accident leads to his expulsion. He finds that life after school provides him with very few opportunities to play. Togawa Kiyoharu was a track star until bone marrow cancer took his legs; now he plays basketball in a wheelchair. And Takahashi is in the hospital after the accident that severed his spinal column, trying to come to grips with the resulting depression. Just as Vagabond is a reinterpretation of the Musashi mythos for a disillusioned modern youth, Real is a good, hard look at the reasons why youth is disillusioned. Inoue skillfully skirts the edges of melodrama, telling his story with a finger so firmly on the pulse of his subjects that the story feels, well...real.

Real is sympathetic to its characters. Though they hurt other people as often as they hurt themselves, they are, essentially, good people. The antiheroes in The World Is Mine, however, are terrifyingly amoral...and therefore attractive.

Terrorists without a cause, they blow up a pachinko parlor and a train before leveling a police station and slipping away into the night. Meanwhile, a 12 meter long giant bear appears from the sky like Godzilla or an Aini legend. The two stories fight for media attention as the prime minister, a cherubic, saintly nudist, alarms his government with in-

creasingly unorthodox methods of keeping copycat crimes to a minimum. Arai Hideki gets deep inside his character’s minds, making his readers understand their way of looking at the world. The two killers are sort of a yin and yang of psychosis; Mon, who barely speaks, kills without thinking, playing a game with people as his own exploding toys. Toshi agonizes over every death, barely able to breath after the first few he kills, horrified to discover that killing girls gives him an erection. Midway, they are killed by the giant bear...but do not die. Instead, Mon suddenly understands the concept of pain in others, and Toshi finds he has to be the crazy one. But this crime spree they’ve started is something theycan’t turn back from, and Toshi becomes far more of a monster than Mon ever was.

Arai shows a great willingness to sidetrack into equally compelling subplots: a WWII flashback, political intrigue on live television, an a mournful portrait of the devastating affect this all has on Toshi’s parents. As the story draws to a conclusion Arai makes us root for the repellant heroes, even as what they do horrifies us. He questions why we find such characters attractive, and reminds us that there is a little bit of them in all of us. And then he gives The World Is Mine an ending that outdoes Dead or Alive.

Arai Hideki followed up The World Is Mine with a series told from a point of view as different as possible: the title character of Kiichi is three years old. He don’t speak much, but he’s got a mean punch that can knock the teeth out of every other boy in his kindergarten. Just as he did with his sociopath killers, Arai puts us right inside the character’s mind. We see the world from Kiichi’s point of view. When his parents are fighting, Arai keeps cutting to Kiichi, who seems to be ignoring it, caught up in his own world where the most important thing is that he color his ears black with a big magic marker. But of course, no child is unaffected by parent’s fights, and Arai makes it clear what part of the fight Kiichi’s mind can grapple with, how he tries to make them stop. The second volume again deals with bloody, unexpected murder, but while corpses fell by the wayside like flies, impersonal, in The World Is Mine, here Kiichi’s parents’ murder becomes an earth shattering event of such tragedy even the September 11th World Trade Center attack blaring on every television screen he passes becomes merely a background note in the overwhelming injustice of it all. He makes us feel Kiichi’s confusion and grief, and makes death the most personal thing of all. And I get the impression Kiichi’s story is only just beginning.

Between these two manga, Arai Hideki has, like Inoue Takehiko become an artist to buy on sight, blending social message with characters so real we live through them...even when we really don’t want to. [

Anime Review Neko no Ongaeshi (theater) Studio Ghibli 85 Minutes Directed by Hiroyuki Morita

by Andrew Cunningham

The Cat’s Return is the official English title for the newest Studio Ghibli film, but it is something of a misnomer. Neko no Ongaeshi does not mean The Cat Comes Back. It means The Cat Returns the Favor, since the main character saves the life of a cat prince and finds herself showered with favors from the king of cats.

In fact, the title means a lot more to the average Japanese audience that it ever will to us, since it references an old fairy tale, but replaces the original anime with cats. And the Japanese believe that cats are selfish creatures who would never return a favor. There’s a hint of irony in the title, which means it probably comes as less of a surprise when she is dragged off against her will to the cat’s kingdom The cats try to force a marriage with the very prince she saved. Which she doesn’t like because, after all, he’s a cat.

On paper, this story has an awful lot in common with Ghibli’s last film, the absurdly (yet deservedly) popular Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi (Spirited Away, a rather good English title), and, as such, invites a lot of comparisons. Were someone to seriously try to compare the films as equals, The Cat’s Return would probably come off the worse for wear, and thus Ghibli seems to have deliberately done a low key marketing campaign that revealed almost nothing of the story. The ads have cats, a girl lying in the grass, a rather simply tagline: “Wouldn’t it be nice to be a cat?” and they play rather heavily off the connection to Whisper of the Heart, a hit film Ghibli made in 95. Whisper of the Heart (Mimi wo Sumaseba, lit. If you Listen Closely) was about a young girl struggling to balance the demands of her parents for academic success, her own budding romance, and a story that just won’t stop pouring out of her onto the page. The film was filled with glimpses of her story, but we never really got a clear idea what the plot actually was. The Cat’s Return purports to be that story, or at least, a story set in that world and using those characters. The author of the original Whisper of the Heart novel seems to have done several manga about Baron, the statue of a gentleman cat come to life.

This movie is based on the first of them, but stands alone. You don’t need to have even heard of Whisper of the Heart to follow the story here.

But getting back to comparisons: there’s no point. Doing so only distracts from the fun. The Cat’s Return also riffs on a lot of old fairy tales and children’s stories, but while Spirited Away was epic, dark, and powerful, The Cat’s Return has not a hint

of danger, preferring instead to be a cheerful romp for tiny children. Spirited Away claimed it’s audience was “anyone who has ever been ten.”

The ideal audience for The Cat’s Return is, I think, the five year old girl behind me who squealed when the preview for Hamutaro played, and who thought the idea of cats walking around on their hind legs and talking was the funniest thing she has ever seen. Which is not to say adults can’t enjoy the movie; I certainly did. The Cat’s Return may be slight, but it has cats that have fur drawn to look like they’re wearing black suits. It has cats in turn of the century gentlemen’s clothing fencing. It has a fat, grumpy white cat voiced by Watanabe Tetsu, from Kurosawa’s Ran and Beat Takeshi’s Fireworks. You can’t help but like it.

Ghiblies - Episode 2

The Cat’s Return plays with a digitally animated short film, Ghibilies episode 2 (the first one was apparently a TV special). This is basically a series of gags about the staff of a fictional animation studio known as Studio Ghibli (but pronounced ‘g’ instead of ‘j’) and shows them making some use of all that expensive technology they invented for My Neighbors the Yamadas.

As such, it looks amazing. Sadly, it isn’t actually very funny. Jokes about peeping down girl’s shirts seemed aimed over the heads of a kindergarten audience. Ghibli’s reputation has been built on films that work perfectly for both children and adults, speaking directly to all of us.

They don’t talk down to kids, and they don’t add extra bits to keep the grown ups interested. Ghibilies does just that, wraps it up in a bit of fake nostaligia, and produces only one bit that I genuinely responded to: a minute long dance sequence thrown in between stories. Exaggerated and wild, it’s the first time I’ve seen animated characters dance at all realistically. Ghiblies isn’t aggressively bad; it’s simply a ho-hum way to pass twenty minutes before the real movie starts. Sort of the Ghibli version of Sazae-san or the comic strip Blondie: worn out old gags that evoke a smile of recognition at best. [

Live Action Dead or Alive (theater) Viz Films / Tidepoint Pictures 104 Minutes Directed by Takeshi Miike

by Eric Chon

There are few directors that can shock me like Takeshi Miike. I feel like a jaded viewer at times, witnessing artists churn out the same ol’ same ol’ while wondering where the vibrancy disappeared to. But Miike, he just punches me in the gut every time I think movies have gotten into a rut. There is no experience like watching a Miike film, and Dead or Alive (DoA) delivers like a freighttrain into your brain.

My first exposure to Yakuza movies involved another amazing director named ‘Beat’ Takeshi. His world of misery, quiet contemplation, and duty-bound angst struck a chord and wrenched its way into my mind – this was how all Yakuza movies should be. With the hyper violence of Hong Kong films, ‘Beat’ Takeshi offered a different experience that was subtle at times, and explosive at others.

Dead or Alive is it’s bizarro-world brother. Imagine the super kinetic havoc of your best Hong Kong triad films (Full Contact or Hard-Boiled) mashed with the shockviolence of modern Japanese cinema (Tokyo Fist), and then squeeze. Miike’s masterpiece of violence, greed, and honor begins like a shotgun blast and escalates into all out war.

I originally saw Dead or Alive on a cheap, third-generation bootleg with awful picture quality and loved it. When Viz/Tidepoint Pictures did a limited release in theaters, I rushed to see it when it came to Boston. It wasn’t a long run, but fear not!

According to Tidepoint Pictures, Dead or Alive will be coming to video in May 2003.

Just be patient for a few months to get your gangsta’ on!

Plot and coherence are liberally slashed and burned in favor of startling imagery and stylistic brutality. The story remains in the background merely becoming a way to string along each delirious scene to the next.

DoA is about two men, Ryuuichi (Riki Takeuchi) and Detective Jojima (Sho Aikawa) – and their passions burn like fire.

It’s a familiar tale of trust, betrayal, and revenge.

Ryuuichi is a famed gangster of Chinese descent; he and his small band of hoodlums are practically family and have a strong, nearly unbreakable bond between them. As the tired, old Yakuza seeks to make a deal with Chinese triads for goods and trade, Ryuuichi repeatedly murders their agents and causes widespread chaos among the underground – they want a piece of the pie, and they want it bad. Ryuuichi embodies an unstoppable force and his ambition knows no bounds.

Detective Jojima is so dedicated to his work that his family seems secondary to his job. He hunts down the scum of the city like a man possessed with his trusty partner at his side. Jojima consorts with pornographers, other gangsters, anyone who will give him what he wants. For the criminal underworld, he is a staunch enforcer of the status quo.

Despite this extreme description, the movie succeeds because both Riki and Sho display an amazing amount of warmth and hinted-kindness to those they care about.

Their characters aren’t automatons that merely react in a singular manner to any stimuli – they are living, breathing people with obsessions that border on the dangerous.

What keeps them from self-destructing is their family.

Ryuuichi has a brother as his only kin; sent away to study in America and just now returning. Despite appearing distant, Jojima loves his wife and daughter – willing even to go to the enemy to try and save them.

The moments where both larger-than-life characters interact with their very real families are gentle at times, awkward at others, but always indicative of their strong emotions towards them. This provides an excellent counterpoint to the tremendous amount of violence and sex that remains during the rest of the film. You never become desensitized; it always packs a visceral punch.

And what a pummel it is. Miike’s visual style is anarchic and frenzied, pounding in a real sense of urgency and actual emotion within the camera’s lens. Color frequently plays as important a role as the movie’s characters, speaking when dialogue is kept to a minimum, altering your perceptions of the character’s actions. DoA’s rock-n-roll soundtrack only adds to the chaos and experience – this is pure adrenaline-pumping stuff.

And if any actor has ever been the pure personification of the original Yakuza, it’s Riki Takeuchi. Only Sonny Chiba has ever had this kind of primeval screen presence – grim, severe, calm; like pot just about to boil over.

Dead or Alive is a love it or hate it movie, that’s for sure.

Equally offensive as it is enjoyable, Miike’s masterpiece leaves an indelible mark that won’t be washed away anytime soon. Extremely graphic and poignant at the same time, Miike takes the “tried and true” Yakuza genre and makes it punk rock from beginning to end. I hear it’s tantamount to a sin to give away the ending to Dead or Alive – let’s just say it must be ‘experienced’ rather than merely ‘watched.’ [

Anime Review Otaku No Video DVD AnimEigo 100 Minutes MSRP $22.45

by Mike Mearls Ooooh, cartoons.

I like The Simpsons. I think it, along with Ren & Stimpy, are the best cartoons I’ve ever seen. It’s fitting, then, that my reaction to most anime mimics Lisa Simpson’s: Lisa: Wait, I’m confused; why was a wolf shooting a web?

Bart: Cartoons don’t have to make sense.

I just don’t get it.

I was asked to watch and review Otaku No Video (ONV) precisely because I don’t really understand anime. After watching ONV, I’m still not sure I understand it. Between the somewhat incomprehensible plot, the paper thin characters, and the mountain of references that made just about zero sense (though I did notice the Starblazers uniform), I’m as confused as ever about anime.

Anime fans, on the other hand, make a bit more sense to me. The interviews with anime “fans” seeded through the movie were easily the highlight of the film. Funny and spot on in their parody of typical fannish obsessions and attitudes, they said a lot about what it means to be a fan. But what struck me the most was the assumption that fans and “normal” people are fundamentally separated, a theme that came up time and again in the movie and the interviews. This observation drives to the core of what it means to be a fan. Being a fan of something, anything, sets you apart from everyone else. The typical person doesn’t memorize the minutia of NFL rules and regulations, or trade bootleg tapes of Grateful Dead shows, or, yes, follow anime with a passion. There’s something about anime that captures an otaku’s interest and never lets go. But what transforms him into an otaku? What pushes someone to devote his life to anime? Why doesn’t hunky Brad the quarterback engage in cosplay?

(See, I’m learning the lingo.)

I think at its core, anime fandom is a mix of conspicuous consumption and rebellion. The otaku isn’t part of the mainstream because he dislikes it. He has seen what society can offer and has either rejected it or been scorned by it. Kurt Vonnegut once wrote “. . . they didn’t own doodly-squat, so they couldn’t improve their surroundings. So they did their best to make their insides beautiful instead. (Breakfast of Champions - 1973)” He was writing about drug addiction, but I think it makes perfect sense for a lot of fandoms. What else is SF, fantasy, and anime but an attempt to escape from reality? Maybe the problem isn’t the otaku. Maybe the problem is the world around him.

So, anyway, to sum up: Otaku No Video ««/«««« Worth a rent, but not particularly memorable unless you understand all the in-jokes. [

When Monsters Strike!

Godzilla: Destroy All Monsters Melee

hands a crisis “Ladies and gentlemen, we have on our arrived in just has illa Godz ! nces eque of colossal cons How can t! upse San Francisco and he’s looking pretty in that ng comi are ts we hope to survive? Wait, repor city! fair our rds towa ing head seen Anguirus has been They’ve begun to fight! Ple ase, evacuate the city at all costs! This is like World War 3 here and…oh my god. Megalon has emerged from the Downtown Metro stop and laid waste to Macy’s!

Oh the humanity! We’re doo med! There’s no esca…”

Godzilla: Destroy All Monsters Melee gives you the chance to take your favorite Japanese rubber-rampagers and wreak raging ruckus on some of the world’s most destroyable cities. Not only that, you can pit these radioactive beasties against each other in a fight to the finish while trashing town. And if that isn’t reason enough to get this game, then allow me to give you a few more.

Technically, Godzilla excels at depicting your favorite monster in three-dimensional, bump-mapped glory. Animations are fluid and dynamic and the creatures themselves are faithfully rendered to look like their rubber-suited originals. Environments are equally impressive as buildings topple and crumble as your mammoth combatants duke it out with tails, fists, and laser beams.

Want to take out Tokyo Tower? Why not pick the goddamn thing up and chuck it at Orga over there? Game play is a smash (no pun intended) – chucking buildings, special moves, power ups – it certainly is a melee game done well. And with support for fourplayer simultaneous destruction, it’s a great party game as well.

Choose from a villainous list of 40-story titans to trash your favorite metropolis while unlocking secrets and special modes.

With all this be prepared to come back again and again.

And while you’re revisiting Monster Island, invite four friends together and inflict extreme amounts of havoc - that’s where Godzilla out-stomps the competition. Super Smash Brother’s Melee doesn’t have the deformable arenas that Godzilla uses to such success and Mario Party is good if you want a nice, quiet evening playing by yourself (all your friends will be at my place annihilating Seattle). Nope, Godzilla is the only option for mass destruction. Unfortunately, there are a few little quibbles I have about the game.

You don’t do nearly enough damage making the games drag on sometimes. This often leads to a building-chucking contest that’s fun for awhile but looses its luster quickly. Additionally, the controls aren’t as responsive as they should be - but these are small complaints. The only large one deals with the size of the arenas. At first they seem immense, but as play commences you realize they aren’t nearly as large as you need them to be – especially for more than two players. If Infogrames made them larger this game would be classic. The potential for damage would rise exponentially and who doesn’t want that?

As it stands this game is merely “awesome.” If you own a GameCube I highly recommend you get your rumble on with Godzilla. [

by Eric Chon

Game Review Godzilla: Destroy All Monsters Melee GameCube 1-4 Players Infogrames MSRP $49.99

Anime Review

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Presumptions of of Godhood Godhood Presumptions The Truth Behind the Human Instrumentality Project

by Derek Guder Buddhism pervades virtually all aspects of Asian life and culture, no less so than the Judeo-Christian tradition largely defines the Western world-view. Despite being steeped in Jewish and Christian symbolism, the entire Neon Genesis Evangelion franchise may be interpreted more as a reaction against Buddhist tradition than as any kind of examination or look at western religious thought.

Buddhism is something of a philosophical religion, in that it grows from a central and concise thrust of an idea codified into the Four Nobles Truths: 1.

2.

3.

4.

Recognition of the existence of suffering in the world Recognition of the cause of suffering as desire The cessation of suffering by the cessation of its cause The Eightfold Path, being a clear guideline on the steps to follow to accomplish this

"Desire is the root of all suffering" because, after all, you cannot suffer if you do not want. As a religious and philosophical movement, Buddhism provides a path to eliminate desire and thus free adherents from the chains of suffering, pain and, ultimately, the illusion of the physical world upon ascension into the state of nirvana.

Taking these tenets to their logical, if extreme, conclusion, is it the very idea of a self (the ego) that is the source of desire and directly leads to suffering. Indeed, the state of nirvana itself is described as being beyond individuality or identity, transcending the individual and thus the world. By creating artificial distinctions and separating me from you, an illusory void is created between people, one that is ultimately filled with a craving for what is on the other side, what the other person has. The self leads to desire. Desire leads to suffering. If all boundaries are removed and the ego is annihilated, there can no longer be any room for suffering or pain. The Human Instrumentality Project was conceived to eradicate human suffering through the elimination of the human ego.

We Had to Kill Them to Save Them Using the knowledge that they gained from the "Secret Dead Sea Scrolls" not as a warning of the end times but as a blueprint on how to bring salvation to humanity, SEELE set about the ending the world.

Each of the 18 angles (humanity being the last) was a single trial, a step along the road to the unification of humanity into a perfect being in which the individual strengths of each person would combine together to complement the weaknesses of others. That this plan required the destruction of any concept of self, identity and privacy was thought a small price to pay for perfection, salvation and immortality.

In SEELE’s eyes, there was no other choice. They were given clear instructions on how to alleviate all suffering. How could they not act? How can they not secretly direct events and sculpt personalities to fulfill the requirements of the Dead Sea Scrolls? With great knowledge comes great responsibility, and SEELE has no intention of shirking their duty to their fellow humans. Using the Evangelion units and their pilots as catalysts, the Third Impact was initiated to construct a single, unsullied being, possessed of all the virtues of existence and purged of all flaws – God.

For the Love of a Woman Though he was originally involved in Gehirn and the Instrumentality Committee and the plan to initiate the Third Impact with intent to "save" humanity, Ikari Gendo attempted to subvert the project after the death of his wife. Consciously deciding to abandon compassion, his very humanity, he became a brutal and ruthless manipulator bent only on enacting the Human Instrumentality Project so he could be reunited with Yui. To that end he was willing to not only deceive SEELE and use his influence over NERV to his own ends, but to even wield his own son like nothing more than a tool. Implanting Adam into his palm and uniting it with Rei, Gendo intended to initiate the Third Impact himself, and presumably control it.

While it is somewhat unclear as to exactly how Gendo wanted to be reunited with Yui, whether he hoped she could reform her body if the gates of Heaven were thrown wide or was content to unite with her as souls merged, he was unswervingly focused on that goal for the entire series. In the end, as his own AT field collapses, he admits to actions and the cost it has extracted, but doesn’t seem remorseful.

He certainly seemed regretful, but with an air of resignation to its necessity.

The Third Impact and Evangelion in the End In a sense, SEELE was attempting to enact global ascension into nirvana while Gendo wanted to engineer a much more personal revelation, but both, in their hubris, failed to consider the free will of the puppets they had set upon the stage. Shinji and Rei both refused to dance to the strings that bound them and derailed the complex rituals they were the catalysts for. Taking the embryonic Adam into her womb, along with Gendo’s hand, Rei asserted herself and her identity, almost for one last time as she rose up to join with Shinji.

He, however, was a helpless and catatonic participant in the plans SEELE had set in motion, until he finally succeeded in searching within himself to grasp the core of his being – his very ego – and accept this self he found, rejecting the blissful state of nirvana for the joys and pains of individual life.

Through this assertion of identity, Shinji rips himself from the primordial sea – from the union of souls – to recreate himself in a shattered world. Beneath the remains of the monstrous Lillith/Rei, he awakens to find himself alone except for limp Asuka. Instead of joy or tenderness, his first reaction is violence as he brutally strangles her as he did during his psychological trials in the sea of LCL. While this seems to be quite at odds with the optimistic ending of the television series or even Shinji’s own optimism as he decides that identity and the chance of joy that it brings is worth the attendant suffering, it was not meant to be any more literal than the visions we were witness to during the Third Impact. Despite returning to the physical world, the story is still functioning on the same metaphorical level and it is the shock of the transition from transcendent unity to psychological isolation. That is the crux of the last scene. Shinji has chosen individuality, but that does nothing to resolve the basic suffering such an existence entails. Our shock at the wasteland he has chosen instead of nirvana mirrors the shock he experiences as he is thrust back into himself and the lonely world. Shinji’s response, and that of mankind, is to lash out in despair. The instinctual response is not insurmountable, however, as Asuka’s surprising and uncharacteristic tenderness demonstrated. [

The End of Evangelion vs.

The End of Evangelion The End of Evangelion is not meant to serve as a replacement for the last few episodes of the television series. Far from it, in fact, it is instead a retelling of the same events from a wider point of view.

Where the series ended with the of Shinji’s psychological trauma and the statement that the rest of humanity was undergoing their own ordeal, the movie showed us that SEELE assaulting NERV and the massproduced EVA units initiating the Third Impact instead of simply telling us. The movie was not a refutation of the series, it was a visual feast of the violence going on behind the scenes in those infamous last episodes.

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Art by Leigh Bradford