Comic Ad Misdiagnosis

Came across this gem in the hardback "Scorchy Smith and the Art of Noel Sickles" by Bruce Canwell and Dean Mullaney. It's circa the mid-1930s and is a newspaper ad for Postum, a powdered, non-caffinated coffee substitute that Kraft produced until 2007. Click on the image to read the ad.

Sickles was a well-respected cartoonist and illustrator known primarily for his tenure on the strip "Scorch Smith," which was about a Charles Lindburgh-like aviator. He's recognized as an innovator as far as the design and layout of his strips, influencing people like Milton Caniff ("Terry and the Pirates" and "Steve Canyon") and Alex Toth. This particular ad was one that Sickles did with Caniff, with whom he shared a studio at the time.

While I understand that the state of pyschoanalysis was not as advanced as it is today, I would hope that a doctor would be able recognize that Peter is suffering from a major mental illness and not "coffee nerves." Is that even in the "Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders"?

In the first panel, he's projecting hidden aggression and is hearing voices, i.e., "Mr. Coffee Nerves." These same voices in the second panel incite him to physical violence. By the third and fourth panel, he's consumed with paranoia against his wife. She mentions other symptoms, headaches and sleeplessness. If Peter goes untreated, who knows what tragedy will occur?

Fortunately, Postum appears to be some form of antipsychotic, perhaps an early version of Thorazine. It's a good thing that Peter's condition can be treated pharmaceutically. Hopefully, he'll receive some sort of therapy while he's using Postum. Joining the country club is another positive step, helping with his socialization and providing plenty of exercise and fresh air.

According to the title "Peter Joins the Club and Mr. Coffee Nerves is Black Balled!" This clearly reenforces the message: "proper treatment leads to a positive outcome." Of course, this is the 1930s, maybe Mr. Coffee Nerves was black balled because the country club is restricted?

"I Love You Doctor Zaius"

I was 1o-years old in 1971 and the most important thing in the world was "Planet of the Apes."

I was crazy about it. I was annoyingly crazy about it. I bugged my parents about it, my siblings, my friends and my teachers. I collected the trading cards, read paperback adaptations of the movies and clipped newspaper articles that had anything to do with the film series. I remember a weird newsprint photo of a Playboy bunny playing soccer against somebody in ape makeup as part of a celebrity charity game. I was obsessed!

As someone who has spent a lifetime going from obsession to obsession, I'm fascinated by the role that "Apes" played in my formative psyche. It was my root-obsession. The one that started the pattern of discovery, all-encompassing interest, endless search for any scrape of information, push beyond resources purchasing, satiation, disenchantment, followed by detachment. This was repeated with comic books, science fiction, Philip K. Dick novels, Doctor Who, anime and others.

"Apes" wasn't the first genre interest I had, but it was the one that pushed me over the line. I'd been a fan of "Dark Shadows," "Star Trek," "The Six-Million Dollar Man" and "Land of the Giants," but none of them hooked me beyond momentary interest. What was it about "Apes" that appealed to me?

At this stage in my life, I can't quite crack what was going on in my 10-year-old mind. The funny thing was that I didn't even see the original "Planet of the Apes" until CBS broadcast it in 1973. The last in the series that I saw was the second in the series, "Beneath the Planet of the Apes," which CBS aired about six months later.

These were pre-home video days, so, in order to preserve the films, I purchased a cassette player and recorded the audio of the two films, which I played over and over, alone in my room. To this day, I can repeat the dialog, word for word, as I watch the films, like a litany at Mass.

Before I saw those two films, the primary visual trigger for me were the trading cards, which I bought in 1968 at a drug store in Oaklandon, Indiana. I probably had about 12 cards, which I kept in a shoebox with some basketball cards and odd cards from other TV series. At some point, I pulled them out and they became the touchtone for my obsession.

In 1971, I begged my mom to take me to "Escape from the Planet of the Apes," the third in the series and the first I saw in a theater. My sister was dragged along too. I loved the movie, of course. But I remember the story being surprisingly dark and violent. My mom liked the movie, but she didn't like that she felt more sympathetic for the apes than the humans--damn, violent humans.

I saw the last two movies in the series "Conquest" and "Battle" in the theater. By the time "Battle" had rolled around, the rest of my family had given up on my obsession and I had to ride my bike to the theater to see it. I saw it twice, once on the first day and the second time a week later when it closed. By that time, the rest of America was bored with talking apes.

There was a TV show and a limited-animation cartoon series, but even I was bored by this time. I'm not sure exactly when my obsession died, but I was on to other things—Mad Magazine, comic books, Edgar Rice Burroughs novels.

In my 20s, I was pretty embarrassed by my earlier "Apes" obsession. Occasionally, I'd watch one of the films, usually the first one and "Beneath." For some reason, I like these ones the best. I saw the Tim Burton remake--God, what an awful film. About the time of the remake, I read a fascinating article about how the original "Apes" movies were popular with S&M fetishists, because the apes were all dressed in leather and were binding and torturing the human beings. It's hard to deny that that imagery is present in the films. Was it intentional? Was it that subtext that subconsciously fascinated my 10-year-old brain?

Uh, no. As an adult, the the idea of being bound by a butch simian does not appeal to me.

Not too long ago, when I was watching the original "Planet of the Apes," I had a weird epiphany about it involving Charlton Heston, who plays the lead. These days, people remember him for his pro-gun politicking. That theme was strangely present throughout the film. Early on, after the astronauts land, they check their supplies. Heston checks his pack to make sure he has his gun and ammunition. Before the humans are captured by the apes, the prehistoric native humans steal the astronauts belongings--and firearms, I suppose--making them powerless. Once the apes arrive, on horseback with guns, the astronauts and all the humans are captured. Eventually, Heston escapes with the aid of some friendly chimps. What's the first thing he asks for? A gun. Later, when Heston captures the evil Dr. Zaius, the orangutan admonishes the chimps for giving Heston, an animal, a firearm. But, of course, it's the gun that allows Heston to make the terms for his final escape from the apes. Then, in the classic ending, Heston finds evidence that he's on Earth and that humanity has destroyed itself, presumably with nuclear weapons, i.e., the ultimate super gun. Is the movie calling for gun control? Is it saying that unwise use of weapons will lead to man's destruction? Who knows?

Don't forget, at the end of "Beneath," Heston detonates the final doomsday device, destroying the Ape Earth as the Human Earth had once been destroyed. Interesting stuff.

My kids like watching the movies, my daughters in particular. Their first exposure to "Planet of the Apes" was the musical parody of the film on "The Simpsons," in which Troy McClure--in the role he was born to play--utters the phrase "I love you Dr. Zaius." When my daughters finally saw the film, one of them turned to me after it was over and said "He didn't love Dr. Zaius at all, did he?"

In about a week, to celebrate my 49th birthday, I'm going to fulfill the dream of my 10-year-old mind. In 1973, after all of the five "Apes" movies had been released, 20th Century Fox tried to milk the franchise one last time by putting an "Apes" marathon in theaters--all five films, back-to-back under the "Go Ape" banner. I begged my parents to drop me off at the one theater in Indianapolis showing the films, but it was not to be.

When the five films came out in a DVD box set, I bought them, but only watched the first couple of films individually. Now I have that Blu Ray box set and I'm going to watch them all, back-to-back. I'm looking forward to this exercise, but also dreading it. Will it be too much? Will I be disappointed? Will I be bored? We'll see...

I Am Curious Pink

Finally got around to watching the last film in the "Pinky Violence Collection" DVD Set that I

got last year for Christmas. Here's the list of films in the set:

"Delinquent Girl Boss: Worthless To Confess"

"Girl Boss Guerilla"

"Terrifying Girls' High School: Lynch Law Classroom"

"Criminal Woman: Killing Melody"

As you can see, they were all inspired by the works of Jane Austin. No, that's a lie. They're Japanese sexplotation flicks from the 1970s and they're certainly an acquired taste.

Why, Mike, why do you waste your time with trash cinema? Cause it's fun and sometimes you'll see something surprising. Case in point, the last pic I watched was "Terrifying Girls' High School: Lynch Law Classroom." How often do you get to see a film start with the torture and suicide of a Japanese schoolgirl by the school's all-girl discipline squad? It was graphic and surreal and I wouldn't want to go out on a limb and say that it was entertaining. It certainly grabs your attention and makes you wonder, where can they go now?

Turns out this school is a social experiment where bad girls are sent to get retrained to be model wives and mothers. This is accomplished by giving the worst of the lot the power to discipline rule breakers. It's a set-up that is easily corrupted.

Enter three outlaws--a thief, a whore and girl yakuza--who run afoul of the discipline squad and quickly turn the table on authority, with satisfying violent results. The end reminded me a lot of "Rock and Roll High School," in a good way.

As a sexploitation genre, Pinky Violence offers a weird mix of crime and teenage rebellion. The twist, of course, is that all the protagonists are women. Directed by men and aimed at an adolescent masculine audience, the scales, at least initially, tip toward titillation in the first part of each of these films, with nudity and racy situations coming fast and furious. But in their odd way the films grow into moral plays as the women use whatever means necessary--sex, fear, larceny and violence--to empower themselves. They fight authority no matter who yields it, man, woman, yakuza boss, husband or principal. I wouldn't say that these are feminist films, maybe proto-feminist films--they can't quite shake off their exploitation exterior after all.

The best of the four films is "Delinquent Girl Boss: Worthless To Confess," which is about a young woman who forms a gang while in prison. When she gets out and her father gets in trouble with the local gang boss, she calls together her prison cronies and forms her own female mob. The way that the mob stuff is presented reflects a lot of the mainstream yakuza flicks that were popular in the late 60s and early 70s, so it has a more genuine feel to it than the other films in he set. The other flicks blend in more humor than "Girl Boss" and come off like farces at times. "Girl Boss" resembles "Lady Snowblood," though that film was set in samurai times. It's only natural since mainstream Japanese cinema was trying to link the trappings of the samurai genre to that of the Japanese mob (yakuza) films.

I got drawn to these films because of my fascination with Quentin Tarantino's work, "Kill Bill 1&2" in particular. Pinky Violence is at the roots of Tarantino's films, the theme of the bad guys--or girls--who overcome evil to achieve vengeance or their own brand of justice. Cool stuff.

French Lessons

I recently finished reading the 1966 American edition of “Barbarella” by French artist Jean-Claude Forest and discovered that I’ve grown to appreciate the occasional innocence or naivete among my protagonists.

Most people these days may only be familiar with the character Barbarella from the Swingin’ ‘60s sci-fi flick. That’s how I first heard of her, anyway. When I was in college, I saw the film right in the middle of a stretch of bad movies — the other dogs I remember casting my eyes on in that dark month were “Andy Warhol’s Dracula” and “Caligula.”

I went to see “Barbarella” for the same reason most young males went to see it — cause Jane Fonda gets nekkid.

To the brotherhood of young men, let me say this: It’s all a lie. While Jane does lose her clothes occasionally and often gets up to bizarre, pseudo-sexual hijinks, it’s all pretty tame, even for the Swingin’ ‘60s. The most prurient of scenes — and perhaps the most amusing — involves the evil scientist Duran Duran attempting to break our heroine’s spirit with his sex organ, i.e., a musical instrument that he puts her in and plays like a piano. Her high sexual energy busts that machine good.

Anyway, the movie was inspired by Forest’s rather clever comic strip, which is part parable and part parody of the science fiction tropes of the Buck Rogers variety. Barbarella, a beautiful Earth girl, wanders the galaxy, happens upon the odd civilization under the threat of some despot, seduces said despot and escapes, usually in torn clothes. An earnest revolutionary, she inspires the masses to throw down their shackles, as she’s menaced by flying sharks, killer toys and a one-eyed queen disguised as a slumming prostitute. Her saviors tend to be as unusual as the worlds she visits, like a blind angel or a horny robot.

Barbarella’s greatest quality is her innocent belief that she can make things better. That, combined with her beauty and open sexuality — I said it was the ‘60s — make her surprisingly heroic. She has no cynicism, which is refreshing when you consider how much angst permeates current popular science fiction, or worse, that knowing, oh, I’ve seen this all before attitude, that self-mocking that invalidates the story.

Nope, with her it’s “Is there a problem? Let’s fix it. You mean I have to sleep with the evil scientist to save the world? OK, let’s get started.”

Like I said, it’s refreshing.

The art is a treat too. Forest's work is loose and sketchy in places, but he has an imaginative, playful eye. One nice touch is that each chapter of the book is done in a different color.

As near as I can tell, the 1966 book is the only edition available in English, though Forest wrote at least two other books in French, one of which finds Barbarella as a young mother. I saw somewhere that Heavy Metal reprinted some of the Babarella stories, but I'm not sure which. I'll have to track those down.

Taking Back Some of My Own

The following is a piece that I wrote in 1999 for the program book for the Otakon Convention in Baltimore. At the time, I was hanging out with some people connected with the Terrapin Anime Society at the University of Maryland who were putting together the book for the convention. It was a huge honor for me, as I was deeply immersed in all things anime at that time.

Let me say up front, this is pretty outdated, as a lot of material has come through since 1999 that has filled in many blanks in the history of Japanese animation. Plus, I was dealing with the major setback that I didn't read or speak Japanese, so I had to rely on English language sources.

The reason that I'm posting it is to reaffirm that hey, I wrote this. Since its publication, it's popped up a lot of places on the Web and has even been cited in other histories. I even saw that several people had used it as the basis for class assignments on anime and animation. It just goes to show, you cast these things out there and you never know where they'll end up.

A Brief History of Anime

Michael O'Connell

Source: Otakon 1999 program book

Early Days

At the beginning of the 20th century, Japanese graphic artists began to feel the influence of two very powerful Western inventions: the newspaper comic strip and the motion picture. With its word balloons and linear story-line, the comic strip provided Japanese story-tellers with a structure that was readily accessible to the masses. Soon, popular cartoonists like Rakiten Kitazawa and Ippei Okamoto were producing their own serialized newspaper prints. These would eventually contribute to the development of the modern Japanese comic book or "manga"

In 1914, cartoonists were among the first Japanese artists to experiment with animated motion pictures. Japan's first world-wide success was Kitayama Seitaro's short filmMomotaro(1918). Although the Japanese animation industry continued to grow slowly, its one, last pre-war milestone was Chikara To Onna No Yononaka. Appearing in 1932, the short film was the first animated "talkie" in Japanese.

Elswhere in the world, the animation industry was not only thriving but breaking new ground. The undisputed leaders in the field were Walt Disney and the Fleisher Brothers. People now forgot what a shock it was for Disney to even consider producing a full-length animated feature. But, when Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs appeared in 1937 to overwhelming popular acclaim, Disney demonstrated that animation could be just as expressive and viable a medium as live-action film.

The popularity and influence of Disney and the Fleishers' animated films were not limited to the United States. Before World War II, much of their work was seen by receptive audiences in Europe and Asia. These works also inspired the dreams of a young man who would go on to alter the direction of Japanese graphic story-telling forever.

The God

As unbelievable as it may seem, the success of both the anime and manga industries in Japan rests firmly on the shoulders of one man: Osamu Tezuka

Originally an aspiring animator, Tezuka became a cartoonist after World War II. He was only 20 years old whne his first significant work, the novel-length Shintakarajima or "New Treasure Island", appeared in 1947. In just a few years, he became Japan's most popular manga artist, eventually earning the title "God of Manga."

Tezuka's approach was completely different from anything that had come before. Whereas, most contemporary manga stories were told in a straightforward, stage-like fashion, Tezuka's illustrations exploded with action and emotion. Borrowing techniques from French and German cinema, he stretched his stories out for hundreds of pages. To lend poignancy to a single emotional moment, a scene might unfold slowly over several pages. What Tezuka was doing was telling stories in the manner of a filmmaker. In the process, he was also teaching an entire generation of artists how to visualize and compose a story kinetically.

For manga and anime fans, Tezuka's most obvious contribution came in the design of his characters. The artist needed a vast emotional template to tell his often complex stories. Seeking inspiration, he returned to the pre-war Disney cartoons that he loved as a child. Just like Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck, Tezuka's animal and humans characters sported round heads with huge, expressive eyes. Although these features appeared simple and cartoonish, they actually allowed a character to express a wide range of emotions, from adulation to seething hatred.

Successive generations of manga and anime artists discovered the flexibility of Tezuka's character designs and adapted them into their own diverse works. This, in turn, led to today's "manga-style" character with his or her simplified facial features and Frisbee-sized eyeballs. Sailor Moon, Speed Racer, and even Ash Ketchum can all thank Tezuka for their dashing good looks. Eventually, Tezuka's great success as a manga artist led to a more direct impact on the post-war animation industry.

From Film to TV

In the mid-1950's, Hiroshi Okawa was the president of the Japanese film company Toei. Okawa's dream was to create and Asian film studio that would produce animated features similar to those put out by Walt Disney Studios in America. In 1956, Toei Animation was founded and, two years later, the company released its first full-length feature The Tale of the White Serpent.

Based on a Chinese legend, The Tale of the White Serpent was considerably darker in tone than your typical Disney feature. It and Toei's follow-up films The Mischievous Prince Slays the Gian Serpent (1963); The Adventure of Horus, Prince of the Sun (1966); and Puss in Boots (1967) paved the way for a more serious and adult approach to animation than had previously been seen. These latter three films were the world if influential direction Yasuji Mari. They also featured some of the earliest work of two later giants in the anime filed: Isao Takahata and Hayao Miyazaki.

Tezuka, the undisputed giant of manga, formally entered the anime filed in 1958 when he started working on the storyboards, screenplay, and chracter designs for a Toei feature based on Wu Cheng-en's the Pilgrimage to the West. [For those not familiar with the source material, this is the Monkey King legend which would later serve as the inspiration for Dragon Ball) Around the time that the film premiered in 1961 as Alakazam the Great, Tezuka founded the Osamu Tezuka Production Animation Department or, as it was eventually called, Mushi Productions. His goal was to produce animated theatrical features as well as episodic series for the fledgling Japanese television industry.

Mushi Production's premiere series, Tetsuwan Atom (U.S.:Astro Boy) missed out on being the first domestically-produced animated televisions show by only a few months. That honor fell to Otagi Manga Calendar or "Manga Stories Calendar," which featured short, historical cartoons. But, in all its black-and-white glory, Tetsuwan Atom was the first regular animated program to containa recurring cast performing in fictionalized stories. Based on Tezuka's manga series of the same name, Tetsuwan Atom followed the amazing adventures of a robot boy as he fights crime and protects his friends. The show became so popular that it was even distributed worldwide.

With the success of Mushi Productions' first series assured, Tezuka quickly adapted another of his popular mang works into an animated program. Jungle Taitei (U.S.:Kimba the While Lion) was hte first Japanese animated program to appear in color and the first to have an American co-producer. NBC Television helped to finance the series as well as distribute it stateside. Unfortunately, the network also exercised a degree of creative control on the series which limited the scope of Tezuka's adaptation. The original story saw the main character Kimba grow to adulthood, but the television series kept him as an adolescent. Late, Tezuka was able to redress this affront in the animated sequel Jungle Taitei Susume Leo! (U.S.:Leo the Lion.)

Mushi continued to create new programs and even the occasional animated feature film like 1969's Senya Ichiya Monogatori. Eventually, though, the production compnay would go bankrupt. Tezuka didn't just "go back to drawing comics" becasue he had never really stopped. Throughout his animation career, he continued to feed the ever growing demand for his manga stories with new and exciting titles. He now left the wolk of animating his manga, such as Black Jack and Ambassador Mamga, to other artists

The Sophisticated '70s

As new and exciting as Japanese animated television series seemeed in the 1960's, you could not escape the fact that most series were created strictly for childern. Notable exceptions did exist. Jungle Taitei frequently ventured into complex, multi-part story-lines. Another early show, 8-Man (U.S.: 8th Man) featured a main character who was murdered by criminals and resurrected as a robot. Mach Go Go Go (U.S.:Speed Racer) could be downright moody, at times, even with its goofy monkey sidekick. By and large, though, animated television programs followed the tried and true good guy vs. bad guy formula.

This all changed in the 1970's, as a new, more sophisticated approach began to emerge in televised anime. Nowhere could this better be seen than in a program created by the oddly named manga artist Monkey Punch. Lupin Sansei featured a main character who was a master thief. Inspired by 1920's satyrical mysteries of French writer Maurice Leblanc, the show was part comedy and part jet-setting adventure. Packed with adult humor and slapstick violence, Lupin Sansei was aimed squarely at an older audience. The program's infectious insanity went on to spawn two sequel TV series and several feature films.

It was in the science fiction genre where televised animation started to make incredible leaps forward. Although programs like Kagaku Ninja-Tai Gatchaman (U.S.: Battle of the Planets & G-Force), Great Mazinger, and Uchu no Kishi Tekkaman (U.S.: Tekkaman) thrilled audiences with their stylish robot and spaceship designs, it was Uchu Senkan Yamato (U.S.: Star Blazers) that really captured thhe imagination of Japanese television viewers. The series followed the crew of the Space Battleship Yamato as they tried to save humanity from destruction while fighting off an alien invasion. Often violent and gritty, Yamato showed that there was an audience for sprawling space operas. The series proved so popular that it spawned several theatrical features.

Artist Leiji Matsumoto, a contemporary of Tezuka's, provided Yamato's dynamic character and mecha (i.e. mechanical) designs. he also contributed the story-line which teemed with complex human emotions. Matsumoto would later lend his talents to another influential science fiction TV show, Uchu Kaizoku Captain Harlock, and the 1979 film Galaxy Express 999.

The "giant robot" show had been a mainstay of Japanese animation ever since Shotaro Kaneda first called on Tetsujin 28 in 1966. This science fiction sub-genre got a significant reinterpretation when Mobile Suit Gundam premiered in 1979. Combining the epic story elements of Yamato with the oversized, humanoid mecha of Tetsujin 28-go (U.S.: Gigantor), MS Gundam was an intelligent and exciting space opera. The sprawling story-line detailed a future space war in which the opposing forced duked it out with mechanized battlesuits. Human pilots actually "wore" the giant robots as a protective shell.

Initially a modest hit, Mobile Suit Gundam quickly became a nation-wide obsession when the series was re-run and later compiled into three theatrical films. Feeding the furor was an extensive line of plastic model kits based on the series' mecha. Soon, new Gundam films, videos, and television sequels started to appear.

Within a few years a slew of new space operas emerged to take on the Gundam franchise. The two most notable were the gritty Sokokihei Votoms (U.S.: Armored Trooper Votoms) and the compelling Chojiju Yasai Macross (U.S.: First 1/3 of Robotech). Both garnered huge followings and continued to reappear in various animated permutations.

Explosion

As the 1980's began, television and film producers scrambled to keep up with the increasing demand for more sophisticated and exciting animated programming. The situaiton became even more frantic as the home video market exploded onto the scene a few year later. Now Japanese fans could actually buy copies of their favorite animated TV shows and movies. Production companies even started to bypass the traditional entertainment media and release original animated features straight to video.

To keep up with the ever-expanding market-place, anime producers turned more and more to the burgeoning manga field for mateiral to adapt. One of the first artists to benefit was Akira Toriyama whose quirky comedy series Dr. Slump became an instant hit. In 1986, an adaptation of his fantasy series Dragon Ball went on to become Japan's most popular animated TV show.

Employing as deft a hand at light comedy and fantasy as Toriyama, Rumiko Takahashi dominated television and video throughout the '80's and '90's. First with the insane alien comedy Urusei Yatsura and later with the gender-bending of Ranma 1/2, she enchanted audiences of all ages. her other important series, Maison Ikkoku, playfully toyed with the conventions of the romantic comedy genre.

On the opposite end of the spectrum from Takahashi was Go Nagain, an artist witha reputation for creating "naughty" manga. Anime adaptations of his work actually began in 1972 with the Devilman TV series. Now that the direct-to-vidoe market had been established, anime created strictly for adults could bypass the usual restrictions imposed by TV and film sensors. Strange and sexy programs like Nagai's Kekko Kamen, which featured a naked super-heroine, could now be produced for home video release.

It was during the 1980's that mainstream science fiction literature received a powerful jolt of technological reality. Borne in the novels of William Gibson, Bruce Sterling, and Neal Stephenson, cyberpunk literature explored dark dystopiaswhere renegade hackers traversed the virtual universe of cyberspace. In 1982, Ridley Scott's breathtaking science fiction film Blade Runner redefined how poeple visualized the future. Japanese manga and anime artists were among the first to really grab this new lexicon of imagery and run with it.

The first and best was artist/director Katsuhiro Otamo. Not only was his groundbreaking 1988 anime film Akira a huge international hit, it ushered in an entirely new style of anime. Popular titles like Bubble Gum Crisis and A.D. Police were cut from the same fast-paced and dangerous mold as Akira.

In 1987, Otomo contributed two short segments to the Neo-Tokyo and Robot Carnival animated anthologies. The two films helped to introduce the "new anime" to a larger audience while showcasing the talents of emerging artists like Otomo, Rin Taro, Yoshiaki Kawajiri, Atsuko Fukushima, Hiroyuki Kitazume, Mao Lamdo, Hidetoshi Omari, Kaji Morimato, Yasomi Umetsu, Hiroyuki Kitakubo and Takashi Nakamura.

Equally as influential was the work of artist Masamune Shirow. Through the adaptation of his original manga Appleseed and his own direction of Black Magic M-66, he presented a future where the lines between technology and humanity began to blur. Although Shirow's energetic video series Dominion Tank Police can best be described as a police-mecha-comedy, his recent masterpiece, the 1995 film Kokaku Kidoutai (U.S.: Ghost in the Shell), once again took on the man versus machine interface

Not all new anime was as outlandish as Shirow's or Otomo's. In fact, some of it was quite serious. Keiji Nakazawa wrote of his experiences as a Hiroshima survivor in the heartrending manga saga Barefoot Gen. With director Masaki Mari, Nakazawa adapted his novels into a frank and powerful 1983 film. Exploring similar territory, Hotaru No Haka(U.S.: Grave of the Fireflies) followed the struggle of two orphans who survived the fire-bombing of Tokyo. Few live action films have ever come as close to capturing the true horrors of war as this animated film did.

Audiences were now becoming more receptive to animation that wasn't strictly action or comedy oriented. In responce, anime producers turned to Japanese literature for inspiration. Based on the classic novel by Murasaki Shikibu, Genji Monogatari (U.S.: The Tale of Genji) was a fascinating study in palace intrigue. A novel by 20th century philosopher and children's writer Kenjii Miyazawa inspired the delightful Ginga Tetsudo no Yoru (U.S.: Night on the Galactic Railroad). The success of such films showed that anime had finally broken free from the restraints of its earlier "kids-only" label to enter the realm of high-brow acceptance.

The New Studios

Out of the '80's anime explosion, two production companies emerged that would lead the industry into the 21st Century: Gainax and Studio Ghibli.

Founded by Toshio Okada, Gainax brought together a group of creators who were part of the first generation raised on Japanese animation. Drien by their shared enthusiasm for the medium, Gainax produced some of the most significant and popular works of the '80's and 90's. The company's first video Otaku no Video held a mirror up to the bizarre world of anime fandom. This lighthearted, semi-autobiographical romp didn't even hint at the greatness that would suddenly appear in the company's next release, the science ficiton masterpiece Oneamitsu No Tsubasa Oritsu Uchu Gun(U.S.: The Wings of Honneamise). The video series Top O Nerae! Gunbuster (U.S.: Gunbuster) and TV show No Umi No Nadia (U.S.: Nadia the Secret of Blue Water) verified the company's skill at presenting exciting adventures, both futuristic and historical. Finally, Gainax established itself as the current leader of episodic science-fiction by producing the beautifully-rendered TV show Shin Seiki Evangelion (U.S.: Neon Genesis Evangelion)

Studio Ghibli grew out of the association of two long-time anime creators, Isao Takahata and Hayao Miyazaki. Both worked on various Toei TV and film projects during the 1960's. In 1971, the two men served as directors on the original Lupin Sansei TV show and later collaborated on the children's adventure series Mirai no Shonen Conan (Eng. Trans.: Future Boy Conan). Miyazaki's first significant directing job came with the 1978 theatrical release Cagliostro No Shiro (U.S.: Castle of Cagliostro). Once again delightfully portraying the antics of the Lupin character, this successful feature was followed by a strip of landmark films: Kaze no Tani No Nausicaa (Eng. Trans.: Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind), Tenku No Shiro Rapyuta (Eng. Trans.: Laputa: Castle in the Sky), Tonari No Totoro (U.S.: My Neighbor Totoro), Majo No Takkyubin (U.S.: Kiki's Delivery Service),Kurenai No Tuta/Porco Rosso (Eng. Trans.: Crimson Pig), Heisei Tanuki Gassen Ponpoko (Eng. Trans.: Present-Day Great Raccoon War Ponpoko), and Mononoke Hime (U.S.: Princess Mononoke). Although Takahata filled various behind-the-scenes roles in Miyazaki's projects, from producer to musical director, he also displayed a considerable gift for direction and screenwriting in his own right. As already mentioned, he was the creative genius behind the gripping Hotaru no Haka. His moving animated film Omoide Poro Poro(Eng. Trans.: Only Yesterday) was the simple story of a woman coming to grips with the memories of her youth. This ability to tell the small, human story against the backdrop of greater events was a hallmark of Takahata and Miyazaki's considerable talents. Coupled with flawless hand-drawn animation, it was a formula that placed Studio Ghibli firmly at the top of the Japanese film industry.

Future

As the '90's wind down, optimism comes easily to the anime fan. In Japan, Gundam celebrates its 20th anniversary with a whole new TV show, while Akira Toriyama's wacky Dr. Slump retursn to the small screen with a new series of his own. Osamu Tezuka's influence is still being felt as two recent films based on his earlier manga works, Black Jack andJungle Taitei demonstrate. Meanwhile, older audiences have been treated to the imaginative X:The Motion Picture and Katsuhiro Otomo's anthology film Memories

International audiences are also enjoying a growing influx of popular anime. Pokemon, Sailor Moon and Dragon Ball hae delighted children wherever they've been shown. Most significant is the deal that Disney Studios and Studio Ghibli inked to bring all of Miyazaki's filmed masterpieces to American audiences. Entertainment Weekly picked the first release under this agreement, Kiki's Delivery Service, as its 1998 Video of the Year. Later this year, look for Mononoke Hime to appear in theaters across the country.

Anime's success can be credited to the unswerving dedication of many Japanese artists to fully exploit the possibilities of animation as a creative medium. These gifted artists understood that they could do more with moving pictures than just entertain children. They could explore the boundaries of space and examine the complexities of the human condition. It's this willingness to experiment that has made anime so dynamic and appealing. This same quality promises to keep anime a vital artistic option for filmmakers in the 21st Century.

Author's Notes and Bibliography

Because of the constraints of time and page space, this is only a "brief" history of anime. Unfortunately, I was forced to omit many worthy artists and their works becasue there just wasn't enough room. The hardest part of writing this history was deciding who should be be included. I tried to weigh which artists and works had the greatest influence on anime as a whole. Some titles are included because they best represent a certain anime genre, although, in the grander scheme of things, they have very little overall influence. I apologize if your favorite TV show or director is not mentioned - many of mine aren't. Some day, someone will write a comprehensive history of the field.

In the meantime, I've listed several books which I found invaluable in researching this history. I would also recommend searching back issues of Animerica for interviews with Japanese anime and manga crators as well as general information about the recent history of anime. Purists often trash this magazine, but I found that it contained some of the most comprehensive information available in English.

Anime! A Beginner's Guide to Japanese Animation by Helen McCarthy, Titan Books, 1993

The Anime Movie Guide by Helen McCarthy, The Overlook Press, 1997

The Complete Anime Guide by Trish Ledoux and Doug Ranney, Tiger Mountain Press, 1995

Dreamland Japan by Frederick L. Schodt, Stone Bridge Press, 1996

Manga! Manga! The World of Japanese Comics by Frederick L. Schodt, Kodansha International, 1983

My Stan Lee Moment

The first thing you should know is that I'm DC and not Marvel. I felt I should get that out there for those of you who still see that distinction.

In 2010, that's all kind of gone by the wayside, what with independent companies like Dark Horse, Image and all the rest. Add to that artists and writers switching back and forth between companies and the whole self-publishing thing. DC or Marvel? It's just not that important anymore.

But when this event that I'm going to describe occurred—around 1976—you were pretty much DC or Marvel and that was it. In future posts, I plan to go into all the reasons why I chose to be DC back then, but suffice it to say, my primary interest were comics published by DC Comics and not Marvel.

It was at the second comic book convention that I ever attended, Inconjunction in Indianapolis, that I had my Stan Lee moment.

I was a ninth grader in junior high and was attending with Chris, who would become my best friend in high school. He wasn't a comic book fan, but his little brother was. His brother didn't come with us, but he had asked Chris to pick up some Marvel books for him.

When we got to the convention, we shopped for comics, looked around and discovered that the guest of honor was Stan Lee. In the previous decade, Lee had helped create Spider-Man, the Fantastic Four and the whole line of Marvel heroes. I may have been a DC, but I recognized that Lee was a superstar in the backwater world of comic books. The previous Christmas I had even received one of his Marvel histories as a gift, "Son of Origins of Marvel Comics." I remember being pretty impressed that such a luminary was at a podunk convention in a suburban Indy hotel. So, when it was announced that Lee was going to speak, Chris and I went to listen.

I remember nothing about the speech, but I do remember it took place near the hotel pool. It was a sunny day and the audience filled the patio chairs next to the pool. Lee talked for a bit, fielded questions and that was it.

Back in the dealer room, Chris and I made one more pass until we discovered that Lee was at a table in the hallway signing autographs. I helped Chris pick out an old Iron Man comic for Lee to sign for his brother. I looked in my bag, which was filled with DCs—Lee's competitor—so I figured for form's sake I should buy a Marvel comic.

At the table near the end of the autograph line, I flipped through a stack of Marvels. By the mid-70s, Lee wasn't really involved in the day-to-day of writing or editing at Marvel, even though every title in the line contained the intro: "Stan Lee Presents…". So picking out a book cheaply that Lee actually might have had a hand in presented a momentary challenge.

Then I came across a book I recognized: Daredevil #47. The story in the book was called "Brother, Take My Hand!" and concerned Daredevil's encounter with a blind Vietnam vet. I had just read the story in "Son of Origins of Marvel Comics" and thought it was quite moving. That particular copy was probably in VG to fine condition and only a couple of bucks.

[Daredevil 47 is copyright 1969 by Marvel Comics. To read online, go here.]

As the line got shorter, we watched the other fans handing Lee their books, which he'd sign and then he'd smile and nod. The guy in front of us had a stack of about 50 books. For a moment, it seemed like we'd be there for hours waiting for Lee to finish signing that stack, but he told the guy that he was going to have to take all the books out of their bags before he could sign them.

Chris handed Lee his Iron Man. Lee signed it and handed it back without comment. I handed him the Daredevil. He looked at it and paused.

"You know," he said, cocking his head and glancing up at me, "I really liked this story. It's one of my favorites."

"Yeah," I said. "You put it in 'Son of Origins.'"

Lee thought for a moment. "You're right." He took his marker, signed the book and handed it back to me smiling.

And that was it. My moment with Stan Lee.

There's not much to it, I know, and it probably would've meant more to me if I were a Marvel, instead of a DC. But it's something I think about every once in a while and smile.