I feature in two podcasts up recently on AlltheAnime. One is the pre-Scotland Loves Anime interview, in which I talk about the politics of hosting Japanese guests, and libel a bunch of industry figures while discussing their peccadilloes. Then, a week later, I appear at the jury chairman in the big jury hoedown, when festival judges Amelia Cook, Rayna Denison and Elliot Page discuss the four films in competition.
Over at the All the Anime blog, I review Frederick Litten’s book on Animation in Japan Until 1919.
“In 160 closely-argued pages on animation in Japan and animation from Japan, Litten suggests that many scholars have committed an error of historical practice by believing the old-time hype. The 1923 Kanto Earthquake destroyed most of the materials of the early Japanese animation world, which leaves historical memory in the hands of the people with a vested interest in being remembered. Although Nobuyuki Tsugata has done fantastic work in reconstructing the life and films of the pioneer Seitaro Kitayama, Litten accuses Kitayama of ‘blatant self-promotion’, and calls into question much of what Kitayama wrote about his own achievements.”
Back from the Worldcon in Helsinki this August, a gathering of science fiction’s great and good. Japanese attendees maintained a strangely low profile at an event that often made me muse upon the thinning of the old guard, and the continuing onrush of the new. While a block of fifty Chinese fans paraded big-name authors, pushed their upcoming Asia-Pacific convention in Beijing and ran a riotous party, the Japanese huddled at a dealers’ table and rarely seemed to venture out. I found myself on two anime-related panels having to apologise for the lack of native speakers, with representatives from the homeland of anime and manga seemingly unwilling to volunteer to talk about it publically. Despite this, two awards were dished out with Japan connections, both sneaking in under Japanese fandom’s radar.
One was for Ada Palmer, sometime historical consultant for Funimation and the founder of the Tezuka in English website, although her accolade here was a John W. Campbell Best Newcomer award for her novel Too Like the Lightning. The other was the Best Graphic Novel Hugo, handed to writer Marjorie Liu and artist Sana Takeda for their ongoing comic series Monstress.
Although drawn in Japan by a Japanese artist, and hence perfectly deserving of a manga tag, Monstress is far better imagined at the forefront of modern “woke” comics, intimately concerned with the powerlessness of slaves and chattels in a colonialist society – what it feels like to be an object in someone else’s world. Trawling through online reviews, I see many readers ascribing a manga sensibility to the artwork. This is news to me – Takeda’s imagery seems to strive to be as un-manga as possible, luxuriating in the availability of a colour palette, thin lines and a sedate panel progression – if it reminded me of anything it was Colleen Doran. One imagines that faced with visceral, violent imagery, some American readers are immediately prompted to pronounce something as “manga” – which is also ironic, considering the reputation that Image Comics already enjoys without any help from across the sea.
The cast are largely women, but Takeda refuses to objectify them. No fan service here – instead these are characters getting on with their various stories, showcasing a cast of widespread ages and grotesqueries, as if Orange is the New Black were suddenly invaded by a coven of steampunk cannibal witches. It’s Liu’s writing that imparts Monstress with its true chills – feral, fearful creatures with magical powers, locked in eternal conflict with predatory, flesh-eating ghouls, constantly fighting to gain control of their own destiny.
Jonathan Clements is the author of Anime: A History. This article previously appeared in NEO 169, 2017.
Over on the All the Anime blog now, my review of Alexander Zahlten’s End of Japanese Cinema: “Zahlten has produced a gleefully contrary book, from which historians of Japanese film are sure to derive much information and inspiration.”
Over at the All the Anime blog, I review Akiyuki Shinbo’s Fireworks, a remake of a Shunji Iwai TV movie from 1993. “Producer Genki Kawamura expected sparks to fly between the main staff members, particularly since Iwai the original writer-director was sitting in with Shinbo the animator and screenwriter Hitoshi Ohne, himself no stranger to helming his own films. ‘It was very exciting sitting in a script meeting with three directors,’ Kawamura told Japan’s Buzz Feed. ‘Punches could fly at you from any direction.'”
When Noboru Ishiguro died in 2012, it was only fair to wonder would happen to Artland, the company he helped found. But even five years ago, Artland was already a changed entity. In 2006, it had been subsumed into Marvelous, a computer games conglomerate which turned Artland into a limited company, and then split it into two in 2010. One part, the Artland Animation Studio, continued under its sole shareholder Kuniharu Okano, who toiled on shows such as the upcoming Seven Deadly Sins.
In 2015 the other part was entirely absorbed within Marvelous in order to “improve the efficiency of group management.” Let me translate that for you: the other part was a holding company for intellectual property – shares in anime franchises. You might like to call the late Ishiguro himself an asset of sorts, but his days were numbered, while the franchises he helped create live under copyright law for decades after his demise.
Meanwhile, in 2016, a chunk of ownership in the animation studio was sold to Emon, a subsidiary of the Chinese company Haoliners, in order to “strengthen production capacity.” What did they think they were buying? It surely wasn’t a stake in Macross or Legend of the Galactic Heroes, as they were presumably still part of Marvelous. Was it, perhaps, just the Artland name, so that any work brought in could be spirited off down a fibre-optic cable to cheaper animators in China? Okano’s company, if it truly is merely an “animation studio”, amounts to tables and chairs, pens and paper. It doesn’t own the people who work for it, and it may even only rent the real estate where it resides. True enough, it might be able to work its way out of debt, but why would anyone fund this if it doesn’t own anything?
Four days after the anime press reported Artland’s bankruptcy this July, a fuming Okano went public to assert that the company was trying to restructure its debts, but was by no means dead. He had, he claimed, a bunch of offers from new investors, although he had yet to take any of them up on it. However, the question that everybody is asking is whether Artland itself actually retains any intellectual property – part-ownership of any of the franchises for which it is listed as a co-producer – when surely all that stuff is still sitting in a filing cabinet at Marvelous? Artland is for sale… but what would any new investor really be buying?
Jonathan Clements is the author of Anime: A History. This article first appeared in NEO #167, 2017.
Over at the All the Anime blog today, I write about Masaaki Yuasa’s film Lu Over the Wall: “Like the shadow cast by the looming crag, Reiko Yoshida’s script for Lu Over the Wall contains darker implications, a community in which every single member has some sort of ghost or hang-up that needs to be exorcised.”