PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: (1) *poor,* (2) *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *adventure*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *metaphysical, sociological*
I’m
far from an expert on the development of anime in the 2000s. Still,
based on my spotty viewings, I note a downward trend in overall
creativity and mythicity. This view finds some support in two
television serials released in the late 2000s, both adapted from
manga-features debuting in the early 2000s.
NABARI
NO OU proves derivative in the extreme, and can best be summed up as
“pretty ninjas with problems.” Like many American teen
soap-shows, NABARI has no ugly people, and barely anyone who even
skews somewhat homely. If the scripts showed some awareness of their
status as lightweight entertainment—BEVERLY HILLS 90210 comes to
mind-- perhaps the writers might’ve had fun with the melodrama.
However, NABARI presumably follows the example of its manga-source,
drowning all potential for humor in relentless seriousness.
Though
it’s not unusual for a serial’s viewpoint character to be an
“everyman” type, NABARI sports one of the dullest principals in
pop-culture history. High-school boy Miharu has no familial
connections or friends, and floats through school in a state of
apathy. Then he finds that rival ninja clans want to induct him
because he’s inherited a mystic power, the “Shinra Bansho.” The
good ninjas, most of whom wear modern suits or school uniforms, just
want to monitor Miharu’s power, while the bad ninjas, “the Grey
Wolves,” want to gain dominion over the ninja world.
Because
NABARI specializes in copious talking-head scenes in which very
little is said—aside from keeping up the melodramatic tone—it’s
never very clear what the Shinra Bansho can do for its possessor.
When Miharu relecutantly summons the power, he blazes with light and
scroll-symbols appear on his body, but the limits of the ability are
unclear. Once the glowing light looks like the DNA double helix, but
no one makes any commentary on this manifestation. Sometimes Miharu
has mental reveries with a female demon who’s apparently the
incarnation of the power, but she doesn’t really do much of
anything either.
The
supporting characters, despite their good looks and their archaic
weapons (almost no one uses a gun), are dull in the extreme. The
closest thing to memorable melodrama appears in the backstory of
girl-ninja Raimei, for her B-plot involves squaring off aginst her
brother Raiko. Since she believes him guilty of slaying her clan and
her immediate family, the backstory sounds like a setup for the sort
of superheated passionate drama for which Japanese animators are
justly famous. Instead, this plot peters out with some minor
revelations. Even the serial’s fight-scenes are dull and makework,
making NABARI NO OU one of the worst anime-serials I’ve ever
encountered.
CORPSE
PRINCESS is no classic, but it’s at least as good as many of the
better formulaic anime-shows from the eighties and nineties. The
manga presumably provided a much better model for the serial in terms
of concepts and characters than that of NABARI NO OU. To be sure,
though, NABARI does at least give the viewer closure at the end,
while PRINCESS’s 26 episodes evidently weren’t able to capture
the range of the original manga, which ran for about six years.
However, if the viewer accepts that the ride will be wild but
somewhat brief, PRINCESS is worth a look.
The
manga provided the serial with a relatively novel take on Japanese
folklore about “angry spirits.” Whereas many ghosts in the
Westenr storytelling tradition appear as ephemeral phantoms, Japanese
revenants tend to be capable of taking on solid form with many
repulsive characteristics. I’m not sure whether or not the Japanese
word “shikabane”—which literally means “corpse”—appeared
in genuine folklore as a word for such a revenant, though I tend to
suspect that the original manga-author has taken many liberties to
adapt legend into pop culture.
The
Shikabane of this anime-serial are less like ghosts than zombies. If,
at the moment of a human being’s death, that person nurtures deep
resentments—repeatedly termed “regrets”—the person’s body
simply re-animates. These living dead people have no organic needs as
such, but they feel driven to avenge the wrongs done them in life.
However, a particular Japanese sect (possibly Shinto) called the
Kougon Sect evolves a special means of fighting death with death.
Certain monks of the sect make contracts with dead Shikabane, in
which the monks supply the Shikabane with a power called ”rune.”
In exchange, these benign Shikabanee then use their inhuman strength
and endurance to battle the more malefic corpse-monsters. An
additional facet of this arrangement seems rooted in Japanese
pop-culture’s preference for cute young female heroes, for the
monks are only able to forge their contracts with deceased girls of a
certain age. (And yes, this circumstance is played for as much
raunchy fan-service as is feasible.) All of these undead women are
termed “Shikabane Hime,” meaning “Corpse Princesses.”
Though
several of the “Hime” (as I’ll call them from now on) and
their “contracted monks” appear as supporting characters, the
focal figures here consist of one particular “Corpse Princess,”
Makina, and a young man, Ouri who’s forcibly introduced into the
world of metamorphic zombie-fights. Makina, a dynamic young Hime, is
originally given her mission by Keisei, who’s both a Kougon monk
and the adoptive brother of Ouri. However, early in the series Keisei
perishes, and the later episodes deal with the problems faced by Ouri
as he tries to assume his brother’s role in this dangerous
scenario—not least because he and Makina face not only random
undead menaces, but also an organization of evil Shikabane, the Seven
Stars.
The
somewhat passive Ouri and the hardcore Makina make a good “opposites
attract” team, though by serial’s end it’s unclear as to
whether or not there will be romance between the principals. At the
very least, though, they complement one another’s strengths and
weaknesses. Further, the scripts are sensitive to the melodramatic
potential of human beings who feel cheated of life but must define
themselves as the living dead—though not without lots of
high-powered shonen action, wherein the super-powered Hime (who wield
weapons but don’t usually change form) battle hordes of
shapechanging zombies. A particular standout appears when Makina goes
toe-to-toe with Hokujo, a Shikabane who seemingly has no human
sentiments, and therefore seems to Makina like the incarnation of
death itself.
As
noted earlier,,the story is unfortunately truncated. Episode 25 ends
with Makina fighting, and apparently winning out, over Hokujo, but
there’s no wrap up of the situation,. The final episode concerns
one of the supporting characters, and was apparently released as a
solo DVD feature in Japan when it became apparent that another full
season would not appear. Still, even these limited adaptations of
Makine and Ouri make me want to invest some time in the original
manga.
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