Have you ever watched an athlete realize that they aren’t good enough?
Personal opinions and commentary.
When the titular mythical creature in Rankin and Bass’s The Last Unicorn is transformed by magic into a human woman, her first reaction is despair. “I can feel this body dying all around me,” she sobs. It’s a gut punch of a line. The way she delivers it, it’s almost impossible not to start thinking about your own body rotting where you sit, the sag of your flesh as it inexorably loosens and thins, your bones as they grow brittle, your eyes as they cloud and fail. To the unicorn, untouched by time, the experience is as shocking and transformative as a child’s first brush with death.
In Japan, within the yuri genre—yuri referring to any sort of romantic or sexual lesbian relationships—there’s a subgenre called Class S. It’s often described as “romantic friendship,” but perhaps “pseudo-platonic lesbians until graduation” would be more accurate. The focus is on close emotional relationships between schoolgirls—and it is very nearly always schoolgirls—that borrow the imagery of romance, such as hand-holding, writing love letters, exchanging gifts, maybe even as much as a chaste kiss, but never more than that. One-sided lesbian pining with the acknowledgement that one’s feelings will never be returned by the heterosexual object of one’s affections can also fall into this category—Tomoyo from Cardcaptor Sakura is an archetypal example. There is nearly always the implication that these lesbian feelings are just a phase, and the girls involved will grow up to be straight and marry men.
Hello again! Today we’re going to be looking at a figure from a recent line by Phat! Company—another maker under Good Smile’s giant umbrella—called Parfom. Figma and Nendoroid have led the Japanese action figure market for over a decade now, and everybody in the business is always trying to come up with a new angle for a competitor line. Even companies that actually produce Nendoroids and Figmas, like Phat!, come up with new concepts every once in a while.
Phat’s website, by the way, confirms that the company name stands for Pretty, Hot, And Tempting. Nice.
By now, everyone’s seen Cowboy Bebop, right? For better and worse, it’s garnered a reputation as something like The Wire of anime, a foundational ur-text that helped lay the framework for the acceptance of its medium as one worthy of critical interest in the United States and elsewhere. While a place in such an illusory “canon” can certainly help a creator’s career, it has a way of overshadowing your subsequent work—just ask David Simon.
There are a lot of Pokémon these days—with the recent addition of Meltan and Melmetal, and not counting alternate forms, Mega transformations, or regional variations, there are now 809 of the little bastards running around. With that many monsters, there are bound to be some whose designs stand out as being a little weak among the crowd.
When Sailor Moon first came out in Japan in 1992, it changed anime—specifically magical girl anime—forever. The TV adaptation of Naoko Takeuchi’s manga, itself a spinoff of Codename Sailor V, mashed up the long-running genre with elements of sci-fi, superhero fiction, and the Super Sentai franchise. Where once magical girls mostly used their powers to solve basic problems—and occasionally cause them—the Sailor Guardians set a new standard for them as transforming, monster-fighting superheroes.
“We are living in a fake world; we are watching fake evening news. We are fighting a fake war. Our government is fake. But we find reality in this fake world. So our stories are the same; we are walking through fake scenes, but ourselves, as we walk through these scenes, are real.” –Haruki Murakami
“As I was doing this character, I never really knew what her reality is.” –Ruby Marlowe, the English voice actress who plays Mima in Perfect Blue
“Satan is ever ready to seduce us with sensual delights,” Sister Jeanne of the Angels (Vanessa Redgrave) cautions the nuns under her care near the opening of Ken Russell’s The Devils. Released in 1971 to an immediate public backlash, extensive censoring, and outright bans for obscenity and blasphemy, almost 50 years later The Devils remains one of the most extreme and contentious films ever made. But bound up in the strident horns and Day-Glo blood, the gonzo all-white sets and bondage-collared nuns, there’s a raw, unflinching exploration of how we react to and judge ourselves and our desires.
October isn’t merely a month, it’s an energy. A most macabre sensation that permeates from its 31st day, and inspires not visions of sugarplums, but of ghastly jack-o’-lantern grins, rattling bones, cobwebbed corridors, and—yes—candy. It’s an energy—a state of mind—we call… Halloween.
Doctor Who is back on the air! Finally, we can stop going crazy waiting for the new season, and instead go back to going crazy waiting for each new episode. Whether you’re right there on the night of or have to log out of social media and wait for your season pass to kick in, you know just how antsy you can get waiting to see what happens next in our favorite show.
91 Days is the best anime I’d never heard of until two months ago.
Although it was released in 2016, I came across it almost two years later. The series summary in the preview amounted to “a guy wants revenge after the mob murders his family,” which didn’t seem like something I’d enjoy watching, but the cover caught my eye—two twenty-something-year-old men point guns at each other in front of a stained glass window in a display that radiated drama and betrayal.
The first time I re-watched the Yu-Gi-Oh anime as an adult, I realized Seto Kaiba—the cocky teen CEO rival to the series’ protagonist Yugi Muto—seriously needs therapy. Now I look back at those pretty, leather-clad boys and think about all the VHS tapes of the show I recorded as a kid—my awkward adolescence was fucked up, but then, so was the concept of ancient Egyptian monsters terrorizing children in modern Japan. Actually, it’s no wonder that I ended up being a hyper-conscious mess—just look at Kaiba and his maniacal obsession with his signature monster card in the game of Duel Monsters that completely defines the Yu-Gi-Oh world: the Blue-Eyes White Dragon. Kaiba’s trying to compensate for something he never had as a child, something I also desperately want to reclaim again.
Dragon Ball is a franchise defined by extremes, and its setting is no exception to that. The Earth is home to futuristic technology, magic, and futuristic technology that might as well be magic. At the same time, dinosaurs are still around, the King of Earth is a dog, and the God of Earth is a green alien. Given the original manga author Akira Toriyama’s off-the-cuff writing style, it’s safe to assume the world wasn’t meticulously detailed in advance, and instead formed from his whims on any given week. But one dynamic Dragon Ball does explore from the very beginning is the sharp divide between the rich and the poor.
Speedrunning is a hobby with a simple goal: beating video games as quickly as possible. Beneath the surface, though, things are more complicated—rather than just sprinting from the beginning to the end, runners often use tricks and exploit glitches that push game engines to their breaking points. While some of these techniques are uncovered by the runners, many are found by dedicated glitch hunters, people who investigate the mechanics of games in search of ways to exploit them. Looking at the work of glitch hunters reveals a fascinating subculture that can tell us something, surprisingly enough, about the process of scientific research.
Once upon a time, the traditionally feminized performance of the wedding ceremony was a ratings season staple of World Wrestling Entertainment, infiltrating the hyper-masculine wrestling ring where relationships were punctuated by violence, not by holy matrimony. And though Randy Savage and Miss Elizabeth’s 1991 pay-per-view wedding wasn’t the first instance of in-ring marriage rites, it was the one that kicked off the glitzy shebangs that would follow into the late ’90s Attitude Era—best known amongst non-wrestling fans as the wrestling heyday of sex, drugs and rock and roll that birthed such household names as Stone Cold Steve Austin and Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson.
Cartoons were strange in the early aughts. It was a time when up and coming animators and writers were given free reign to create imaginative, idiosyncratic children’s shows. The best of the bunch that have survived in popular culture—your Rugrats, your PowerPuff Girls, your Dexter’s Lab—have stuck around because they experimented with visual styles and themes that made a palpable impression on children of that era.
In December of 2003, Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, and Philippa Boyens’ Return of the King—the third and final film in their trilogy adapting J. R. R. Tolkien’s beloved fantasy epic Lord of the Rings—premiered to a gigantic opening weekend and critical acclaim. I half-remember its sweep at the Oscars the following year, the tides of fanfiction that flooded the internet, the memes, the sudden swelling of fantasy’s cachet. I wasn’t yet Online enough, so to speak, for that vast boom in the world of internet fandom to register for me.
Ruben Fleischer’s Venom may have released to mixed reception, but there are certain things that the film executes undeniably well. In particular, it offers a relatively fresh take on the anti-hero that doesn’t use a jaded hard-boiled persona as a crutch for a “baddie” tag. Venom juxtaposes two very different kinds of anti-heroes in a way that makes them interdependent. This structure could go one of two ways—it can push the hero forward, or it can unleash the anti. It does the former, mostly, but it’s the tension between the two that makes the dynamic of this juxtaposition worth looking at.
In 2018, “creepypasta” is a household term. Internet ghost stories aren’t restricted to the dark corners of obscure message boards anymore—they play out in original video games, YouTube videos, and even on professionally-produced television shows. Despite the vast and various types of creepypasta, all of it is, in some way, an exploration of the hopes and fears of a generation. It’s a way to make sense of the things we deal with in our respective days and ages—in other words, it’s folklore.