Monthly Snapshot: Mushi-shi – A Question of Paradise

Monthly Snapshot is a regular column here at Ani-Gamers in which one of our writers chooses a moment from some anime, manga, game, or other media that really made an impact on them in the past month. It's a valuable chance to compare the subjective ways in which we all experience and analyze media. To read previous entries, click here.

Based on Yuki Urushibara’s manga, the Mushi-shi anime directed by Hiroshi Nagahama follows "mushi master" Ginko as he observes and learns about the various mushi he comes across during his endless travels. Mushi are simple beings, the purest form of life. Basically, think of them as the myriad microorganisms which developed from primordial soup. While humans cannot usually see mushi, these creatures can reap effects that range from the physical to the supernatural.

Episode 22, "Shrine in the Sea," starts with a soft female voice that says, “Give birth to me once more. I want to meet you all over again,” while a small wooden boat drifts on a calm body of dark gray water. A resigned splash is heard as a body, with arms floating upwards as if reaching out, sinks further and further downward into an abyss that swallows the scant light of a half moon.





Mana                                         Isana

Mio is troubled by the growth of her daughter, Isana. Every day she looks more and more like her grandmother, Mana. Because Mio never knew what her mother looked like as a child, the early years of raising Isana passed just like those of any other young mother. But as time went on, Isana began to develop features both aesthetic and habitual that reminded Mio her daughter was, literally, her mother incarnate.

Via flashback, Mio remembers her father ferrying his terminally ill wife to the Dragon’s Palace, a place that enables those who lose their lives to its deep, glowing waters to be reborn in the exact same visage. Mio’s father tries to justify this act to his daughter by explaining that no-one has ever recovered from the disease with which Mana is afflicted, and Mio’s mother further insists on giving herself to the deep to ease her own fear of “going away forever.” As the boat starts to leave, Mio stands in the water beside her mother, looses contact with her mother’s hand, and weeps into the sea.

The next scene in the flashback reveals Mio’s father pleading with his daughter to consider giving birth to the "uminaoshi" (the resurrection of someone taken by the Dragon’s Palace) of Mana to appease all the family members who eagerly await her return. Mio agrees for the sake of the others’ wishes but is adamant that the resulting child will not be considered her mother in any way aside from aesthetically nor bear her name.

This is how Isana was born as Mio explains it to Ginko, but she wants to know exactly what Isana is. Also in the dark, Ginko says he thinks it best if Isana’s simply considered a child who looks a lot like her grandmother. But for Mio, the incarnation of her late mother addressing her as mom is maddening, especially considering Isana’s growing likeness in appearance and mannerisms to those of Mana as well as the disassociation Mio feels by having given birth but not really having her own daughter.

This episode of Mushi-shi speaks to my love of stories of the sea and family and evokes a rocking motion that emulates the very waves it so often depicts. The episode is as turbulent theoretically as it is emotionally and culminates in a choice made by Isana. The theoretical rocking stems from the debate on paradise. Is the act of giving the dying the hope of rebirth while simultaneously filling the void of those left behind worth the emotional trauma inflicted upon those very same survivors by granting their wish with an empty vessel and subsequently sacrificing the individuality and destiny generally demanded or expected of the uminaoshi? The emotional rocking starts with a daughter (Mio) not wanting her mother (Mana) to go away despite her parents' wishes. That daughter then becomes mother to her mother (Isana), a child whom Mio simultaneously loves and resents as a reminder of the loss and circumstance that’s been forced upon her. Finally, there is the daughter (Isana) who was the mother (Mana) of her mother (Mio) and is forced to decide at one point whether to risk her own existence to try and save her mother from the very mushi responsible for the village’s fabled resurrections or become a mother herself to Mio’s uminaoshi. Out of love for the experiences that carved Mio's soul rather than a genetic makeup, Isana chooses the former.

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Monthly Snapshot: Split-Second Acts of Kindness

Monthly Snapshot is a regular column here at Ani-Gamers in which one of our writers chooses a moment from some anime, manga, game, or other media that really made an impact on them in the past month. It's a valuable chance to compare the subjective ways in which we all experience and analyze media. To read previous entries, click here.

First off, I apologize for this article being very late (I mean, it's basically an entire month late — not ideal for a monthly column). I've already explained why our posts were delayed after the new year, so I'll get right into things here.

During the course of my research for my "Satoshi Kon Tribute" panel, which I am going to run at Genericon this February, I have been watching through many of the director's influences as well as the anime he worked on. So, after viewing the 1972 Slaughterhouse-Five movie and Terry Gilliam's Time Bandits (1981), I came to Roujin-Z, a 1991 OAV conceived by Katsuhiro Otomo (Akira, Domu), directed by Hiroyuki Kitakubo (Blood: The Last Vampire, Golden Boy), and featuring background art by none other than Satoshi Kon.

The show presents itself with an equal dose of black comedy and social commentary, similarly to Kon's own Tokyo Godfathers and Paprika. This tendency to mix the seriousness of the situation — a runaway machine originally intended to act as a caretaker for the elderly — with its inherent silliness manifests itself in what is easily the most spectacular turning point of the entire film.

Dedicated nurse-in-training Haruko has been trying to rescue her patient, the elderly Mr. Takazawa, from inside the Z-001 machine throughout the movie, but has run up against stiff opposition from the two bureaucrats in charge of the project, Terada and Hasegawa. As the two men board a helicopter to track the movements of the Z-001, Haruko hops in next to them, despite Terada's fierce protests. Meanwhile, we realize that Terada legitimately cares about the elderly as he berates Hasegawa for not letting him know that the Z-001 was actually a military prototype.

Suddenly Haruko spots the Z-001 speeding along a monorail track, and Terada orders the helicopter to go in for a closer look (never a good idea if Bubblegum Crisis is to be believed). As they approach, Terada throws open the door to yell out at the machine over a megaphone, but Haruko quickly attempts to jump out of the helicopter, screaming desperately to get the old man's attention.

What happens next is a brilliant expression of the essential messages of the entire film: Terada, who has been working to arrest Haruko throughout the story, grabs her before she can fall out of the helicopter, and holds her to keep her from jumping out again. She calls him a pervert, in typical anime style, yet Terada's immediate response to latching onto her is not to blush or get embarrassed, but to yell "You idiot! You'll get yourself killed!" In this brief moment of crisis, Otomo deftly shows the passion with which Haruko will protect her patient as well as the strength of Terada's conviction that all human life is sacred.

To cap it all off, the helicopter hits some trees while Haruko and Terada struggle, throwing the man out of the vehicle and toward the Z-001. Haruko immediately screams for Mr. Terada, only to see the machine reach out and grab him. (Indeed, even after he is safe aboard the Z-001, she tries to keep the helicopter flying low so they can safely extract him.) There is a cascading series of split-second acts of kindness in just these 45 seconds of film, all of which express a more optimistic twist to this ostensibly dark portrayal of the human condition.

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Monthly Snapshot: Choose what? I just woke up!

Monthly Snapshot is a regular column here at Ani-Gamers in which one of our writers chooses a moment from some anime, manga, game, or other media that really made an impact on them in the past month. It's a valuable chance to compare the subjective ways in which we all experience and analyze media. To read previous entries, click here.

Honestly, I'm not even sure if it's worth issuing a spoiler warning for this snapshot, because what made my jaw drop in Fable III happened in the first five minutes of the game, which is all of a minute or so of cumulative gameplay linked together by several cut-scenes. Before purchasing this game, I heard that it offered up some pretty hard choices and thought myself fully prepared for whatever it had in store. Man, was I ever wrong.

It's a fine day to be a prince. I've slept away the greater part of the morning, when my dry-humored butler wakes me for an appointment. The all-important first major decision of the day? What will I wear for my rendezvous with Elise, a "friend" who is currently awaiting me in the castle's garden? When I meet with her, she tells me about some rather unpleasant rumors concerning a factory worker's execution that was condoned by the king (my brother) and the staff's subsequent sense of uneasiness.

On our way back into the castle, I entreat the kitchen staff to a rousing speech in an attempt to make amends for the lack of appreciation shown them of late. Lauded for my generous words, I then head off with Walter for a bit of casual swordplay. On our way to practice, we come across some protesters in the castle lobby. In sympathy, I sign their petition for better living conditions and continue on with Walter, whom I finally beat in mock battle!

No morning that good can last forever, however, and soon there is news of a ruckus directly outside the castle. "This won't end well," says Walter, who’s keen on the king's ill temper of late and rushes to his side to be his voice of reason. Elise and I eavesdrop on the meeting, and I interrupt when Walter is brought low for advising against the king's demand for mortal consequences regarding the non-violent protest. As punishment for me intrusion, my brother, determined to make an example of someone, demands that I make the choice: who will die, Elise or a representative sampling of villagers from the ruckus?

My jaw hit the floor. The A button would send Elise to her death, while the X button did the same for the villagers. What?! This is just about five minutes into the game, and already players are faced with the decision of who would be better to kill to satiate the king's bloodlust. I thought for sure this was a test of being a benevolent person, so despite the king's warning that all parties would die if I didn't choose at all, I decided to test his mettle and wait out the decision. I chose no one, and the controller vibrated with ever quickening pulses until the allotted time to decide had expired. Then the villagers and Elise were all dragged off to their deaths. No trick questions. No got-your-noses. Everyone died because of my own indecision. I failed to save anyone.

Choose who must die: Elise (left) or the villagers (right).

In that moment, I felt the gravity of Fable III. Just like a prince or other pampered person of privilege removed from any real consequences, the decision I had faced and its ramifications served as a wake-up call. My chest sank, just as the playable hero's did in the game, in knowing that I was going to have to make decisions, for better or worse, to avoid further catastrophes in the future. I could no longer call the sidelines my home or my inaction anything less than hurtful to those that needed help the most. This was the perfect setup to a game that makes players experience the thrill of revolution as well as the decisions that besmirch the perceived polished glory of rule.

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Monthly Snapshot: The Birth of Evil Ohno

EDITOR'S NOTE: Welcome to our newest feature here at Ani-Gamers — the "Monthly Snapshot." In this article, published at the beginning of each month, one of our writers will detail a particular moment that made an especially large impression on them. It can be an anime, manga, or video game, and the scene can be anything from a hilarious comedy bit or a serious monologue. This month we begin the series with a Snapshot of the Genshiken OAV from Ink.

Near the end of the first of 3 OAVs that link Genshiken's first and second seasons, there is a scene that involves Ogiue walking into the empty clubroom, where Ohno's "homo dōjinshi" is spread across the main table. The material is meant as a trap designed to expose Ogiue's hypocritical loathing of yaoi. To the dismay of Genshiken members Sasahara, Madarame, Tanaka, and Ohno watching from across the quad, Saki innocently shows up and accidentally ruins the scheme by making Ogiue self-conscious just as she was reaching for a volume. What is seen as a detriment to the plan quickly becomes more effectively subversive to Ogiue's core character as Saki starts her not-so-rhetorical reflections on why girls would want to read magazines like those.

Feeling the situation at a standstill, Ohno — somewhat forced into action by her own ineptitude at telling lies and Saki's powers of remote manipulation — relinquishes a passive role of observation for an active one of instigation to get results. My anime moment of the month comes when Ogiue cracks from being harangued by the relentless Saki-Ohno tag team. The snowball effect thereafter, which stems from Ohno's intimate admission that made me laugh so hard as to miss the next minute or so of dialog, is a complement to how well the series can betray its characters' nominal traits for a belly laugh.

If the line of gunpowder is traced back from the erupted barrel, it starts with Sasahara recognizing "the birth of Evil Ohno," who is depicted as maniacally obsessive in her attempt to ensnare Ogiue. In addition to being shown as the primary binocular-holder, the usually shy and quiet Ohno makes outlandish suggestions, such as putting a bug in the room as to eavesdrop on audio, and bubbles over with maddened giggles that border on demented laughter ... the surgeon mask only adding to the effect.

Later, the confrontation itself is a betrayal of Ohno's character. In fact, Bizarro Ohno's characteristics are taken to such lengths that her constant pressing and egging-on is depicted as akin to Saki's usual behavior. And to top everything off, once Ohno starts acting like Saki, Saki starts getting a little more defensive and wallflower-ish. This shrinking back contrasts Ohno's sudden boldness for even more layers of subliminal laughter. The scene continues to steamroll, with Saki acting kinder to the nigh-exposed yaoi lover by defending her honor against the intrusiveness of Kuchiki's surveillance (and then pressing Ogiue about it herself) and a sadistic Ohno punctuating the intensely personal prodding with an example of Ogiue's shame. This pushes Ogiue over the figurative and literal edges. It is here that Saki prevents Ogiue from jumping from a third story window out of embarrassment while Ohno dances gleefully in the background, pleased as proverbial punch at the shade of red in Ogiue's cheeks.

This episode is all about introducing Ogiue, and the story structure manages to bring this about humorously by a long setup involving the reversal of key characters' weaknesses and strengths.

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