Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Fullmetal Alchemist (2003)- The Great Debate, Part 2

You thought you'd never have to see this again, didn't you? You were wrong. Now feel my pain.

Now that I've explained some of the specifics, I'd really like to explain why Brotherhood bothers me so much. If it were just a bad show, it would be immaterial. But by borrowing so heavily from the original series, Irie and co. took art and made it pornography. That I cannot abide by.

The Internal Logic

Throughout the series, Brotherhood basically does away with any and all rules of science. I’m not saying the original series was realistic, but you at least got the sense that Sho Aikawa actually cared about making it consistent, and making it seem more like a science and less like magic. Like it had some relation to chemistry and biology, and Edward and Alfonse seemed like really smart people who knew what they were doing. And even though at the end it kind of defied all that by having alchemy basically be a way of exchanging pretty much anything through this cosmic being they call Truth, that was only at the very end, and it made Ed question everything. I liked how in the original series there was actually an emphasis on transmutation circles, and alchemy seemed kind of like a science that had a set of rules.

In Brotherhood, we have none of that. Ed and Al kind of come off as idiots half the time, because they don’t know what they’re doing and can’t... shoot red lightning out of their crotches... I’ll get to that in a second. But really, in Brotherhood I really lost the sense that anyone cared about the internal logic of how alchemy worked, and instead wanted to see lots of big shiny things and explosions. This is evident in the first episode: so Isaac McDougal is an ice alchemist, but... ok, you see Mustang’s alchemy works because he changes the density of oxygen molecules. It’s a transmutation of sorts... that can happen. There’s a lot of oxygen in the air. But there’s not that much hydrogen in the air. How is he making ice out of air? It might make sense if it was dry ice, but then how is he altering the temperature THAT dramatically without there being any physical effects on the environment around him? And how is Ed not getting horrible frostbite from touching it? No wait, they specifically say that it’s water-based! Oh- maybe it’s alkahestry. So then we can just ignore the logic entirely. 

Feel it, damn you!

This leads me to my next gripe: alkahestry. This entire so-called science and why it is in the show is completely baffling. Like, I understand that there were Chinese alchemists as well as western alchemists, but alkahestry has no clear rules. It seems simultaneously unlimited in its scope and useless in resolving any conflicts. This idea could work, in trying to integrate how all forms of alchemy work in this parallel universe, but first of all the parallel universe angle is never really explored. And second of all, like I said, I have no clue how alkahestry works or what the rules are. So I cease to care and conclude it’s kind of crappy magic.

And at the end: I get that there are transmutation circles in play (which I still don’t fully understand), but what exactly is being exchanged, or sacrificed, or chemically altered? Souls? But what does this so-called transmutation do?! It’s just a bunch of magic pentagrams, there’s nothing scientific about it. Also, Father... has a bunch of shields protecting him at the end... that isn't alchemy! What is that, like life force? Why would he use that? Like, there are a limited number of lives he can just throw away, right? Why not just create an invincible shield around him using alchemy? Like adamantium or something? Wait, he transmuted a tiny sun? From what? How?! Is there anything in this scene that isn’t just a giant ripoff of Final Fantasy 7? And I appreciate that Ed defeats him at the end, because apparently someone told Onogi that the protagonist is supposed to beat the bad guy at the end, and they also reminded him who the protagonist was; but seriously, why is Ed able to defeat him by punching him when bombs don’t work?! There is no explanation given at any time. Hell, I guess since Greed jumped into Father’s mouth and then exploded inside him or something, we can just throw logic out the window. Because I don’t fucking care anymore, and neither do they.

I'd rather take the body-swapping old lady. Seriously. Fuck this guy.

In a show that's almost entirely about alchemists and alchemy, I lose a sense of characterization of both. I thought alchemists had a scientific outlook on everything. They understand the materials that they’re working with, and transmute them based on that knowledge. At least, that’s what they told me alchemy was. But in Brotherhood, we have Father and Hohenheim shooting red lightning from nowhere. I think this guy Irie is just some idiot savant who likes to see multi-colored lightning. And besides this, I would be really willing and able to suspend my disbelief in order to see some kind of emotionally engaging resolution to a conflict, but it never happens in Brotherhood. The enormous preponderance of philosopher’s stones throughout the show throws any claim to science out the window, but it happens way too early. It really doesn’t work when Kimblee has two philosopher’s stones in episode 30. And hell, even Kimblee’s alchemy makes some sense. But what the hell is Father even doing half the time? This can work in a limited capacity, like when Alfonse is going to bring his dead brother back to life at the climax of the entire show. But character moments like this are when you can push the laws of the universe for the sake of the story. The villain swallowing God at the end is just dumb shlock, and it has absolutely nothing to do with alchemy or science.

The Production and Writing

Look, a big part of the problem here is that FMA is not Naruto. Naruto is a vast and expansive story spanning many, many seasons, detailing a huge world, not just the Konoha village, but reaching further into the sand village and beyond. There’s an enormous cast of characters; some of them memorable, some of them not. But even Naruto never lost sight of the heart of the show the way Brotherhood did. Even if Naruto Uzumaki wasn’t at the height of importance at that moment, you’d never have a whole episode without him. Plus, Naruto never held its focus so tightly on the main three characters as FMA did on the Elric brothers, anyway. FMA is a linear story, told in five seasons. It is not a 12-season epic spanning five years (in-world). 

This character is supposed to be 16. The pornography comparison was more literal than you thought, huh?

Why am I comparing Brotherhood to Naruto, you ask? Because I think the producers wanted it to be Naruto. Naruto is the most successful manga and anime franchise in human history. The enormity and expansiveness of its media empire in Japan is incredible. I bet the FMA producers greenlit the awful scripts for the second half of the series thinking: “The huge cast of characters could be used to sell tons of toys!” Like I said, Brotherhood was a weird reboot thing coming right off the heels of the original series, but I heard really positive things about it. But rather than a dynamic re-imagining of the series that delivered a satisfying climax like I was promised, halfway through the series it turned into a weird combination of a cynical cash grab, a horribly convoluted and self-indulgent plot, and an awful cavalcade of painfully bad dialogue and editing. Brotherhood’s implosion was caused by a weird attempt to make the series something it’s not, and by the sheer incompetence of its staff, facts which are absolutely shocking considering that it is one of the most well-funded and highly-produced anime series in history.

The Philosophy

So why is Brotherhood so dumb? I think that Hiroshi Onogi and the series’ producers completely forgot what the series was about. This is solidified by the idiotic action movie that they dared to call Fullmetal Alchemist which they released a year later. Apparently Brotherhood was created to be a more faithful adaptation of the manga, but if that’s the case then I get the sense that Hiromu Arakawa’s writing kind of broke down, since the original series came out halfway through and ended before the manga did. I think she kind of let the spirit of the series get away from her because she was just trying to do something different from the show, rather than telling an effective story. It’s just appalling that the very person who created these characters- specifically Van Hohenheim, Scar, Mustang and the Homunculi- would ultimately make them less logical and effective than Sho Aikawa, who was just coming up with stuff and extrapolating because he was out of material to adapt. But while I haven’t read the manga, I have to imagine the ending isn’t as awful as the five episode screaming-and-explosion fest that closes Brotherhood, and turns FMA into a stupid action show.

What.

This is especially offensive because the original FMA is one of the smartest animes ever written. It has very powerful portrayals and insights into ethical science, the existence of the soul, the existence of God or a life force over the universe, and it even kind of introduced a philosophy in itself: equivalent exchange, the irony of God, an arm and a leg. It was a dark show, filled with sacrifice, loss and death. But at the same time it was very tender. It showed a real relationship between two brothers. The love they shared, and the loss they bore. Two extraordinary boys pushed to the very brink of their abilities and will by the situations they got themselves into. But it was never for power or ambition, just for each other. Ed wanted Al to experience the physical world again: good food, the softness of his bed, a warm embrace. And Al wanted Ed to be able to feel like a normal person, to walk and swim normally again. Brotherhood barely manages to evoke this feeling at all, because it shifts the focus squarely away from the protagonists for huge parts of the show. At many points in the show I was left wondering what was going on, or why I should care. Hey, I thought this was a show about Ed and Al getting into adventures in the search of getting their bodies back! 

But then at the end, Ed’s sacrifice to save Al was so profound and touching... that it was completely undermined by their friends taking philosophers’ stones and using philosophers’ stones. Ultimately, I don’t even know what these people are trying to say or if they even know what they’re doing. I even had a friend tell me this: “Ed and Al’s refusal to use the Philosopher’s Stone is just stubbornness. Their bull-headedness is what lost them their limbs in the first place. They apparently didn't learn the lesson.”  Maybe he’s right; maybe it’s just me who doesn’t get Fullmetal Alchemist. But it makes me a little sad that Edward Elric and I are the only people in the universe who think that using a product of mass genocide is wrong in every circumstance. And maybe it’s just me who thinks that a show called “Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood” should be about the Fullmetal Alchemist. And brotherhood. And I guess the original series will be relegated to history as a poor first attempt to adapt a manga, rather than the brilliant, emotionally compelling, and well-written series it is.

FMA and Brotherhood in one image: The well-developed, interesting, thematically challenging guy is swallowed by a big, dumb, lumbering, CGI-enhanced asshole.

But I for one still contend that Brotherhood underwent such a profound self-destruction in its second half, that even the underwhelming villain and awkward climax of the original series is far superior in every way. So if you’re the kind of person who’s going to tell me that the original series sucked, and Brotherhood was way better, I can only assume that you just like shiny things and explosions, rather than logical, compelling, and emotional storytelling. To me that’s like saying that Revenge of the Sith is the best Star Wars movie. Look: just because it’s longer and bigger, and has more characters and CGI, and unending, tensionless fight scenes, that doesn’t make it good! It makes it exhausting! Look, Brotherhood is by no means the worst anime I’ve ever seen. It actually still has a lot of good moments, and some compelling characters. But when you take what is perhaps the greatest anime of all time, and you mess with the characters, and you add a lot of bad characters, and then you make it defy its own internal logic and philosophy... well, to me that’s even more offensive than just sucking in the first place.

Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Fullmetal Alchemist (2003)- The Great Debate, Part 1

The Elric brothers appear about as upset at the prospect of this show as I am.

I don't know anyone who really agrees with me on this subject. There are people whom I've scared away from Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, but not those who saw the show independently and then came to a similar conclusion. I think that's part of what makes me so passionate about this subject, the other being that I truly do love Fullmetal Alchemist, for all of its admitted faults. This is also the project which made me start this blog in the first place, so here goes. This is why I think that Fullmetal Alchemist:Brotherhood, while being half of a good show, is only ever good because of its predecessor, and utterly fails when it deviates from that template.

The Minds Behind the Series

Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood is a strange concept as a show: it’s a reboot that bears a strong relationship and resemblance to the original series that came out six years before it. They were made by the same production team, and based on the same manga, obviously the difference being that Brotherhood follows the plot of the manga more or less to a T. Despite the series' obvious similarities, there are some really big differences. These two series were made by completely different writers and directors. The original series was written by Sho Aikawa; but he was actually a bit of a risky choice, because his work on Genocyber and Neo Ranga was really graphic, violent and intense. He seemed like an adults-only writer, and didn’t really seem like the kind of guy who could write a show with a demographic as broad as Fullmetal Alchemist. But I thought he managed to integrate his really dark edge into the later part of the series while making the show funny and adventurous for most of it. His style gave the series a certain grit and weight, while the violence in Brotherhood, while brutal, often seems cartoony and unimportant. 

An example of Aikawa and Mizushima's weird, creepy style which I loved. 

Brotherhood, meanwhile, was written by Hiroshi Onogi. Onogi is a really old studio hand, who’s been associated with countless projects, most notably Mobile Suit Gundam. I haven’t seen much of his work, so I can’t say much (other than that I don’t like Gundam), but I don’t think he has the same kind of creative passion that Aikawa does, and I don’t think he’s as deeply entrenched in the universe. Further, I know for a fact that Hiromu Arakawa (the original writer of the manga) sat in on writing sessions for the original series to better explain the characters and universe that Fullmetal Alchemist was set in. I don’t know about her involvement with Brotherhood, but what I do know is that the characterization and logical gaps in Onogi’s writing here are weird and wrong.

The original series was directed by Seiji Mizushima. I think he was seen as a safe bet to counterbalance Aikawa, because he was coming off of an extremely successful all-ages anime with Shaman King. But before this, Mizushima directed episode 9 of Neon Genesis Evangelion, while episode 9 is one of my least favorites on the show, Eva is basically undisputed as one of the greatest anime series of all time, and I think he learned things from Hidekai Anno and co. Mizushima really seems to know how to direct deep material without getting too bogged down in the details, and really hits you hard with these key emotional character moments. 

Yasuhiro Irie directed Brotherhood, and Irie has his own claims to fame. He also worked on the original series as an animation director, and he did key animation on Cowboy Bebop. So we’ve got two heavyweights directing each series, right? No. Irie is an animator. He does animation direction, key animation, character design, and occasionally storyboards. He is NOT a director like Mizushima. His specialty is action scenes. Everything else kind of pales in comparison to the original series; but speaking of the action scenes, I think Irie’s brains got scrambled by the fact that he got one of the biggest budgets of any anime series ever. He just draws out fights interminably, and makes them really punishingly dull after a while, all because he can have bigger and better animation if he keeps the fight going for longer. Ultimately, even the action in Brotherhood isn’t nearly as good, because it hardly ever bears any emotional weight. 

You see, Irie is the kind of director who can guarantee that the lightning effects will be at least 20% shinier.

Relationship to the Original

So now that we know that the key factors in making this series are definitely worse, we can talk about how Brotherhood was a really strange show that was something of a cash grab from the start. It was a bizarre reboot considering the original anime was so successful, and only made sense because the original series had an alternate ending that was different from that of the manga. I had heard really positive things about Brotherhood, though, and I was really happy to be able to see Ed, Al, and the gang in a kind of new series. However, I knew something was wrong from the first episode. It was a really good idea to give the existing audience something new: an action-packed introduction to the characters. But it was really strange, didn’t introduce the characters that well, and gave away Bradley’s identity way too early.

Ed pines for the days that the Barry the Chopper scene was actually scary and emotional.

The first half of the show was also bogged down by the fact that many of the main events weren't earned, either because character development from the previous series provided all the emotional weight, or because the moments in Brotherhood simply evoke the memory of the superior past experience, rather than creating a legitimately good scene. Now, I did see the original anime series beforehand, so I may not be seeing this objectively, but I feel like this point is reinforced when supposedly important or emotional moments later on in the series bear no substantive emotional weight. Many characters were also underwritten, either because of laziness, or because such development has happened before (or both). This is a stand-alone work; it cannot rely on other media to do the heavy lifting of character motivation and development.

However, for its first half, Brotherhood is a competent show which uses its excellent source material to its advantage. Hughes’ death sequence really pulled at my heartstrings once again, and I was really hopeful after seeing this that the second half of the season and the new ending would really deliver in a brand new adventure that fixed the awkwardness of the Dante plotline and the parallel universe stuff that never really made any sense. Instead, Brotherhood turned from an inferior retelling of Fullmetal Alchemist with slightly better animation (other than Ed’s hair) into an absolute train wreck which, coupled with the idiotic action movie that came after it, really ruined Fullmetal Alchemist for me for a while.

Ed, perfectly imitating my expression while watching most of Brotherhood.

Now, most Brotherhood supporters rely on two contradictory arguments to defend the series: that it’s a stand-alone work only, or that it is intentionally playing off of the manga and previous series. The first is used to rebuff criticisms that early moments in Brotherhood do not bear the same emotional weight as the moments in the original series. The second is used to defend Brotherhood’s sloppy characterization and logical gaps in portraying the universe. Ultimately, I would say that it’s a stand-alone work, but I understand that it does have a huge burden of having a lot of repeat viewers, and that may have affected its writing and development. Early on, it was said that the plot would be the same up until the halfway point, but the character actions and motivations may be adjusted, making it interesting. The problem is that the characters in Brotherhood were simply not well portrayed. My issue is not so much that they are different per se, but that they don’t make sense, and make me pine for their former characterizations and development.

The Characters

I've written a great deal on this over time, but I'll try to pare it down to the essentials. Other than Edward and Riza Hawkeye, most of the characters in Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood are significantly different from their 2003 versions, either because they're given more backstory and attention due to the expanded run time (64 as opposed to 51 episodes), or the new characters change them in significant ways. I would, however, like to say my full piece on Alfonse, as he is the second most important character in the entire show.

Alfonse is a great character: a patient intellectual, not as quick-thinking as his brother but more strategically minded. He has enormous issues going through puberty without a body, at times lashing out at his brother for the problems he has to go through. In Brotherhood, rather than having an identity crisis and one of the first real conflicts with his brother, Alfonse is put into a forced, awkward, pseudo-relationship with a girl who both looks and acts half his age. This story is even more baffling because this love story is the main reason why the characters from Xing are even in the show. Alfonse is also undermined by having an obviously female voice actor. His voice in the original series was a perfect portrayal of a hesitant, awkward, but kind and patient pubescent boy. Like his brother, Alfonse matured far beyond his years, not by becoming hardened and cynical, but by becoming more patient and empathic. In Brotherhood, his sexuality is weirdly stressed where it absolutely should not be, especially because he now seems very effete and nothing like a 14-year-old boy with raging hormones. This could be explained away by the fact that he doesn’t actually have hormones. But then I have to ask, why is his sexuality so important? 

This never needed to happen. But it did. Now it can never un-happen.

Scar, meanwhile, was one of the most important characters in the original series. He retains a certain amount of plot relevance here, but to confusing effect. Like in the original series, he is initially seen as a murderer and villain, but he simply fails to be scary in Brotherhood. Further, later on it is revealed that he, not Mustang, killed Winry’s parents, giving us a real reason not to like him. And then Winry instantly forgives him and trusts him with her life for no reason. Evidently killing Winry’s parents just gets you into the good guy club. Scar is also totally emasculated by having Mae and Yoki follow him around, he also goes against his own strictly-held principles for no clear reason, and he is once again a very important part of the ending, but with a plot point that has not been well established and is generally confusing as hell. Scar is expected to be a hero by the end, and yet I fail to see how he is at all vindicated for the murders he committed, or why anyone in the show likes or trusts him.

Similarly, Mustang is simply handled incorrectly as a character. Mustang was never supposed to be a totally sympathetic character, largely due to him killing Winry's parents. He was always kind of a creepy asshole, anyway. Even if he wanted to improve Amestris, he still sought to control an overtly militant, dictatorial nation run exclusively by him. That’s what being a Fuhrer means. He never hinted that he wanted to institute a democratic system or human rights, he basically just sounded like he wanted to wage less war. Ultimately, the only thing that really betrayed his humanity was the fact that he saw a young, uncorrupted version of himself in Edward, and wanted him to succeed. In Brotherhood, he is apparently some be-all end-all ubermensch who singe-handedly kills two homunculi, and is now completely justified in using the philosopher’s stone (which completely undermines Edward’s sacrifice, but I’ll get to that later). Look: Mustang was created such that you could never truly like him. His lust for power, objectification of women, mistreatment of Edward, and the fact that he was an instrumental part in committing genocide of the Ishvalans will always prevent him from becoming a hero, and yet Brotherhood insists that we think of him as one. In fact, he is apparently so important that he is morally justified in using a product of mass genocide to heal his eyes. You know, when Al used the Philosopher’s Stone that was in his body anyway at the end of Fullmetal Alchemist, it was to save his brother’s life. Excuse me, both to increase the chances of stopping a very powerful and insane alchemist, and to save his brother’s life. In Brotherhood, they use it because poor Roy is blind. In a show where sacrifice and consequence are supposedly pillars of its rules and ethos.

But Irie can promise Roy's snaps are at least 30% brighter.

One character I'd really like to discuss in-depth, but can't, is Van Hohenheim. So Van Hohenheim is a bit of a weird character that never really worked for me in either series. Some things about his character are appealing, but in the original series he was shoved into the end awkwardly, and never really made much difference in the plot. In Brotherhood, however, he is incredibly overemphasized. It’s as if Onogi wrote a series in which Hohenheim was the protagonist and scrapped it, but then they used the ending to that series as a base for the ending to Brotherhood, and then just kept on piling on extraneous details and characters to try and make it feel more like Fullmetal Alchemist. The sad fact of the matter is that while the ending to the series is a convoluted disaster because there are way too many plotlines and characters, Van Hohenheim represents so much of why even the main story’s ending is bad, and also something of an illogical mess.  First off, there’s an entire episode about Hohenheim’s origin story because the writers realized that they needed to do a shit-ton of exposition to make the ending not come completely out of the blue. This episode is weird, forced, and obnoxious. All Van Hohenheim is supposed to be is a kind of freak show, and while the idea of Ed and Al’s father coming back into their lives, and Ed expressing all of his pent-up anger and Al trying to reconnect because he yearns for his parents so much makes sense and can work, both series simply miss the opportunity horribly. 

And once again I must stress that the ending completely undermines the internal philosophy of the show. So Hohenheim offers to use his remaining life force to bring back Al. Edward calls him an idiot, then he comes up with a brilliant plan to bring Al back. I had thought this scene represented Hohenheim as a fundamentally broken man: he is wracked with guilt for abandoning his sons, and is trying to win Ed’s heart by making a broad, sweeping gesture. He is so time-worn that he no longer understands Ed’s ethical opposition to his plan, and Ed proves himself better than his father.

But then... a bunch of other people use philosopher’s stones. For things that are much more trivial than bringing back their dead brother. So what does this scene even mean? I don’t know anymore. Further, when Van Hohenheim dies, what is the emotion there? Am I supposed to be sad? Or... happy? I can’t feel anything for this character because while he’s insanely important to the plot, he essentially has no personality and I have no reason to care about him. 

Say, does this remind anyone else of a time when a franchise completely imploded?

You see, I’m not sure that the people who like Brotherhood understand this, but stories like this don't really work when the protagonist changes halfway through. This is exactly what happens in Brotherhood halfway through: it becomes about Van Hohenheim and the utterly forgettable Father. Look: a good villain is more than just a generic bad guy. He’s supposed to reflect something in the hero. A character trait, a specific relationship, or just something they really hate on a personal level. A great example is the character of Darth Vader. In the first movie, he was a representative of the empire, something Luke and Leia despised. Later on, we learned that Vader represented Luke’s future gone wrong. He was a perfect villain because he represented everything Luke feared in himself, and everything he hated. Another great example would be Cloud Strife and Sephiroth. In both cases, there was more going on between these characters than HE’S A BAD GUY and HE’S A GOOD GUY. But with Father, unlike Envy in the original series, he has no relationship to Edward, and there's no emotional connection between these characters. His history with Van Hohenheim makes them connected, but the problem is that I don't care about Van Hohenheim, and also that's not what this show is about. 

Father's death scene is also bizarre and illogical, and his physical appearance at the end is just a dead giveaway that he is no more than a ripoff of Sephiroth, although none of his actions or relationships with the characters feel earned like they were in Final Fantasy 7, probably because none of his actions or relationships are earned. So really, he’s nothing more than a pale imitation.

But what’s truly offensive about Father is the fact that he was supposed to be the real deciding factor in why Brotherhood was made. This was the whole reason why Brotherhood was put into production: “The central villain is better!” they said. “The ending is much better!” they said. Neither was true. The ending had more explosions, fight scenes and CGI. That doesn’t make it better, that makes it bigger and louder. But apparently reducing Fullmetal Alchemist to a dumb, schlocky, CGI-packed action movie is what people want. See: Sacred Star of Milos.

Ed again imitating my expression, whilst watching this exact scene.

The Homunculi, now apparently aspects of Father's personality, are also rendered pointless and ineffective by the show: let's go over them, shall we? Lust, formerly an interesting and complex character, dies halfway through. Gluttony is the same but is used in less interesting ways. Everything that made Envy interesting in the original is gone. Wrath is basically the same character as Pride from the last one, except that it made perfect sense for a political leader to be Pride, and a bratty kid to be Wrath. And the other way around makes no sense at all. And Sloth's treatment is essentially the central metaphor for the show. In Brotherhood: an expensive-to-animate, drooling idiot who smashes things in unbearably long action scenes. In Fullmetal Alchemist: a thematically complex, emotionally devastating character who reflects on the two central characters in profound ways, who is given resolution in a dazzling display of inventive thinking (Ed chemically altering her body into ethanol). 

The same can be said for Greed's handling, specifically his death. Let's look at them side by side, shall we? Fullmetal Alchemist: An epic showdown. Ed uses his tremendous knowledge of chemistry to defeat Greed, but then is devastated at killing someone for the first time, and for the fact that it was all a setup. Brotherhood: This awful schlocky action scene which never ends involves Greed jumping out of Ling’s body, and into Father’s mouth... and dying. What?

The cast, presumably ecstatic the series is over. This is about a third of the named characters in the show.

And then there's everyone else. The biggest problem with the entire second half of the series was the fact that there were way too many characters and plot lines happening simultaneously. This was a product of bad and overindulgent writing of the plot, sloppy editing, and poor direction. But more than that, just the very fact that so many characters exist makes no sense. Who is that woman who’s friends with Riza, who’s apparently a really important part of the plot, whom we know nothing about, other than that she’s annoying? Why am I supposed to care about King Bradley’s wife? Who are these random Ishvalan leaders? Aren’t they supposed to hate Scar? Maria Ross and what’s-his-name?! I forgot they were even in this show! Why are they here? Who is Miles? Why is he in so much of this show? Who are these chimera people?  You know, I’m pretty sure that either a writer was really angry at the Hiroshi Onogi because he knew that he was taking the series in the completely wrong direction, or someone legitimately figured out that there was no way to make these characters memorable. Either way, the fact that Mr. Gorilla is the only memorable chimera character is sad. The reason why he is memorable is because Ed calls him Mr. Gorilla, because even the characters within the show itself cannot possibly keep up with all of the other characters or their names.

I think a really obvious example of this character overload is the Armstrong-Sloth fight. This was once a good idea, but I’m sure that the Onogi completely derailed it and turned it into boring shlock. Let’s see what the idea for the scene is: Major Armstrong fights Sloth. It's a tough fight, but using his mastery of alchemy and toughness, he defeats him, destroying another homunculus. That's a good scene! Instead, we have his sister, Izumi, her husband, zombies, and a bunch of nameless, faceless soldiers clogging up the frame and slowing down the action. This fight goes on for three episodes! Any tension and excitement I might have gotten out of this scene is destroyed by the fact that the editing draws it out interminably, and the fact that they keep on shoving more and more characters into the sequence, thus stacking the odds against Sloth rather than against Armstrong.

So often, characters I know nothing about are given weirdly major roles. Like the time that one chimera told Al to go against his principles and use a weapon of mass destruction created by genocide. I don’t know who this character is or what his motivations are, so I kind of have to take the show’s word for it that what he’s doing and saying makes sense.

What the smartest shonen in anime history was reduced to.

Speaking of this scene, the original reveal that the philosopher’s stone was made from human souls was actually a big deal. It was a really powerful, enchanted object. It was, well, the philosopher’s stone. Now, much like Star Wars’ lightsabers, everyone has one. Why? And the fact that so many people use these stones, including people that Ed and Al like and trust, undermines their moral dilemma about using such a horrible device. And beyond this, Al then uses the stone because this chimera tells him to. Like I said, Al did use the stone in the original series, both to increase the chances of stopping a very powerful and insane alchemist, and to save his brother’s life. In this, he uses it to... fight two people. And not even really to win. This scene renders the Elric brothers’ moral convictions and Ed’s ultimate sacrifice null and void.  So does this fucking show wind up destroying everything beautiful about the show, but only when you step back to think about it. More on that next time.

What I've Been Doing

Greetings. It's been the better part of a year since my last post. Damn, does time fly. Anyway, a big part of how and why I started this blog was my reaction to Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood and how it related to the original series, and how starkly different my opinion seemed to be from everyone else's. Last year I wrote a 9-page document about it for no reason other than personal frustration. I stepped away from that project for a while, and then started the blog seeking a more rational, critical approach. So I set out to re-do my entire review, and in so doing I got stopped in my tracks, as I had to move and restart classes. Well, I'm about two term papers out of finishing college, so those won't be a problem, although predictably I'll be moving again. Once that's done with, I'll be back at it.

Hopefully I don't look like I'm pooping while I write as much as Light Yagami does.

But that's not the whole reason I stepped away from the blog. I also have a lot of other interests. Last semester I wrote an entire record's worth of songs which I wanted to record; this semester I realized that I could either cut the record, or direct and produce my own short film. I chose the latter, and thus I gave sweaty, traumatic man-birth to the short film Doppelganger. I think it's my best work of any kind so far, and I'm really excited to start submitting it to festivals and trying to get it out there into the world. But that's the promotional part of the movie, something I'm not so good at. And meanwhile, there's creative work to be done. Not that I don't have my hands full, what with getting a job (or two) and moving, but I have about 30 pages of a feature script I haven't touched in 9 months as well as a new idea for a low-budget feature film. But most of all, I just need to get back to writing every day, and watching stuff that I love.

So, in that spirit, retrospectives on Cowboy Bebop, Samurai Champloo, The Big O, Serial Experiments Lain, Death Note and FLCL are all forthcoming, while reviews of shows that are new or I have no previous experience with, namely Parasyte and Elfen Lied are also coming up. That's probably a full summer schedule, and I'll try to stick to it.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little apprehensive (if excited) about that last one.

In the meantime, I created a blog all about the short film that I made, including blogs from the cast and crew as well. I'll just attach a link to the latest blog (which has the link to watch the movie streaming on IMDb), but I'd encourage anyone interested in filmmaking and production to go back and take a look at some of the older posts. Hopefully I did the process justice. Thanks to everyone who's read the blog, I'll be back in a couple weeks.

http://doppelgangerfilm.blogspot.com/2015/05/the-film-online.html

Fullmetal Alchemist (2003)

Don't look away, Rose! You need to see what happens when you try to bring a human to life, when you cross into God's territory or whatever the hell it is! Is this what you want?!  -Edward, Episode 1

Humankind cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. That is alchemy's first law of Equivalent Exchange. In those days, we really believed that to be the world's one, and only truth. -Alphonse, Opening Sequence

As an almost universal rule, I loathe long-running anime series. Tiresome and pointless shows with emotionless plot arcs and minimal character development such as Dragonball Z and Inuyasha plagued my youth, when my access to anime was limited to Toonami and (later) Adult Swim. Even Naruto, a series in which meaningful plot events take place and characters change significantly over time (a rarity in its genre), eventually ran too long and too thin for me to care any longer, and that was six years ago (the series is still ongoing).

Fullmetal Alchemist (2003) is different. First of all, at 51 episodes and one feature length film, it's not nearly as long as other long-running shonen. It's a series with a very intent and simple purpose: find the Philosopher's Stone and get the Elric boys' bodies back. For the Elric brothers, this singularity of purpose gives their lives a certain direction and urgency which those around them often envy or admire (sometimes both). So, too, should other series creators envy and admire what Fullmetal Alchemist achieved. It is a show which told a grand, expansive tale with many characters and a complex universe, but kept the series tightly focused on two characters and their quest.

The show's flash-forward/flash-back approach to its beginning is not a new invention, but it's better executed here than in any other series I've seen. It kicks off with the heart-rending, incredibly intense human transmutation scene which sets the show's plot in motion. It's amazing how much character and emotion is imported into the first two minutes of screentime: Edward and Alphonse are instantly engaging and vivid. The flashback is not merely to set up the show, either. It is thematically tied to the two-parter which opens the series. By the end of the episode, we know so many things about the world: the Philosopher's Stone, the status of a State Alchemist, the taboo on human transmutation, Edward's height complex and brashness, Alphonse's humility and kindness, and we see the characters surrounding them: scared, desperate people who cannot accept death. We even get a glimpse into the cosmology of the world: while Edward mocks Rose's blind faith, he's no atheist. He knows that there's some cosmic power out there, but it's crueler and craftier than any benevolent God from a holy book.

The two-parter comes to a horrifying, violent conclusion as it introduces yet another key element: chimeras. The series is fascinated by aberrations of nature and cruelty to animals, concurrent with the theme of unethical science. In the episodes leading up to Scar's introduction, the series in many ways shows just how right he is: alchemists are cruel to animals and often even other people (especially those close to them), they create delusions of grandeur, and they cannot cope with death or failure like normal people. Refusing to ease off the intensity, the show jumps back to the brothers' origin story in "Mother," as Alphonse's narration and the haunting image of their parents disappearing from their lives determines the show's themes more beautifully and concisely than even the best-written anime theme songs.

There's a great deal going on in Fullmetal Alchemist intellectually, far more than most action-driven shonen. However, it's ultimately about two things: family and death. There's a common stereotype that teenagers think they're invincible, that they are reckless and carefree due to an inability to conceptualize mortality. Fullmetal Alchemist is a show about two teenage boys, in which the frailty of human life and the finality of death are made more clear by the supernatural elements, not less so. By the seventh episode, which climaxes with a harrowing chase scene and an almost equally harrowing near-murder once the tables turn in Edward's favor, the audience is thoroughly convinced of the fact that while the protagonists are children, the series creators are not afraid of showing tremendous violence done to them. Despite his status as the titular character (and of course, a teenager), Edward is shown to be far from invincible.

The homunculi are perfect villains for the story's theme: they are both aberrations of nature (specifically their near-indestructibility) and products of failed human transmutations. Sloth in particular is a tremendously powerful villain because she represents the alchemist's ultimate dream and ultimate fear: conquering death and failing, respectively. Indeed, while he accepts the finality of death early on, much of Edward's character arc is his coming to grips with failure, and the innate inability to apply his scientific genius to his personal life. While also not an uncommon theme with immortal characters, the homunculi's hatred of their immortality is made all the more powerful by the alchemists' dogged attempts to achieve it. The deaths in the show, even of minor characters and villains, hit you like a ton of bricks. Despite the occasional over-the-top action scene, the violence can become very gruesome, bloody and shockingly realistic when it needs to be. Although Seiji Mizushima's direction on Neon Genesis Evangelion was brief (and for a rather ill-conceived episode), one crucial lesson he seemed to take away from the series was the way to compare physical trauma and psychological trauma.

Arguably the most memorable death on the show is that of a very minor character at the time: Nina, the daughter of the psychotic Shao Tucker. Not only does this sequence explain the show's themes in a memorable fashion-- Tucker himself is all that Edward fears he could become, and is set up as a symbol of alchemists' curious brand of psychosis-- it becomes the emotional focal point for the rest of the series. When Tucker is brought back near the end, it all makes a kind of terrible sense, as Edward is once again brought face-to-face with the taboos of alchemy, now with full knowledge of the philosopher's stone. His first transgression was as a child; now as a near-adult, there's a real chance that Edward will falter in his pursuit of an ethical solution to his problems. The first time was tragedy, the second time could merely be farce.

In its own way, the original Fullmetal Alchemist serves as an argument for the art of adaptation. The series continued through a radically different plotline from the manga, as a result of its production moving along more quickly than Hiromu Arakawa was writing the manga. But Sho Aikawa, troublesome writer that he is with regards to some of his other projects, wound up pulling the series together into a deeply emotional, thematically consistent work. There is no doubt that the plotline with Dante and Van Hohenheim is deeply weird, poorly explained and out of left field from the rest of the story (not to mention the alternate universe aspect which was only hinted at before the last two episodes). But the homunculi-- particularly Lust, Sloth, Wrath and Envy-- are the real antagonists of the story, and serve as excellent foils to the Elric boys (particularly the latter two). 

Aikawa wrote a story based around the Elric brothers' maturation, the way their relationship deepened and changed with the new trials they were faced with, and most importantly wrote a story which rose and fell on them, with no extraneous characters complicating the ending. Fullmetal Alchemist is a series about family and death, put upon a backdrop of questions regarding unethical science, government, karma, and the cosmos. The final conversations of the series revolve around the show's own philosophy of equivalent exchange, and most importantly it calls itself out on its limitations. What's more, it implied that it would this whole time. "In those days, we really believed that to be the world's one, and only truth" Alphonse says. He almost sounds incredulous saying it, blown away by a child's polarized worldview, and now conscious of the many ambiguities and moral grey areas of life. That's what Fullmetal Alchemist does unlike any other show I've seen: it shows a childish view of the world and explains in detail-- without being condescending or overly cynical-- that any worldview which is black-and-white, overly rigid, or based on a singular rule is going to be limited and ultimately erroneous. Despite its admitted flaws, Fullmetal Alchemist is an astonishing achievement, one which its "sequel" series, as it were, unfortunately did not live up to. More on that next time.

Welcome to the N-H-K!

I first read about Welcome to the N-H-K! last semester, as part of my Modern Japanese History class. The semi-autobiographical novel written by Tatsuhiko Takimoto became something of a phenomenon upon its publication in 2002, as an expose of sorts on the life of a hikikomori individual. The manga and anime became successful, if further fictionalized (particularly with the anime) versions of the story. Although the concept of "shut-ins" exist in the west, often such individuals' issues are associated with agoraphobia; regardless, the concept of hikikomori is certainly not alien to a western audience, but remains fairly specific to Japan.

Herein lies one of three major issues with the series: if one is looking for a quick, easy crash course in some prevalent social issues or tensions in modern Japan, this show fits the bill. But in doing so, it loses some of its focus: although otaku (intense fandom of manga and anime) and lolicon (pornographic or pseudo-pornographic depictions of young girls, always animated so not literally child pornography) cultures are certainly relevant and necessary parts of this story, the show extends itself into commenting on insular forum groups, suicide pacts, pharmaceutical dependency, cults, pyramid marketing schemes and online gaming. The show itself features no plot in a conventional sense, so it is unfortunately guided by a proverbial game of social-problem hopscotch, jumping on a series of hot-button issues. If one wonders why, if Neon Genesis Evangelion was really about depression, that it was couched in a complex sci-fi scenario, this show is a good answer. Some sort of forward momentum is needed in any series.

The second major issue is fairly simple: this series doesn't need to be 24 episodes long. A 13 episode formula would work perfectly for this kind of story, in which character development is the sole driving force of the episodes. The show's length leads to the aforementioned absurdities. How and why a reclusive individual such as Sato could possibly be caught up in all these situations and subcultures is apparently no object for the writers, who simply shove him into situations at a moment's notice. Finally, as a less crucial issue, for a series which is largely unafraid of lascivious content and exploring the inherent creepiness of sexual fantasies as conceived of by people who have a limited idea of how sex works, the show inexplicably removes all traces of drug use, which is a major element in the novel. However, Takimoto himself downplayed this element in the manga (which he wrote as well), but whether the reasons were purely artistic or to make the content more palatable is unclear.

It bears mentioning that Welcome to the N-H-K! is an undeniably well-intentioned show. It strives to humanize desperate, pitiful, creepy and unscrupulous people, putting the audience in their shoes while making it quite clear that such behavior does not come recommended. It is thorough and ruthless in exploring the sexism plaguing the otaku culture and Japanese culture on the whole, serving as a deconstruction and critique of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl in the process. It's a show which understands that mental health issues do not simply disappear and that the suffers are not at fault for their conditions, but also refuses to infantalize such people and claim that they have no moral responsibilities.

But what of the series as art? In that sense, the show varies wildly, rising and falling on its chosen theme. In the stunning first episode, all systems are going. The scrupulous animation (not present in mid-series episodes) focuses in on the small, realistic details in Sato's life. Indeed, I'd imagine that one learns a lot of things about their belongings and apartment if they never leave it; things they never would have noticed before. The soundtrack's eclectic mix (at times reminiscent of Yoko Kanno's stellar work on Cowboy Bebop) delivers each moment with force, expertly portraying how dramatic it is to perform everyday activities when one is a social cripple. The strength of Satoru Nishizono's writing- portraying horrific trains of thought and paranoid delusions- is also in full effect. When I watched Sato try to bring himself to function normally, practicing the simple act of speaking and introducing oneself, I felt the social anxiety of every job application, godawful orientation day and forced introduction in my life come rushing back. I feel that for any moderately shy and awkward person, there is plenty to relate to in N-H-K. But with this stellar first episode, the show kind of burns itself out, so to speak.

The next several episodes are strong in some aspects, but are ultimately unmemorable. When the chosen theme shifts from a harrowing look into the mind in isolation and the intrinsic human separation built into modern life to what is unfortunately a small-minded critique of the porn industry, the show loses steam. For all of the show's aforementioned good intentions in painting an ugly picture of the flaws in Japanese culture, it can sometimes paint in overly-broad strokes. The argument that eroge and hentai make Japan's young men view women as sex objects seems to be a bit of a chicken-and-the-egg scenario. Objectification and sexism has always existed; isn't it more likely that the gender politics issues in recent porn games and movies were created by sexist prejudices, rather than the other way around? As the topics become less and less relevant to the hikikomori condition, they lose the authenticity which drives the show's drama. When Takimoto wrote the novel Welcome to the N-H-K!, it came from a place of soul-baring honesty. Conversely, the anime sometimes feels like Nishizono and director Yusuku Yamamoto simply co-opted this story as a launching pad, especially when they delve into the evils (real or imagined) of multilevel marketing schemes and online gaming.

One of the show's strengths, however, is the balance which is brought to every character. The female characters, particularly Misaki and Hitomi, are portrayed somewhat more positively than Sato or Yamazaki, but are certainly not angelic. They have needs and wants, and while they seem to manipulate Sato at times, they do not devolve into misogynistic stereotypes of conniving women: they are just as unclear as he is as to what exactly they want from him. Like basically every character in the series, they are simply desperate to make their lives happy and meaningful.

While several characters seem to have some kind of sob story- Misaki in particular has a classic Mary Sue tragedy of a backstory- Yamizaki is a helpful character in his overall groundedness. He's not depressed, he wasn't raped or beaten or hooked on drugs as a child, he simply suffers from being a lonely young man surrounded by a culture which caters to his demographic with endless commodities. Alternatively, the show says that Yamizaki suffers from his own (minor) mental condition: otaku. The line between Yamizaki's neurotic, misogynistic, highly obsessive otaku lifestyle and that of Sato is so blurred that Sato's conspiracies begin to make a sort of terrible sense. Sato theorizes that "People who are drawn to otaku culture are already solitary or neurotic people; using anime and other media, the N-H-K has intentionally turned them into hikikomori." Give Yamazaki another year and a monthly allowance, and perhaps he'll go the same route.

The end of Welcome to the N-H-K! cleverly puts the secondary characters like Yamazaki and Hitomi at a distance, allowing the audience to wonder if they truly lead happy lives afterwards. As for the central two characters, the drama between them unfolds in a somewhat predictable but nevertheless powerful fashion. It also provides the right combination of conclusion, thematic resonance, and ambiguity. The show never sought out to answer the question of "what causes hikikomori?" Sato wanted to explain that to himself, to shove the burden of his life onto another entity. But the show goes out of its way to say that there is no blanket explanation, and that the causes and symptoms are different for everyone. Instead, Sato turns this self-rationalization in the form of a paranoid delusion into his strength. You need an enemy, he says: "it doesn't have to be the N-H-K. Call it anything. Call it God, if you want." More simply, however, "it's the basic assurances of staying alive which allow someone to remain hikikomori. In a way, it's a very luxurious lifestyle." The show doesn't presume to be a cure to the hikikomori condition, but gives a single case study: causes, symptoms, and eventual self-treatment.

The series is at its best when either being hyper-focused on one period of time inside Sato's head, or showing the progression of large chunks of time. The show notably focuses on the changing seasons, and truly captures the feeling of winter mornings, the bitter nostalgia of move-outs, and the relieving return of spring. It focuses on the parts of life that are inexplicably painful or difficult: introducing yourself to a stranger, actually working on a project even when you have plenty of time, getting out of bed in the morning, and so forth.

But for all of its topical allusions, stream-of-consciousness writing and psychologically damaged characters, the show only occasionally manages to achieve true poignancy. In its lesser moments, it combines the creepy and uncomfortable aspects of a tell-all memoir with the hackneyed and sentimental aspects of an unlicensed biography. At times it is reminiscent of an Oscar-bait film and at other times it borders on pornography. In trying to create a mature, relevant, "serious issues" drama, Yamamoto too often got lost in the social commentary and never reached the emotional or artistic heights which the source material allowed for. Welcome to the N-H-K! is certainly a show which says something, but falters in an attempt to say too much.

The End of Evangelion

Warning: Strong language and spoilers ahead

The most obvious comment I can make about The End of Evangelion is that its title is immensely ironic. With Rebuild of Evangelion, a series which appears to be an attempt to make the most ground-breaking and fascinating anime of all time into a cookie-cutter, paint-by-numbers mecha series, often playing to tropes which the original Eva itself spawned (I imagine a grotesque ouroboros with Rei Ayanami's face as a visual metaphor for the whole enterprise), Evangelion is not over. But my goodness do I wish it was. For those utterly confused by the existence of End of Evangelion-- that is to say, those asking why this movie directly contradicts the timeline and events of the rest of the series-- I have no good answer, other than that diehard Evangelion fans were extremely disappointed in Episodes 25 and 26 and Gainax decided to make a movie to provide an alternate ending to the series, drawn by the irresistible smell of profitability from fan hate-boners. After all, the opposite of love/commercial viability isn't hate, it's indifference. I should add that before I continue, I wish to do away with any trace of critical seriousness or "professionalism," seeing as this movie did away with any trace of the basic requirements of writing, pacing, plot and tonal consistency. So, on that note, let me summarize my feelings on the film right here: fuck this fucking piece of shit movie I hate it so fucking much.

So what's left to say after that, really? Well, my feelings towards the film as an actual cinematic experience are recorded above, but if taken in the proper context, I believe the film makes a fairly well-articulated statement about knowing when enough is enough, and that some things are better left unsaid and unexplored. There's a classic phrase in writing: "Kill your Darlings". Roughly translated, this means "don't be a pretentious douchebag". It's valuable advice to writers at any level. With End of Evangelion, I get the sense that Hideaki Anno dug up every single darling, as well as some fan "what if" scenarios, and put them onto the screen in the most overindulgent, unsubtle way humanly possible. And you know what? Some people actually like this movie as a film experience. I would say good for them, but I wouldn't mean it. Good for Gainax, who profited from condescending to their audience and using the logic that a movie with lots of shiny things, explosions and gratuitous nudity will inevitably be well-received.

With a movie like Star Wars: The Phantom Menace or End of Evangelion, in which a beloved series' progenitor appears to systematically destroy his own franchise (either intentionally or unintentionally), it is difficult to point out what is wrong with each film because the simple answer is everything. Each film not only bears no similarity to a good movie, at times neither is recognizable as being part of the form of cinema; they are groundbreaking in their ineptitude. End of Evangelion is bafflingly incapable of telling a coherent series of events, writing characters with any discernible logical motivation, understanding space and time as concepts, or using basic point-A-to-point-B plot development, as exposition and climax are constantly jammed together in the same sequence. The film gets to the point where every 5 minutes a new object, invariably named the "pseudo-religious noun of pseudo-religious noun" is introduced as a plot device and then immediately used to no knowable effect. The jerkoff characters in the control room are given a weirdly huge amount of screen time, as they continue yelling out the plot while SEELE invades their headquarters and the entire surface of the earth appears to be decimated (I understand that they're an underground operation, but how exactly is their equipment still working after all that?). The main characters all bear little resemblance to the complex, well-developed people in the series and instead become drooling caricatures or the complete opposite of their pre-established personalities. Shinji is set up to be not a traumatized and cowardly but ultimately empathic boy-- he's a catatonically depressed, useless, perverted wet blanket. He doesn't seem tormented over killing Kaworu so much as "sad because reasons." Asuka is suddenly and inexplicably brought out of her depression (along with the staggeringly stupid reveal that her mother's consciousness is in Eva-02, speaking of which, wasn't it more or less rendered useless in Episode 24?) only to be killed off almost immediately. Misato turns into a bizarre fusion between an action hero and a pedophile.

But these are all symptoms of a much greater disease in End of Evangelion: subtlety is done away with entirely. Every ambiguity is replaced with bombast. Misato doesn't touch Shinji's hand for him to shrink away, she gives him a full lip-lock and a terrifying promise of sex at some point in the future, before promptly dying (despite seeming perfectly fine moments before). Gendo doesn't stay in the shadows as Rei's rapist, he shoves his hand into her crotch. The religious imagery used sparingly beforehand turns into a major plot device, while Kabbalah symbols and crucifixion imagery are thrown about willy-nilly. And Shinji turns out to be TOTALLY GAY because he's now a creepy pervert who hates women, or something. Yet I believe this is all evidence of what was ultimately Anno's project with this movie; on the one hand, he was poking fun at the fandom, showing just how terrible it would be if all of the major ambiguities and questions were answered. At the same time, I believe there are a few moments in here which Anno might have actually liked but decided to cut out because he knew they wouldn't work.

For instance, Rei rejecting Gendo and asserting her own personhood is an interesting idea for a scene and could work well, but there's no reason why Rei III would want to do that because she hasn't learned everything Rei II did. Further, Rei apparently decides not to use Lilith for Instrumentality but instead starts the Third Impact, but given Shinji's internal breakdown, it becomes difficult to tell the difference between the two, especially because at the end it seems like only Shinji and Asuka (wasn't she dead...?) are around, having chosen individualism over being part of a vast cosmic soup. The idea of Shinji's choice being more about the ability to live as an individual than whether to go on living or not is a decent one as well, although now his mental breakdown seems to be almost entirely about how much he's afraid of all women (an idea that comes seemingly out of nowhere) and due to this fear/hatred is drawn towards Kaworu. I was already rolling my eyes pretty hard before the "is this better, Shinji?" line in which giant-Rei shifts into giant-Kaworu, but that one made me look like I was in the throes of demonic possession. I think this is largely a response to a trend which continues to be a problem in the otaku community, which is the sexualization of all female characters in a series. This comes despite the fact that the show already addresses the sexuality of all three of its female leads at least in brief, and often shows the negative effects of the culture's expectations of female sexuality. Misato wants to be desired but to also have no desires herself, Asuka views sex as a means of gaining self-worth, Rei has been convinced that as a girl, her sexuality is not her own, and Gendo's molestation is simply something she must accept. What more does the show really have to say? Well, nothing. But that's the point. The fans wanted the show to be sexier. This is what happens when you try to make Evangelion sexy.

The film also looks nothing like Neon Genesis Evangelion; once again, some of these visual ideas seem kind of neat, but Anno probably cut them out of the series because he figured out they didn't belong in the show. In the movie, I think he directed the art team to go apeshit after handing in whatever kind of incomprehensible mess the script was (I imagine it on 200 pages of a legal pad, written in blood). Here are a few examples of how the art direction went completely off the rails in this movie:

While I do appreciate that Shinji's reactions to the events taking place approximately mirror my feelings while watching the movie (lots of tearing of hair, gnashing of teeth and screaming "make it stop!"), the characters are drawn with extremely exaggerated features and expressions sometimes, which never happened in the anime. Nor did Rei have enormous breasts (oh, excuse me, she's Lilith now? Well of course, now everything make sense!). Nor did hardly any of this fantasy bullshit ever happen in the show, and the movie simply introduces these elements with essentially no explanation. By the way, what the hell does "the pilot's ego can't take this much longer" even mean? Like Shinji's going to go more and more insane the longer the events of this terrible movie keep going on? Can't say I blame him, then. 

There is a certain bitterness to the message of End of Evangelion. Late in the series' running, Anno became extremely disenchanted with otaku culture: fans who wanted the wrong things from anime, didn't understand the series they were fans of, and expected the authors of the show to cater to their desires. Further, after the series finale, Anno received a slew of nasty, angry letters and even death threats from former fans who claimed he had ruined the series for them. Some of these letters are even flashed up on the screen in End of Evangelion, making the point clearer to the audience: you don't write the fucking show, leave me alone. Indeed, the central metaphor to the story is Shinji masturbating over Asuka's catatonic body. It's as if Anno is telling you right from the beginning: I am completely jerking off here, and you won't even know it. End of Evangelion is a cautionary tale about both self-indulgence and the effects of an avid audience on the artistic process. While I do appreciate the message, it seems to have been lost on most, and the movie is painful to watch. I truly wish the fandom had accepted the original ending, and I definitely wish that no-one threatened to kill Hideaki Anno. Because if one or both of those things had never happened, maybe this film would never have existed. For me, the true end of Evangelion is Episode 26, no questions asked. If this movie is actually supposed to replace it and be part of the cannon, I honestly don't care.

Because fuck this movie. Fuck, fuck, fuck this goddamn movie. Oh, and also:

Does anyone want to make the argument that this movie isn't stupid?

Neon Genesis Evangelion, Part 2

The difficulty with writing about a show like Neon Genesis Evangelion is that it is so dense and so rich, with so many great moments (other series, even good ones, are lucky to have even one great scene for every six that Evangelion has) that many are ultimately lost in the mix. Evangelion is the kind of show which can establish Toji Suzuhara at first as a simple-minded jerk, then an emotionally vulnerable boy who clings to his sister as the last thing he has to maintain his identity and personhood, and then gracefully show his transition (or rather, sad resignation) to becoming an Eva pilot- the very thing which he hated Shinji for beforehand-- all within about an hour of screentime. The show has a capacity to show relationships which other series and films find difficult to portray, or perhaps never do. Toji and Kensuke can never rid Shinji of his sense of loneliness because their friendship is entirely conditional and mostly superficial. It's the kind of commonplace, unromantic friendship which lesser series choose to ignore. In Episode 17 ("The Fourth Child"), we see that Toji is no idiot: he knows Hikari's feelings for him but acts oblivious. He doesn't want to hurt her, and doesn't want to get hurt himself. Yet Evangelion shows this with minimal dialogue, without unnecessary and heavy-handed comparisons to the central characters (see? Toji and Shinji are just the same!). It's the kind of series which not only respects but expects the audience's intelligence to guide them through.

I've always found the frustration surrounding Episodes 25 and 26 confusing. To me, it's not an obvious route, but the most logical route to resolve what the show is actually about. Episode 16 ("Splitting of the Breast") started a trend in Evangelion: the characters' personal lives and the conflicts with the Angels were drawing closer and closer together. Asuka is a character who sees her ability as her only form of self-worth, as she envies Misato's ability to be seen a sex object. Her decline in performance as an Eva pilot is proportional to her personal decline, leading to catatonic depression. Rei, meanwhile, has begun to learn that there is a difference between her personal life and her role in NERV. The most beautiful part of Rei II's arc is that as she forms a personality, she keeps what's been central to her this whole time: sacrifice. She's always been told to sacrifice herself if necessary, because she's expendable. If this one dies, just get another one from the tank. But Rei II learns that it's not always an ideology or an institution you live for- especially not one as crooked and thuggish as NERV- sometimes it's people. She's learned to love Shinji, as much as she's capable of love. Her sacrifice is not for Humanity or NERV or even to win, it's for him. Gendo would probably hate her for it. But there's an axiom in Evangelion if ever there was one: if Gendo Ikari hates you, you're probably a good person.

Finally, as the fragile social life Shinji had begun to build comes undone, he finds everything he's ever wanted while alone on the beach. It's a little on the nose, as Kaworu stands atop a winged statue whistling "Ode to Joy". We know that he's a little bit too good to be true. By the time Kaworu syncs perfectly with Eva 02, it's become completely obvious. But it isn't to Shinji, or maybe he's just become great at pushing things which bother him to the back of his mind. For some time now, the Angels have given Shinji a role and a place where he belongs. The audience might very well be wondering what will happen once he's beaten them all. Maybe he has as well, except for that aforementioned skill of his. Kaworu finally brings Shinji true purpose and happiness, and then forces him to take it away from himself. Maybe I was wrong that the show is neutral towards its protagonist-- near the end it's mercilessly cruel towards him. But that's the point: life is cruel to Shinji, and his real struggle this whole time has been with the will to live, and his noted lack of it. By Episode 25, the Angels are defeated. All that the plot could possibly do is move towards the mysterious Instrumentality Project, and actually showing the process of the Instrumentality Project, well, I believe the point Anno was trying to make with End of Evangelion was that doing so would be an utterly abortive effort (but more on that next time). The show has been about the characters struggling with their lives which they hate. What better way to portray that struggle than to reach deep into the characters' minds? Episode 26 is not only plenty climactic for the show, it's the most genuinely triumphant climax I've ever seen.

Speaking of Kaworu's hymn of choice, much has been made of Evangelion's religious imagery and themes. There is some merit to simply handwaving it away, as director Kazuya Tsurumaki claims the imagery was simply to give the show a distinctive look. Anno himself treats the religious themes in the show with a bit of tongue-in-cheek humor, stating "I chose the word 'Evangelion' because it's Greek and it sounds important." The religious references are often apocryphal: Kaworu identifies the presumed 1st Angel named Adam as actually being Lilith, Adam's supposed first wife before Eve (his third), according to an apocryphal Kabbalah text. Rei uses the Lance of Longinus, named after the legendary spear which pierced Jesus' side (the Roman soldier is not named in any of the gospels), and there are only four named angels in the Bible (Gabriel, Michael, Raphael and Uriel), the other names come from elsewhere. What does this all amount to? In a sense, I think it's simply an expression of Anno's appreciation for religion as a collection of myths.

Conversely, it's also an expression of religion's inability to impart meaning upon someone who feels his or her life is meaningless. Abrahamic religions (Judaism, Christianity, Islam) all hold that life has intrinsic meaning. You're here because God put you here, and if that's not good enough for you, go to hell (literally). Shinji's life seems to have as much meaning and purpose as can be had. He's the savior of humanity, and one could see him as the obvious messiah figure. However, he doesn't accept this role, and feels no sense of purpose or gratification. While he acts as the central figure of a series of events which appear to be prophesied in some capacity, religious images like the Christian cross appear, but they signify nothing. To me, the religious images are like an atheist (or in Anno's case, an agnostic) walking through the streets of New York City, passing by infinite churches, as well as several temples, synagogues and mosques, knowing that these buildings mean everything to some people, and nothing to him. Kaworu, himself supposedly a part of this Kabbalahan cabal, represents Anno's refutation of Buddhism:

"Humans constantly feel pain in their hearts. Because the heart is so sensitive to pain, humans also feel that to live is to suffer. You're so delicate, like glass, especially your heart."

One can note a hint of condescension from Kaworu (and perhaps Anno himself) explaining that humans, in their ignorance, feel that to live is to suffer because of their sensitivity. Although Kaworu eventually causes Shinji tremendous pain, he doesn't betray him the way Shinji thinks he does. He shows him a major point Evangelion has been leading up to: life is what you make of it. Meaning is not intrinsic, but constructed. Although he is unlike any other Angel due to his ability to connect with Shinji emotionally, Kaworu is indeed not human. He explains that "life and death are of equal value to me... And, you are not a being who should die. Your people need the future."

There is an interesting theme of homoeroticism in Shinji and Kaworu's friendship, one which is introduced almost immediately. Shinji, at least, clearly interprets it as such. In time, however, it's clear that as an Angel, Kaworu does not really have a gender or sexuality. They do, however, have physical intimacy; rather than connoting sexual feelings, this physicality actually represents innocence. Episode 24 ("The Final Messenger") is full of references to the Book of Genesis and the Fall of Man. Shinji and Kaworu's relationship is like a friendship before original sin. Indeed, in the (in)famous bath scene, Kaworu doesn't even seem to realize that he's naked. 

Sexual shame is a prevalent theme throughout Evangelion, particularly in Episode 25, as Misato tortures herself over her sex life. But as she does so, it seems increasingly unlikely that she's actually promiscuous at all. Rather, she seems to be struggling with certain cultural expectations: that as a woman she should not express or even have sexual desire, that she should not enjoy sex, that she should not allow others to see her as a sexual being. With regards to the last of these, it becomes clearer just what that aspect of her relationship with Shinji is: she wants to be desired, but she doesn't want him to know that she has desires herself. She wishes to buy into a culture in which men want and women are wanted, but this wish is frustrated by the fact that she is a human being. Shinji also views sexual desire as a source of shame, as he wonders whether he truly likes the girls in his life for who they are, or for what they represent to him as an adolescent male. It's because of this that his friendship with Kaworu is so precious to him. Their friendship is intimate, and yet without a sense of exploitation: the very Aristotelian definition of a good friendship.

Then there is that very Freudian revelation: that Yui Ikari is (in some sense) Eva 01. I say it's Freudian because the circumstances could all present a very common trope: the Oedipus Complex. After all, Shinji hates his father and regularly enters his mother, so to speak. While hallucinating in Eva 01, he fantasizes about the girls in his life (one of whom is Rei) before ultimately recognizing the female consciousness as his mother, who then appears idealized and, of course, nude. But I don't think that's what Evangelion is getting at. I don't think it's saying that due to childhood trauma, Shinji lusts after his mother (or rather, the idea of his mother), and I don't think it's saying (in true Orson Scott Card fashion) that Shinji is indeed sexually attracted to Kaworu as the result of his trauma and neuroses. Shinji doesn't want sex. At least, not primarily. He wants love. Indeed, he wants for it. As the people in his life clearly value him only for what they can get from him (even as Misato mourns his apparent death, she still refers to him as "my Shinji" rather than seeing him as his own person), he slowly gets the sense that his mother is the only person in his life who's ever loved him (or at least unconditionally loved him). Indeed, it's appropriate that Rei, the recovered remnants of Yui, eventually does learn to love him, but she's been too warped and manipulated by Gendo for him to know it.

Speaking of Gendo, has there ever been such a loathsome and detestable character in any series? His apparently legitimate attachment to Rei may be a product of his devotion to Yui, but the show strongly implies that Yui's fusion into Eva 01 was no accident, but in fact a means of controlling the Eva. Given that many of Shinji's victories come from Eva 01's "berserk" mode (i.e. Yui's consciousness snapping to life in order to protect her son), it seems likely that Gendo simply used her as a pawn. The fact that he took Yui's family name is also interesting and indicative of some kind of real relationship; and yet we see that he is also an adulterer and a child rapist, that he had no sense of fidelity towards Yui or towards Ritsuko now (a plot point which has always bothered me; it's largely unexplained and comes out of nowhere). The fact that Gendo is in no way a traditional antagonist actually increases the audience's hatred for him. Most devastatingly, he essentially gets what he wants in the end.

Shinji, for his part, gets nothing. He is estranged from Misato and Asuka, the Rei he knew is dead, his familiarity with NERV and their practices makes him dislike and distrust everyone in the organization (for good reason), and he is forced to kill the only real friend he's ever had. Until Episode 26, this is a series in which the bad guys win and the well-intentioned are manipulated into moral compromise, ultimately losing not only their dignity but their ability to be unequivocally called "good guys". In the entire series, the most likable character with the fewest moral hangups is Kaworu, the last Angel. But in Episode 26, we see that while Gendo has gotten what he wanted, he hasn't succeeded in removing Shinji's personhood and humanity. The ending of Neon Genesis Evangelion is jarring and strange, as we see an alternate reality in which Shinji lives a normal life with decent parents and real friendships. But this all leads up to a greater point, one which is stunning in its simplicity and lack of profundity: life doesn't have to be like this. In the end, there is nothing about Shinji's life that he really likes. It would have been much better if his mother were alive, if he didn't have to pilot the Eva, and if his father were a completely different person. But those things were never pre-determined, they happened due to people's choices, most of them made outside of his control or understanding. Now, as he transitions into adulthood, he sees the ability to escape his past and realizes the joy in the fact that the future is unwritten.

Neon Genesis Evangelion spawned many imitators, most of them ill-conceived. It's difficult to try to recreate what is ultimately an extremely personal project by a brilliant auteur. However, I think it opened the door for the truly artistic anime series which would come after it. Hayao Miyazaki, brilliant director that he is, strayed from anime drawing styles and conventions (after Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, the first project on which he and Anno worked together) to create what were ultimately excellent, off-beat Disney movies. After Neon Genesis Evangelion, it was a reaffirmation of the anime style as a means of creating art. I can't imagine Cowboy Bebop, Big O, Fullmetal Alchemist or, of course, FLCL (created by Anno's protege and Evangelion episode director Kazuya Tsurumaki) without Evangelion. Those series are all brilliant, with deeper meanings than their individually entertaining and action-packed episodes portray. But nothing can quite match the intensity and the catharsis that is achieved by Neon Genesis Evangelion. I don't quite understand what it means, but I've always found the last three slides of the show (what I believe to be Anno's direct statements to the audience) perfect, in their own mysterious way.

Thank you Father. Goodbye, Mother. And to all children, Congratulations.

It's an ending that would go down in history, but for all the wrong reasons. More on that next time.