Saw the first three episodes of Dragon Ball DAIMA on the big screen, courtesy of Fathom Events! An earnest love letter to the early days of the franchise—for better or worse.

On the one hand, the action choreography returns to the series’ Jackie Chan inspired roots, and there are fun callbacks to classic running gags (e.g., Master Roshi treating the various divine artifacts that he’s accumulated as though they’re common household appliances). On the other, approximately 1/3 of the first episode is just a prolonged recap of a previous storyline—and that uneven pacing persists throughout the subsequent episodes.

Still, enjoyable show overall, would definitely watch more.

Recently Viewed - DAN DA DAN: First Encounter

Prior to seeing DAN DA DAN: First Encounter—a special theatrical premiere event for Science SARU’s latest anime series, presented by North American distributor GKIDS—I knew absolutely nothing about either the show or its source material (a manga that is apparently quite popular in its native Japan). This canny bit of marketing therefore served its purpose magnificently; I am now thoroughly invested in this story… though not enough, perhaps, to religiously tune in as it airs—I mean, who has the time to keep up with television, amirite? I will, however, definitely be binging it as soon as it’s available in its entirety; this three-episode tease was simply too promising to ignore.

I won’t discuss the plot in detail; this is a work that benefits greatly from the element of surprise. Suffice it to say that the narrative is as economical as it is relentlessly paced. Characters and conflicts are introduced quickly and elegantly, with nuances developing and complications arising gradually and organically—frequently defying or outright subverting the audience’s initial impressions. Indeed, the genre is virtually unclassifiable, abruptly shifting between romcom, slapstick, action, sci-fi, and horror—often in the span of a single scene.

Whatever its tone may be at any given moment, DAN DA DAN is consistently funny (some instances of crude/perverse humor—including a particularly juvenile preoccupation with partial nudity, genitalia, and various bodily functions—notwithstanding). The running gag revolving around the female protagonist’s obsession with prolific tough-guy actor Ken Takakura, for example, was seemingly written to appeal to me specifically. Sadly, few of my fellow patrons appreciated (or understood) the joke—which made me feel like the loneliest cinephile in the whole world.

I have only two minor complaints about the experience, neither of which can be blamed on the show itself. First, the promotional interviews with the cast and crew should have followed the feature presentation, rather than preceding it; while the peek behind the scenes was perfectly enjoyable, it also sucked the energy out of the theater before the screening had even begun—the crowd’s impatience was positively palpable. And second, the house lights came back up approximately ten minutes too early—which is, unfortunately, par for the course at AMC’s inadequately staffed venues these days.

Otherwise, consider me a satisfied customer. Discovering DAN DA DAN on the big screen was a total blast; glad I made the spur-of-the-moment decision to purchase the ticket!

Photos from Anime NYC (2024)

Recently Viewed: Nezumikozo Jirokichi

Nezumikozo Jirokichi—recently screened as part of Japan Cuts’ Shorts Program 2–managed to hit three major categories on my annual festival bingo card: Jidaigeki, Anime, and (albeit to a lesser degree) Behind-the-Scenes Story Celebrating the Joy of Filmmaking. An impressive feat, considering it runs a lean, breezy twenty-three minutes!

Based on a lost movie from Sadao Yamanaka (a pioneer of early Japanese genre cinema, whose tragically limited surviving work includes Humanity and Paper Balloons and Tange Sazen and the Pot Worth a Million Ryo), Nezumikozo Jirokichi honors its source material by building upon it, rather than merely resorting to hollow mimicry. By framing the narrative as a dream—with the dozing director imagining the entirety of the onscreen action just before the camera rolls—animator Rintaro allows himself enough creative license to be a bit fanciful and whimsical in adapting/reinterpreting Yamanaka's original script and production notes. The visual style, for example, is reminiscent of classic Fleischer cartoons: expressive, but not remotely naturalistic; the characters’ movements often lack “realistic” weight and fluidity, but nevertheless convey a great deal of personality and emotion.

The result is a triumph of form and technique, utilizing thoroughly modern sensibilities (particularly the energetic rhythm of the editing) to evoke that quintessential 1930s aesthetic (complete with intertitles and benshi narration). What a lovely tribute to the legacy of a genuine auteur!

Recently Viewed: Look Back

[The following review contains MINOR SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

Look Back opens with a shot that seems simple at first glance, but gradually reveals itself to be dense with detail. Our protagonist sits at her desk, hunched over a blank sketchbook. Although the “camera” is positioned behind her, the reflection of her face is just barely visible in a nearby mirror, her features contorted in frustrated concentration. Her sock lazily scratches the back of her leg as her pencil traces invisible patterns in the air, drafting potential scenarios in her imagination. Finally, she begins to draw, her foot drumming a beat of excitement and satisfaction on her bedroom floor as her ideas take shape on the page.

This same basic composition recurs throughout the film—both in isolation and in various montages—like the chorus of a song, or a poetic refrain that becomes more meaningful and impactful with every repetition. Indeed, director Kiyotaka Oshiyama’s sublime style elevates the narrative foundation established by author Tatsuki Fujimoto’s source material; he understands that the inherent power and appeal of animation lies in movement, color, rhythm, and expressionism.

Not that the story is any slouch on its own merits. The plot revolves around a pair of young manga artists that frequently compete to get their four-panel comic strips published in their school newspaper; slowly, their initial rivalry blossoms into mutual admiration, then inspiration, and ultimately collaboration, with each girl contributing her respective talent—creative vision and raw technical skill—in order to improve the quality of their combined work. As the years progress, however, conflict—incompatible career ambitions, an inability to separate their personal relationship from their professional partnership—fractures their bond and causes them to lose sight of what motivated them in the first place, leading to resentment, regret, and inevitable tragedy. The movie's unconventional structure emphasizes this core theme: diverging timelines (a gimmick reminiscent of Shunji Iwai’s Fireworks, Should We See It from the Side or the Bottom?) force the characters to confront the consequences of their actions and contemplate how events might have unfolded differently had they chosen another path.

Poignant, emotionally resonant, and exquisitely heartbreaking, Look Back is anime of the highest caliber. It has more than earned its box office success and numerous accolades.

Recently Viewed - Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence

Despite watching Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence way back in college (on a borrowed DVD copy that I certainly hope I eventually returned to its proper owner), I retained virtually no memory of its plot. After recently revisiting the film on the big screen (courtesy of the gorgeous new 4K restoration distributed by GKIDS), however, I sincerely doubt that I’ll ever forget it again. This is a bona fide sci-fi masterpiece—a neon-drenched cyberpunk noir-flavored buddy cop techno-thriller of the highest caliber. Writer/director Mamoru Oshii has quite a lot to say—about perception, reality, philosophy, existentialism, and human consciousness (to name a mere fraction of the myriad themes explored)—and enough patience to articulate his thesis thoroughly and rigorously. Featuring an impenetrably labyrinthine narrative, deliberate pacing, and meticulously detailed animation, the movie delights the senses and intellect in equal measure. Beam it straight into my brain on an infinitely repeating loop; I never want to stop experiencing its beauty!

Recently Viewed: The Boy and the Heron

Several critics have asserted that The Boy and the Heron is Hayao Miyazaki’s most “personal” film to date. There may be some merit to that argument; it is, after all, a coming-of-age story set during a particularly turbulent period of World War II, when the director would have been a very young child. The quality that stood out to me as I watched the movie, however, was its patience. The narrative is in no great hurry, unfolding at a rather leisurely pace; the plot is nearly halfway done by the time the protagonist has entered the obligatory Wonderland du jour, and the few fleeting glimpses of supernatural phenomena preceding this crossing-of-the-threshold might easily be attributed to dreams, delusions, and hallucinations. Withholding the typical fairytale tropes allows Miyazaki to more fully develop the comparatively mundane conflicts, fleshing out the all-too-human flaws that the title character must overcome by the conclusion of his fantastical journey.

Of course, Studio Ghibli productions rarely benefit from being analyzed in terms of traditional structures; such a clinical approach is far too reductive. The Boy and the Heron’s substance instead lies in its style—and Miyazaki certainly delivers in that regard, drenching the frame in impressionistic landscapes that dazzle the senses. Consider, for example, the haunting prologue: as our hero sprints through the crowded streets, desperate to reach the blazing inferno that has claimed his mother’s life, the surrounding pedestrians are rendered as vague, sketchy silhouettes, barely distinguishable from the smoke and smoldering ash that choke the air—thus immersing the viewer in the lad’s psyche, elegantly conveying his single-minded determination and unwavering resolve amidst the chaos.

Indeed, the magnificence of Miyazaki’s imagery is precisely what makes writing about his work so challenging. His appeal is inherently, innately, fundamentally visual. Mere words cannot adequately articulate such excellence and splendor; the spectacle speaks for itself—and is therefore best experienced firsthand.

Recently Viewed: The Case of Hana & Alice

[The following review contains MAJOR SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

There’s an old Japanese proverb that goes, “The nail that sticks out gets hammered.” Unfortunately for Tetsuka “Alice” Arisugawa—the teenage protagonist of Shunji Iwai’s delightfully offbeat The Case of Hana & Alice—she’s pretty much the quintessential misfit: following her parents’ recent divorce, the poor girl is relocated to “the boonies” and enrolled in a new school so abruptly that she doesn’t even have time to purchase the proper uniform. When her classmates immediately ostracize her, she reasonably assumes that they're merely hazing her due to her status as an outsider (a problem that she intends to solve via the most direct method: by pummeling the crap out of the biggest, toughest bully). Gradually, however, she finds herself entangled in a bizarre local legend: not only has she been assigned to sit at a desk that once belonged to a (supposedly) dead student, but she’s also currently living in the same house that his family formerly inhabited! Was the boy truly murdered, as the rumors claim? Does his damned, tormented spirit haunt her home? And what secret is the reclusive, antisocial truant next door hiding?

Despite its familiar premise, this "mystery" story defies precise classification. The eponymous amateur sleuths, for example, are utterly incompetent, fumbling about without a clue. The film’s “supernatural” elements are likewise quickly and unceremoniously revealed to be a hoax—though the mundane, traumatic incident that inspired them is both very real and integral to the central conflict. Far from being anticlimactic, these subversive twists serve to enhance the movie’s inherent charm: the superficial aspects of the plot (tropes, conventions, genre signifiers) are secondary to the wonderfully vibrant and vivid characters. Alice is particularly complex and nuanced: in the company of her peers, she behaves like a typical child (energetic, emotional, occasionally mischievous); when she briefly visits her estranged father, on the other hand, she comes off as comparatively reserved and mature—an illuminating glimpse into their complicated relationship.

While I must confess that I was not initially fond of Hana & Alice’s “unique” visual style (a disharmonious combination of rotoscope animation and somewhat clunky CGI), its quirky narrative and rich themes ultimately won me over. Functioning as a lighter, more optimistic antithesis to Iwai’s relentlessly bleak All About Lily Chou-Chou, it is a thoroughly engaging cinematic experience.

Recently Viewed: Violence Voyager

[The following review contains SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

After finally seeing Violence Voyager for myself (having learned of its existence via clips posted to Twitter), I can confidently promise you this: you have never seen anything like it.

The basic premise is familiar enough: on the last day of their summer vacation, two adolescent boys—an American exchange student name Bobby and his friend and fellow social outcast, Akkun—venture out into the wilderness surrounding their quaint, quiet rural community in search of excitement and adventure. As they navigate the perilous mountain trails, they eventually stumble upon a dilapidated—but still fully operational—amusement park. When they discover that the seemingly unassuming proprietor actually harbors sinister intentions, however, the youths find themselves wishing that they hadn’t strayed so far from the safety of their own homes…

Divorced from further narrative context, this synopsis makes the film sound like a traditional fairytale, complete with a rather straightforward moral (“Remember, boys and girls: always listen to your parents and elders…”); the visual style—which features deliberately simplistic “paper cutout” animation reminiscent of a pop-up storybook—merely reinforces this impression. Once the plot begins to unfold in earnest, though, this colorful, whimsical, “all-ages” façade is quickly and brutally subverted by the movie’s darkly comic tone—emphasis on dark. When confronted with genuinely malicious forces, the characters are about as helpless and vulnerable as you’d expect a bunch of prepubescents to be. Children are graphically maimed, bludgeoned, dismembered, flayed, impaled, and otherwise mutilated by the dozen—and the really unfortunate ones are mutated into grotesque, malformed monstrosities with misshapen skulls, bulging eyes, and exposed nerves. So, y’know, if you’re fond of kids (and animals, for that matter), you might want to steer clear…

While director Ujicha owes an obvious debt to the pioneers of the body horror genre—including David Cronenberg, Brian Yuzna, Clive Barker, and Shinya Tsukamoto—his irreverent rejection of formula, cliché, and convention sets Violence Voyager apart from its predecessors. Unpredictable, unnerving, and extremely unserious, it won’t appeal to every viewer’s sensibilities (it isn’t “enjoyed” so much as “endured”), but it is—for better or worse—an unforgettable cinematic experience.

Recently Viewed: Angel’s Egg

In the 1980s and 1990s, a lot of anime was produced exclusively for the booming home video market. Freed from the more stringent censorship guidelines associated with traditional distribution models (theatrical, television), these relatively low-budget “OVAs” became synonymous with “Mature Content,” a misleading label that in this context alludes to extreme violence and sexually explicit material (see: Demon City Shinjuku, Wicked City, Doomed Megalopolis)—superficial pleasures that are not totally without merit, but are nevertheless rather juvenile. Angel’s Egg, however, is genuinely mature; this hidden gem—which has only recently been rediscovered and critically reevaluated after being largely dismissed upon its initial release—is thematically rich, emotionally resonant, and exquisitely crafted. I don’t know if I even possess the language required to articulate what makes it so utterly compelling… but that will hardly discourage me from trying anyway.

The film begins with a tight closeup on a pair of small, delicate hands. Gradually, the thin wrists rotate, allowing the viewer to observe the creases in the pale flesh, the lines on the palms, the faint sheen on the nails; the joints audibly crack and pop as the fingers flex, curling into clenched fists. This minute attention to detail permeates every subsequent frame. Individual strands of hair billow gracefully in the breeze, mirroring the swaying motion of rustling grass. The reflections of gnarled tree branches ripple on the deceptively placid surface of a subterranean lake. Later, this same body of water slowly envelops our heroine’s calm, tranquil features as she sinks into its dark, icy depths.

Although director Mamoru Oshii (Ghost in the Shell) provides fluid movement and a hypnotic rhythm, Yoshitaka Amano (whose cinematic credits include Belladonna of Sadness, but who is probably better known in the United States for his Final Fantasy concept illustrations) contributes the vital framework, sculpting the visual style and establishing the oppressively bleak, haunting tone. His character designs, of course, are instantly iconic. The protagonist is particularly striking; her skin is so immaculately white that it almost appears to radiate light, starkly contrasting the dull, drab, monochromatic gray shade of the setting—a nightmarish realm of carved stone, shattered glass, and petrified bone wherein the inhabitants resemble the surrounding gargoyles and solid objects are indistinguishable from their own shadows. The backgrounds are equally evocative: barren, desolate wastelands stretch out for miles beneath the blood red sky, while the architecture is a surreal, chaotic amalgamation of Gothic cathedrals, industrial factories, and techno-organic horrors beyond human comprehension.

As for the plot… well, to be perfectly honest, it’s far too minimalistic to be properly summarized. Indeed, attempting to describe the story in literalist terms is inherently futile; the narrative is entirely figurative, revolving around such recurring motifs as feathers, fish, machinery, moisture, and incubation. Naturally, I have my personal theories regarding the intended “meaning” behind these cryptic symbols (they could represent the conflict between religion/spirituality and rationality/skepticism, for example), but I would prefer to avoid delving into concrete interpretation; to dissect the movie from an academic, intellectual perspective would merely diminish the captivating beauty of its ambiguous subtext.

Ultimately, Angel’s Egg is unlike anything that I’ve previously encountered. Sure, it’s possible to identify a few obvious artistic influences (H.R. Giger, Alejandro Jodorowsky, Andrei Tarkovsky), but such shallow Easter egg hunts are fundamentally reductive when applied to films as singularly unique as this. In an industry defined by repetitive formulas and generic archetypes, Oshii and Amano created a defiantly unconventional, experimental, avant-garde masterpiece. I’m glad that I was able to experience it on the big screen, alongside an enthusiastic audience—thank you, Japan Society!

Recently Viewed: The First Slam Dunk

This one was kind of a cheat. The Japan Cuts screening of The First Slam Dunk sold out almost immediately after tickets became available to the public. That’s hardly surprising: it’s an adaptation of a beloved manga series, the popularity of which rivals Dragon Ball both in its native country and abroad. Fortunately, the venerable GKIDS had already acquired the foreign distribution rights, so I was able to catch it at AMC tonight. I’ll just pretend that I saw it at the festival…

Regardless of the venue, the film is a spectacular sports drama, depicting basketball with an immersive intensity reminiscent of Raging Bull’s approach to boxing. The animation, which borders on naturalistic without sacrificing the exaggerated expressionism that makes cartoons so universally appealing, emphasizes such minute details as glistening beads of sweat, the folds and wrinkles in the fabric of the uniforms, and the rough texture of the ball—tactile sensations that make the audience participants in the action, rather than passive observers. The conflict isn’t merely physical, however; through editing, voiceover narration, and a nonlinear narrative structure that offers brief glimpses of the characters’ backstories and motivations, director Takehiko Inoue delves into the psychology of the game. Slow-motion, for example, extends crucial seconds to excruciatingly tense minutes. At the opposite end of the spectrum, the players occasionally move with such speed and desperation that they appear to outrun color, sound, and even the very medium, literally unraveling into sketchy line art.

In terms of its plot, The First Slam Dunk is a fairly traditional underdog story—and that familiarity doesn’t diminish its quality in the slightest. Deliciously suspenseful, emotionally engrossing, and inherently cinematic, the movie is a triumph of style and substance; it deserves every bit of the critical acclaim and commercial success that it’s earned.