#how much of the setup to that reveal and confrontation and the ensuing finals and yusuke + toguro confrontation is like. flavored with the

[skrunksthatwunk]

yknow i forgot how prominent age as a theme is within the dark tournament semifinals. like they really emphasize it a lot in the leadup to toguro and genkai's confrontation and the reveal of their past. makintaro doesn't really contribute to this much (regeneration of the body as a theme? focus on a quick, bloody death in young age? idk), nor does kuromomotaro (changing forms in response to moves is a form of learning incorporated into the body (i.e. muscle memory), and that's something that can happen with age + experience, but it's not the clearest connection), but the other three fighters hit on that theme very consistently.

uraurashima's idunn box causes weakness through youth, and in the case of kurama showing the power that his age and past demonic life give him. in a way, kurama is older as shuichi than as yoko, though the appearances and demeanors of each contrast this. reliving his youth briefly makes kurama stronger, but more cruel. he softened with age, with becoming a human child. it's goofy basically.

and then one of shishiwakamaru's first moves was to reveal genkai's identity, and her age is the key sticking point. she is unable to be the same masked fighter the audience saw during the dr ichigaki fight because she is an old woman, and the "other" masked fighter was not. her weakness and her age are associated here, both as a form of ageism and as an acknowledgement of the simple truth that bodies get weaker as they age. so we're brought to the core conflict between her and toguro, in the latter running from aging to keep himself safe from sudden, tragic loss. that sudden loss in one's prime can be seen in toguro's students, in makintaro, even in kuwabara, as his youthful ignorance and bravado is what leads to him getting teleported out of the ring twice (head in my hands. c'mon kuwabara). shishi is also struck down in youth by genkai reflecting his power, by using his (youthful) strength against him. shishi hitting on her in the end because she's young and beautiful reinforces the shallowness of his value system. shishi wants to be a star (notably not a legend, but something more ephemeral). he calls kuwabara ugly and he calls genkai ugly and he's defeated by the life experience (bygone youth) of genkai. he sees her for her young, legendary self and wants her. but only if she stayed young forever. he resembles toguro in this, to some extent (toguro wanted her strength and survival, shishi wanted her beauty).

the fight with suzuki is also fairly obvious. the barbs kuwabara and suzuki-as-onji exchange are largely age-based, much like shishi and genkai's. kuwabara once again loses due to his impatience and thoughtlessness. when suzuki fights genkai, he says he disguised himself as an old man because he finds age revolting, and he hoped it would fuel his rage to immerse himself in it. suzuki is a master of disguise. he is a faker. his pretend-age is also pretend-wisdom and pretend-experience. he is also shallow, self-centered, and arrogant. he overlaps with shishi in a lot of respects, so i'll try to explain the differences i see. shishi wants to achieve stardom, something brief and glamorous; suzuki wants to achieve immortality by being preserved through retellings of his exploits. suzuki wants to be remembered in his youth, but not quite as he was, so the people's imaginations will elevate him to perfection. shishi wants to be celebrated for what he did in the present, for present attention and glory; suzuki wants to be remembered post-mortem. again, suzuki's all about image, while shishi's image is a tool to get him fame-bought luxury. genkai wins by goading suzuki into using only his physical strength, something he hasn't honed properly, and something she has. genkai beats shishi by using his youth and power against him, as guided by her many years of experience as a fighter, and looks briefly like she's in the middle of those fighting years because of it. genkai beats suzuki by using his laziness and pride against him, by taking advantage of his lack of physical training and self improvement and goading him into not using his crutch in the form of flashy trinkets or techniques.

it's these fights that lead up to genkai and toguro's encounter before the finals, and which happen during genkai's final test for yusuke. she's passing the torch to him and getting substantially weaker for it because she's already getting weaker due to age. she says he's able to do more with the same chunk of condensed power because of his youth. she's passing the product of decades of intense spiritual and bodily training on to yusuke as part of his graduation. it's a coming of age. yusuke's growing up (like keiko said on the sidelines during the shishi/suzuki fights, like yusuke said before his test or the semifinals began).

idk what i'm trying to say here exactly but my point is you can't get away from the theme of aging and what people will do to avoid it, and how people squander their youths or fail because of them. toguro ran from that fight and he's looking to yusuke, a young fighter with as much of genkai's experience, wisdom, and skill (all products of age) as he could carry loaded into him, to punish him for that choice, and to end his indefinite youth. loss and death are horrible, but to run from them is cowardly. to run towards them is foolish. and as yusuke and his friends are always running towards death, it seems their opponents are always running from them. and in the middle of it all genkai stands still. waiting.

anyway this round's really interesting bc everyone's kinda comedically cheeks but it's really important for pitching the themes the finals, pre-finals, and aftermath're gonna knock out of the park. genkai's prominence 1) increases attachment to her 2) drives home her drop in power after passing the spirit wave orb on to yusuke and 3) shows how capable she is without it. this means that 1) we're gonna feel the loss of her much harder, and that's coming up next. 2) we fear for her much more than we otherwise would when she faces off against toguro, and understand it as her knowingly marching to her death. 3) she's not so weak that we think there's nothing she can do. she's still impressive in this state, which makes it suck so much harder when toguro absolutely bodies her like she's nothing. it makes the audience feel like she's helpless, much like fawn-legged pre-tourny yusuke was helpless (and during-tourny yusuke tbh). 4) haha bonus but it makes us think well, maybe if she hadn't given up the orb she could've managed. and that's the kind of thinking genkai's trying to get yusuke to reject. chasing power for fear of death and loss is gonna lead you to do some awful shit, and she doesn't want that for him. it raises the question genkai begs us to answer her way, no matter how tempting toguro's response may be. it puts us in yusuke's shoes. yeah thumbs up

anyway idk if any of this makes sense and im not editing it so like. have this

sweet sweet dark tourny content

[radcatcrown]

Stephen’s Cosmos

Alternative title: My frustrations with Steven Universe coalesced into form in an AU

So Steven Universe: The Movie came out and after months of slumber, it woke my gripes with the series due to stuff that happened within the movie that irked me. I’ve had my problems with Steven Universe for some time now, and it's not that the movie is the straw the broke the camel's back, but hey, seems like a good time as any to do this.

Statement of Purpose: My main problem with Steven Universe is not an issue of the attempt at redeeming villains, for a dude like myself that grew up on an anime media diet, villains getting turned good is old hat. I’ve seen it better done than SU and worse than SU. The idea that yes, somebody that has done wrong in the past and has recognized the error of their ways has a possibility to atone is a good message. The problem is with SU scale, because of its insistence of going cosmic and having most serious problems have the sake of the world in the balance as an allegory for family issues makes it less credible, and more than a tad reprehensive. So this is an AU that remixes the show to do away with it. Mind you this is just a basic, vague, ranty pitch, probably not going to write out any episodes. We good? Ok. Let's begin.

Premise and Setting: In the interest of cutting down on the ‘epic’ scale of original SU, I’ll have this set mostly on modern-day earth and maybe other realms if necessary. Stephen’s Cosmos would have more of a straight-up magic/fantasy feel than the sci-fi magi-tech the show uses. This is because we’re not using aliens here, we’re using witches. And since we’re going for differences I’ll be using a Floral/herbal naming scheme for these witches, maybe even have them have developed plant-like features, but having them be human women at least as a basis. The backstory would go like so; existing for centuries in the shadows there would be a coven of powerful Witches known as the Chrysanthemum Circle, composed of the Elder Sister; White Chrysanthemum, Middle Sisters; Blue and Yellow/Golden Chrysanthemum and the youngest Red Chrysanthemum. They would rule over a pseudo-amazonian secret island in the middle of the pacific ocean, where they have built a society of witches that work under them, basically for both the preservation of the society itself and for them to be able to live in luxury. Red would be treated as a child by the other three instead of an equal, constantly the victim of abuse and punishment for her oddities in her sister’s eyes. This causes her to run away a few times before burning bridges in an impulsive manner, escaping and taking a few like-minded witches with her, namely her handmaiden and confidant Lily, the mysterious Sunflower, and a few others. Red would shed her imperious persona for a softer, friendlier Pink Rose. From there they would wander the world of man, picking up a young human girl that would come to name herself Carnation. They would settle and build a temple in the small coastal city of Beach City eventually, where they would live until the foreseeable future as the coven of the Wild Flowers. There Pink would find Mr. Universe and things would progress as cannon... except Pink doesn’t need to die here. So we have Pink Rose as part of the secondary cast. The main premise of the story would be to have an episodic structure with monster/problem-of-the-week setups(depending on how much action it makes sense to have in it), slowly integrating Stephen and the Flowers into the quirky town of Beach City, as well as learning lore and having the Flowers help with the strange occurrences in this town. These episodic seasons would get broken up with two-parter season finale to have a nice bombastic event. It would get slightly more serialized as it goes along, more-less the Avatar: The Last Airbender model. There would be a reveal of who Rose is about halfway through where Lily reveals it under dire circumstances and would fragment the Wild Flowers. Why not go with a completely mundane plot? Because flora is pretty, witches are cool and lesbian witches are double cool. (If you must though it's actually not that hard, the Diamonds are an old money/noble family, staunchly elitist and traditionalist, have them be in Europe where they rule over a township. Rose runs away due to similar situations and we’d have her and other runaways come to Beach City and slowly get integrated with ensuing hijinks and slice-of-life situations.)

Characters

Red Chrysanthemum/Pink Rose: Ok this is the big one so we better get it out of the way first. Since she’s going to be around her main impact on the show is actually being able to be there and explain herself but also deal with the fallout of her own choices. Her personality would be very nice, motherly, soft and friendly but in a way that she seems above it all, careless and perhaps a little too hands-off. Her main flaw to be dealt with is her selfishness. Her main arc would be raising Steven, and recognizing other people as her equals that she loves instead of her inferiors to be protected. The secondary arc would be having to deal with the repercussions of her past actions and her secrets.

Stephen: If one’s theme is generational abuse then exploring the next generation is crucial. Stephen would serve as an instigator to get the Flowers closer to the regular human population, and the audience closer to the bizarre and mysterious Wild Flowers. Stephen’s arc or arcs rather would focus on many things, but the main one being on his growth is the best of both worlds, his mother and father’s better qualities without the baggage that brought them into being, having to struggle with his identity between two worlds and the friction therein. He would eventually mature to be better than Pink. 

Lily: Lily would be Pearl’s equivalent, a Handmaiden literally sworn to serve Red; now Pink. The first thing that was done after their escape was to break her oath. We’d keep her arc of her having unrequited feelings for Pink, and her issues with her self worth and need for outside stimuli and approval. Her feelings would eventually need to be confronted and her dependency issues would be dealt with by her efforts to own her own person, be well with herself by being independent, and find maybe a new love?

Sunflower: Sunflower would be the fusion between two witches in love, separated by their classes back in the Island; the knightly and flaming Poppy and the serene seer Tulip. They wanted to be together with such fervor that when they were ordered to stay separated due to their social standings they performed a forbidden ritual that bound them both as one sole entity, sort of as a witchy marriage. The Chrysanthemums banned this ritual due to the exponential increase in power between the two participants, fearing it may topple them, so they declared it forbidden and decadent due to the ‘loss of two precious lives to bring in one tortured life’. The ritual cannot be sustained forever and it would be dissolved every new moon, and the preparations to properly perform it take a few days at least. This allows the two cute lesbians to be cute together. There would be parallels between them and the Rose/Lily relationship, but also serve to contrast them. Their arcs would mostly be relationship-based, regarding if they are codependent, if their relationship is healthy, they would have their rough patches and arguments like any married couple and hopefully a second more human wedding. 

Amy Thistle Aka Carnation: Carnation would be a neophyte witch kicked out of her foster home due to her magical inclinations. Finding a kindred spirit in their search for freedom Rose takes her under her wing. Carnation turns out to have the more ‘normal’ demeanor of the three witches. She would have parallels with Rose in the sense that even after Stephen’s around she’s treated like the kid and even not a ‘proper’ witch, this results in aggravating the self-worth and self hate issues she had. Rose’s words of ‘you’re perfect as you are’ would soothe her but in the long run, it just put obstacles in her development. She would grow to have frictions with Stephen, but would resolve them together with him. 

Connie: Basically the same but make her parents actually overbearing or traditionalist as to make parallels with the Chrysanthemums.

Lavender: A cloudshaper that got caught up in a riot against the Chrysanthemums, was sealed in a mirror until Stephen liberates her accidentally. Once out she lashes out against even the ones that gave her a helping hand. Her way to cope with her own trauma due to being sealed for hundreds of years would be violent and volatile. Her arc would be of her working through that trauma and for her to serve as a MASSIVE red flag for Rose of what her sisters’ deeper sins may be.

Mint: Keep Peridot’s arc and just adjust for lower scale. Her whole arc should be about broken misconceptions about the society outside the Island, and breaking through the behaviors that repressive society has ingrained. Parallels with Rose on that one. 

Oak: Oak would have more-less Jasper’s role in the story at large, first as a weapon for the Chrysanthemums and later as a recurring antagonist. Functionally she would begin to show to Rose and the others the consequences of her running away and other past actions since Oak was a member of her former court. 

Peony: An original member of the Wild Flowers that was found by Stephen as he messed around with portals. Her conflict with Rose originally would be more-less the same than Bismuth, their ideological differences, in this case, Peony has created a garment that would sever one’s connection with magic, reducing the user to a regular human. As with the original, she would be right in wanting justice and revenge. She wanted to use that to topple the Chrysanthemums and have them face the people’s justice. Rose exiled her before, and kept her secret. When she appears again old wounds are opened, and it is Peony that plants the seeds of direct rebellion within the Wild Flowers.

Townies: Most of these are fine and we don’t need to touch it, there are three major changes to be done though; Kevin, who should get a rehabilitation arc from a douche creep to a decent person, as a sort of practice for Stephen to help everybody else. Lars, since he can no longer be of the Stars, would become a part of the human contingent of Wild Flowers, mostly out of a search for purpose and adventure. Ronaldo would be rehabilitated from a self-important conspiracy buff into another, Dipper Pine’s-ish Wildflower.

The Chrysanthemums: Ok now the big bads. The Chrysanthemums would be aristocratic and authoritarian, capable of atrocities and overall believe themselves to be superior to everybody else. They would be the center of a “Diamond-Days”-esque arc in which Stephen, Rose and the other Wild Flowers go back to the Island with the explicit purpose of changing things for the best. They would need to test the lessons learned by Rose and her growth. General personality for the three? Yellow should be be imperius and ruthless, Blue should feel sublime, like the serene calm for a perpetual storm. White would actually have a god complex; she thinks of herself as perfect and eternal. They have been ‘mourning’ Red since she ran away, but the mourn an idealized version of her, the Red they wish they had lived with. From here during their story arc we would slowly begin to find out that Blue and Yellow act the way they act out of fear, though there is a degree of them that did buy into White’s beliefs. They’ve seen what White is capable and they know they’re not powerful enough even combined. Rose would end up confronting all three of them about the trauma they put her through, not only that but for the combined suffering and pain their rule of repression has caused to the witches in the island. She would reach through to Blue and Yellow… but not White. White reacts how an angry god might. They would manage to repel her and she would become the true antagonist, a goddess ousted from her temple. Blue and Yellow over the course of the next seasons begin to realize the true extent of their actions and set upon trying to fix and atone, but it would be made clear that hundreds of years of oppression cannot be easily wiped away. White herself would end up being defeated, depowered, and put on trial. Ultimately she would be sealed away.

So yeah, that’s it, thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[sf-in-hindsight-blog]

Samurai Flamenco in Hindsight, Episode 1: “Samurai Flamenco, Debut!”

“The cold open doesn’t hide the fact that Masayoshi is naked, but it quickly pulls our attention away so that going into the opening, we’re focused on Masayoshi’s conviction: whoever this naked weirdo is, he is dead serious.  The episode version turns that on its head: whoever this dead serious guy is, he is a naked weirdo.“  - from the write-up

Official English Episode Title: “Debut of the Samurai Flamenco” (Crunchyroll) Japanese Title: サムライフラメンコ、デビュー! (Samurai Furamenko, debyū!)

Original Air Date: 10/11/2013 (also shown at the “noitaminA October Cour Special Premium Preview ” event on 9/28/13)

Episode Director: Ōmori Takahiro Episode Script: Kurata Hideyuki Episode Storyboard: Ōmori Takahiro Animation Directors: Yamada Masaki, Yamamoto Wataru

Check out the intro post for the Samurai Flamenco in Hindsight project here.

Spoilers start after the cut!

Navigation

Episode Summary

"The Design’s Slightly Different for the Movie!”: Repetition in “Samurai Flamenco, Debut!” and Beyond

In Plain Sight: Gotō and His Girlfriend the Second Time Through

Broadcast vs. Blu-Ray - Are the Improvements to the Blu-Ray version of This Episode  Enough to Justify Seeking it Out?

Scattered Observations

Episode Summary

Returning from a late-night trip to the convenience store near his apartment, off-duty policeman Gotō Hidenori (Sugita Tomokazu) stumbles on a handsome young man sitting in a dark alley. When Gotō demands he identify himself, the other man stands and declares himself an "ally of justice" — just as the light from a passing car reveals that he's completely naked.  Confused and flustered, Gotō tries to arrest the "pervert," the "pervert" pleads his innocence, and wackiness ensues until Gotō's hastily-thrown cigarette lands on the clothes the young man had been sitting on, turning them to ash.  Feeling responsible, Gotō accompanies him to a swanky high-rise apartment; there, he learns that the would-be "hero" is Hazama Masayoshi (Masuda Toshiki), an up-and-coming model still pursuing his childhood dream of becoming a Kamen Rider-style defender of justice, just like the ones he (and Gotō) grew up watching on tokusatsu (toku) TV shows.

Although Gotō finds a lot of holes in Masayoshi’s plans — and is more than a little frustrated by Masayoshi’s eccentric personality — he quickly warms to him over the course of the evening.  The feeling seems mutual, as Masayoshi (urged by his manager to improve his conversational skills) promptly tracks Gotō down at work and invites him for another round of toku shows and curry rice.

Despite Gotō's firm warning to stop playing vigilante, Masayoshi again ventures out as "Samurai Flamenco” — and promptly ends up on the run from a group of mildly delinquent middle schoolers who decide to hunt and pummel the “freak” for kicks.  Masayoshi makes a desperate call to Gotō for help — but just as he’s about to tell Gotō where he is, Masayoshi suddenly finds his heroic resolve and decides to confront the teens a second time.  Samurai Flamenco endures a beating, then rises to deliver an impassioned speech, reiterating his belief that turning a blind eye to minor crimes and misdemeanors only causes greater suffering — and that it’s especially cruel to be indifferent to the futures of kids like them.  After a moment of stunned silence, the teens strike Masayoshi again, knocking him to the ground, but quickly scatter when Gotō arrives on the scene.  Gotō initially chides his friend, but when Masayoshi asks if he’s closer to achieving the hot-blooded heroism he aspires to, Gotō softens, smiles, and agrees.

A final montage shows Samurai Flamenco continuing to confront petty lawbreakers throughout the city, that multiple videos of his escapades are starting to pop up on video sharing sites, and that whether online or in person, all eyes are on Masayoshi…

"The Design’s Slightly Different for the Movie!”: Repetition in “Samurai Flamenco, Debut!” and Beyond

Returning to “Samurai Flamenco, Debut!” for this retrospective, with all of Samurai Flamenco in the rearview, the first thing that struck me was how much of the series finale revisits the series premiere.  Some aspects of that are obvious, like Masayoshi’s opponent, Sawada Haiji, being one of the teens he confronted in the first episode’s climax, and our hero being naked at a wildly inappropriate time.  (To be fair, at least this time it’s not in public.)  And while the official title for English streaming hides the resemblance, the literal Japanese titles for these two episodes, “Samurai Flamenco, Debut!” and “Samurai Flamenco Naked!!” — are clearly meant to mirror each other.

But there are more subtle connections as well.  For instance, both episodes are set chiefly at Masayoshi’s apartment — and in a neat trick, the blown-up version we see in episode 22, with its dark palette, heavy shadows, and rough condition, echoes the alley where Masayoshi and Gotō first met, as if to combine those two settings into one.  Likewise, while Masayoshi and Gotō’s conflict in the finale is most memorably foreshadowed by Kaname’s line in episode three that “convincing a friend they’re wrong is the hardest thing you’ll ever do,” episode one hints at what’s to come with the face-off in the Harakiri Sunshine movie Masayoshi and Gotō watch.  If you listen to the movie’s dialogue, the conflict between Sunshine and Sunset is broadly parallel to the situation Masayoshi and Gotō find themselves in in the finale — and onscreen, the two sets of characters are visually aligned, with Masayoshi on the same side as Sunshine as he calls out to Sunset, projected in front of Gotō.

Structurally, both one and episode 22 begin with a scene that either repeats an earlier one or is itself repeated later, albeit with important differences in each case.  (More on that in a bit).  And if you want to get cute about it, the outfits Masayoshi and Gotō wear during the epilogue use roughly the same color scheme as those they wear in episode one, with Masayoshi in a purple hooded jacket and Gotō in a long-sleeved zip-up that’s the same pale blue as his aloha shirt.

What also struck me, though, was how much episode one makes use of repetition within the episode itself. Masayoshi brings Gotō to his apartment twice; there, they eat curry rice twice and watch Harakiri Sunshine twice.  Gotō twice warns Masayoshi to lay off the vigilante stuff, and Masayoshi twice agrees that he will.  Masayoshi then proceeds — twice — to head out as Samurai Flamenco and get in enough trouble that he needs to call Gotō to come rescue him, repeating what seems like it’ll soon become his catchphrase: “Gotō-san, I messed up!”  And then there’s the post-credits montage showing four separate instances of Masayoshi confronting petty lawbreakers, and Konno viewing a “NuTube” page documenting even more of Samurai Flamenco’s appearances.

On the visual level, certain shots and framings are repeated, too — and not just obvious, utilitarian ones.  Most strikingly (since it’s a little bravura for Samurai Flamenco), the two short sequences of Masayoshi modeling use the same setup: a close-up that “pivots” into a full-body shot seen in landscape view, followed by a long shot establishing the setting.  In a similar unusually flashy bit, Masayoshi and Gotō entering Masayoshi’s apartment is shown through a series of jump cuts seen from overhead, and when Masayoshi’s flashes back to his encounter with the drunken salaryman, that’s also how the man’s jaywalking is depicted.  Later, we get a pair of matching shots in which Masayoshi peers into his closet, followed by a panning POV shot across his clothes to the spot where his belts are hanging — the first time in his backstory flashback, 

the second when he describes the discovery of his second hero suit.  

And when Samurai Flamenco confronts the drunken salaryman, we see the man framed between Masayoshi’s legs, just before the cut to the man punching our hero — 

a setup which is repeated after the commercial break with Masayoshi pacing back and forth in the foreground as Gotō listens to him monologue about working his way to up fighting big-time villains.

It’s at this point, of course, that Gotō interrupts to point out the flaws in Masayoshi’s plans, and the shock stops Masayoshi in his tracks as surely as the salaryman’s punch did.  The visual similarity underscores that both Gotō and the salaryman challenge Masayoshi’s heroism (one on theory, the other on practice) — and this isn’t the only way time the show connects these two characters.  It’s easy to overlook, but when first Gotō stumbles on Masayoshi, he’s not just smoking in the same no-smoking area as the salaryman, but also jaywalking at the same crosswalk.  (The BD version corrects the backgrounds in Masayoshi’s flashback to make this clearer.)

This happens multiple times in episode one: one character will do something, and then another character repeats that action, stepping into their role in a similar scenario.  Gotō encounters the delinquent teens outside the convenience store; a little later, so does Masayoshi, as Samurai Flamenco.  Masayoshi visits every police box in the area to track Gotō down; later, after Masayoshi’s frantic call for help, Gotō decides to check every phone booth in the area until he finds him.  In the Sunshine movie clip, Sunshine faces off against Sunset and challenges his heroic ideals; the exact same lines are used when Masayoshi “meets” Sunshine in his imagine spot, putting Masayoshi literally and figuratively in Sunset’s place.

So Samurai Flamenco uses repetition a lot in its first episode, but to what effect?  Well, several effects, actually.  Straightforward repetition helps to establish what’s normal in the world of the show (casual lawbreaking), and what becomes normal (Masayoshi and Gotō hanging out); likewise for character traits (Masayoshi can’t stop/won’t stop fighting “evil”) and the daily rhythms of character’s lives.  By the end of the episode, we have a pretty good feel for what Gotō’s shifts are like after all those scenes at the police box, for instance — and we don’t need to be told that the work can be boring because we’ve seen Gotō yawning and staring blearily into space multiple times.  

And the show makes similarly versatile use of repetition with a difference.  Sometimes, putting two characters in the same scenario highlights differences between them (Masayoshi moved by his Justice to confront the kids as nuisances while Gotō just scowls and goes on his way); in other instances, it exposes surprising similarities when two seemingly different characters unwittingly or unknowingly mirror one another (Gotō and the drunken salaryman).  We’ll see both versions frequently of this over the course of the show’s run: think about all the “Flamencos,” each distinct from Masayoshi in some important way, and all the times Masayoshi is unsettled when he recognizes a version of himself in his antagonists.  (And not just that one really obvious one.)

An instance of repetition with a difference that I think is particularly worth exploring is Masayoshi and Gotō’s first meeting, which we see first as a cold open before the title sequence, then in context, after we’ve followed Gotō through his day up to the point of the encounter.  In an episode full of flashbacks (how Masayoshi ended up naked in the alley, the discovery of the second Samurai Flamenco suit, etc.), the two versions of the alley scene are the only time we actually revisit material that we’ve already seen.  Curiously, though, the in-episode version is not just the cold open replayed, nor is the cold open just a slightly more streamlined version of what we see after the title card.  They both use the exact same dialogue, and some of the same footage, but differ significantly in their framing and editing.

(Want to follow along?  The cold open runs from approximately 00:00 to 00:42, while the in-episode version is roughly 04:00 to 4:33.)

Let’s start by comparing the two scenes, beginning with the first shot they have in common.  Within the episode — that is, after the title card — this comes shortly after Gotō leaves the convenience store.  The sequence begins with Gotō noticing the pack of cigarettes on the ground.  (Although we don’t quite see it onscreen — and I’ve single-framed through the cut enough times to be sure — the implication is that the drunken salaryman drops them when he punches Masayoshi.)  

In both versions of the Masayoshi/Gotō meeting, what first catches Gotō’s attention is the light from the monorail passing overhead reflecting off the cigarette pack.  However, in the cold open, we see the close-up of the cigarettes on the ground first, then a slight low-angle close-up of Gotō, with the monorail zipping offscreen in the upper right.  The episode version reverses this: after a unique ground-level shot showing the cigarettes just in front of Gotō’s approaching feet, we cut to the close-up of Gotō, then the cigarettes, then back to Gotō.  Both versions then synch up for a moment, as Gotō hears a cat screeching and some commotion off to his right (screen left).

The cold open cuts to a shot of the alley where Gotō will eventually find Masayoshi, with the camera pushing in toward the entrance.  

The alley is considerably darker than the street, but we can see crates and garbage bins at the far end, arranged in such a way that it’s clear this alley intersects with another one.  The following shot is positioned from within that other alley, showing propane tanks in the far background and, closer to the camera, the corner of a building.  A moment later, Gotō’s head and shoulders peek around it. 

 Now we cut to what seems like Gotō’s perspective: a long shot of the alley he’s looking into, the entrance to the adjoining street visible in the background.  In the midground of the shot, Masayoshi is just visible behind some boxes and a trashcan.  After a moment, his head and shoulders move forward slightly; we can guess he’s heaving a sigh.

We return to the earlier shot of Gotō, who makes a surprised noise and raises an eyebrow, confirming for the viewer that he saw Masayoshi’s movement, then it’s back to the shot of Masayoshi, now lit up by the headlights of a passing car spilling into the alley.  Another cut brings us closer to Masayoshi, and we can clearly see his bare shoulders, chest, and legs — along with his downcast eyes. 

 The scene dims as the car pulls away; Masayoshi turns and looks toward the camera — toward Gotō — and his mouth drops open in surprise.  Gotō, in close-up, makes a startled noise; he knows he’s been spotted, too.

Now we get our first good look at Masayoshi up close: we can see that he’s hugging himself tightly behind that trashcan, and that he’s wearing a miserable expression.  We return then to the close-up of Gotō, who slowly removes the cigarette from his mouth and asks Masayoshi to identify himself.

We need to pause here for a moment and get caught up with the episode version, because it eliminates many of the shots I’ve just described, starting with the establishing shot of the alley entrance.  Instead, the episode version goes directly from Gotō glancing at the alley to him peering around the corner within the alley.  Then it dumps the first shot of Masayoshi in the alley and the corresponding cut of Gotō noticing his movement, jumping directly to the car illuminating Masayoshi.  We do get the close-up of Gotō reacting to Masayoshi noticing him, but not the matching sad-faced Masayoshi.  Instead, in a single unbroken shot, Gotō is surprised, then removes the cigarette from his mouth.  But, instead of Gotō asking Masayoshi who he is in the same shot, we cut back to the earlier framing of Gotō in medium shot as he peers around the corner.

In other words, Gotō performs the same action — removing the cigarette from his mouth and posing his question — but at a significantly greater distance from the camera, and so he appears smaller in the frame.

(left, cold open; right, episode version.)

Got all that?  Good, because here is where the two versions really start to diverge.  The cold open goes to a bird’s-eye view overhead shot, with Gotō peering around the corner at the far left of the screen, and Masayoshi at the far right.

We remain on this shot through nearly their entire dialogue exchange, until Gotō calls Masayoshi “suspicious,” asks if he’s a thief, and steps around the corner and into the alley itself.  As Masayoshi insists Gotō is mistaken, we switch to a shot from roughly Masayoshi’s perspective, showing Gotō pulling back in surprise at the opposite end of the alley.

Masayoshi begins to rise up into the shot, and in such a tight close-up that Gotō is quickly and completely hidden by the back of Masayoshi’s head coming up through the bottom of the frame.

Cut to a shot, roughly from Gotō’s perspective, of Masayoshi standing in the alleyway.  It’s relatively short in duration, giving us just enough time to register Masayoshi’s nakedness and the truck in the background before we cut to the final shot of the sequence — a chest-up shot of Masayoshi staring into the camera with an earnest, determined expression.

Dramatically backlit in gold, his voice now full of conviction, Masayoshi declares himself an “ally of justice” (“superhero” in the official subs).  The light dwindles and we fade back to the alley’s previous darkness.  Cue opening credits.

Now let’s jump back to see how the episode version ends the sequence.  First, it does NOT go for a bird’s-eye view for Masayoshi and Gotō’s dialogue exchange.  Instead, after Gotō asks “Who are you?”, we cut back to the earlier shot of Masayoshi behind the trashcan and crates.  

In terms of camera position and framing, he’s shot in the same way as Gotō behind the corner was — and once Masayoshi delivers his line that he’s not a suspicious person, that’s exactly the Gotō shot we go back to.  

Just like in the cold open, Gotō insists Masayoshi is, in fact, suspicious, asks if he’s a thief, and steps around the corner — but this time, we see him do it from the front, as if from Masayoshi’s perspective.

(left, cold open; right, episode version.)

The framing this sets up is exactly like what we saw in the first version, so it would be reasonable to expect the next thing we see to be Masayoshi’s head rising up through the bottom of the frame, concealing Gotō.  But that’s not what we see.  Instead, the shot ends when Gotō pulls back in surprise.  Masayoshi rising to his feet is instead handled as a medium close-up of Masayoshi, seen from the front.  The camera follows him, tracking his head and shoulders upward, until Masayoshi is perfectly centered in the frame. We see him from the chest up, face earnest and determined, dramatically backlit in gold.

You get it, right?  The same setup as the final shot of the cold open.  But the timing is different — and so is the editing.

Since this is a comparison, relative measurements will probably be more useful for conveying how these scenes end than “X seconds” and “Y frames,” so I’m going to describe these last two sets of shots with regard to Masayoshi’s final line: “I am…an ally of justice” (Boku wa…seigi no mikata desu).  In the cold open, we hear “I am” as the back of Masayoshi’s head rises into the frame.  The brief pause (“…”) covers both the end of that cut and the entirety of Masayoshi’s full body nude shot, meaning we don’t spend very much time on these two images — long enough for both images to register, but not enough for either to feel emphasized.  When we get to the medium close-up, though, that perisists through all of “an ally of justice,” and is held on for a solid beat afterward.  Relatively speaking, we spend a long time focused on Masayoshi’s determined face, enough that the light from the truck’s headlights can fade and another passing car provdes another pulse of illumination before we return to the alley’s earlier darkness.  And in a sense, we stay fixed on his serious face into the opening credits, since the very first image there is another, even tighter, close-up on Masayoshi, still centered in the frame, now against a field of stars.

The episode version keeps the same pacing, but reverses the order of the shots.  This means that the dramatic close-up takes place over “I am” and the pause,and that the shot that takes place over “an ally of justice” — the one that’s lingered on — is — yes — 

Masayoshi's full-body nude shot.  What’s more, since the vehicles just beyond the alley are still passing by at roughly the same time, this means that the close-up on his determined face only gets one shot of dramatic but obscuring backlighting, while the full-body shot is illuminated twice, calling attention to Masayoshi’s nudity.  The cold open doesn’t hide the fact that Masayoshi is naked, but it quickly pulls our attention away so that going into the opening, we’re focused on Masayoshi’s conviction: whoever this naked weirdo is, he is dead serious.  The episode version turns that on its head: whoever this dead serious guy is, he is a naked weirdo.  Appropriately enough, what the final shot gives way to the second time around is utter wackiness and misunderstandings, underscored by wildly tilted angles, lighting and framing that emphasize both Masayoshi’s nakedness and Gotō’s outsize reaction, and, for the first time in either version of this sequence, music — a comic action track, “Dash,” that adds to the madcap atmosphere.

At this point, it should be clear that the two versions of Masayoshi and Gotō’s first meeting are staged very differently; at the same time, it would be reasonable NOT to notice this during ordinary viewing, since events play out almost identically until the end, and the changes in framing aren’t so marked as to call attention to themselves.  As a result, the two versions of this scene essentially overlap — not perfectly, but to the point that the episode version feels like a continuation of the cold open.

The question is less “Why repeat this scene at all?” than “Why not just reuse the same footage?”  Why put time and limited resources into making two separate iterations with unique artwork when you could just double up on the episode version, trimming it a little for time so it can work as an effective pre-opening tease?  I think you could justify that decision in a variety of ways, and I don’t think the answer I’m about to give is necessarily “the right one.”  But what’s most interesting to me is the subtly different impressions that the cold open and episode version give as a result of their unique formal features — which includes but is much more than just how they end.

The cold open’s framing works to establish Samurai Flamenco’s setting as a familiar real-world space, one that’s authentic not just visually, but experientially.  Instead of being introduced to Yukimachi via a long shot of tall buildings seen from a distance, we start out right at street level, with Gotō seeing the cigarette pack on the ground — and when we do see buildings, they tower overhead, as if we were standing in that space.

With Gotō as our surrogate, the space continues to be mapped around us, primarily through editing — shot of Gotō looking, shot of the alley from his perspective, shot of Gotō poking his head around the corner we saw in the previous shot, shot of the intersecting alley from Goto’s perspective — but also camera movement.  Even if we don’t take the camera pushing in toward the alley as literally representing Gotō moving in that direction, the push-in still conveys a sense of distance between the camera’s starting position and the alley itself.  What I’d emphasize is not the literalness of the first-person perspective, but that 1) the show is taking pains to set up the geography of the the scene, and 2) that it does so from the perspective of someone physically in that space.  

Of course, then we get that overhead shot of the alley, a view clearly not aligned with Gotō's POV or anyone else’s, and obviously not an angle from which we’re used to encountering alleyways in real life.  As a result, we do lose that sense of direct immersion — but there are tradeoffs: for one; the shot clarifies for the viewer exactly where Masayoshi and Gotō are in relation to each other; second, and more importantly, the bird’s-eye view shows how realistically small and cramped the alley is.  An alley is, after all, a gap between two buildings, not a thoroughfare -- but it’s unusual for them to be portrayed in such a way that viewer actually registers the space as confining.  Here, the alley appears as a thin band between two steep walls that take up most of the frame, and while the area is neat and tidy, the propane tanks, bottle crates, and ventilation systems jutting out into the alley narrow it even further.

So even though the angle breaks with the literal “man on the street” perspective, the way the space is designed still adds to scene's sense of authenticity — and since we can tell that there isn’t much room to maneuver, and see how little distance there is between Gotō and Masayoshi, this also ups the tension.

Finally, the cold open having Gotō discover Masayoshi more gradually — perceiving his movement, but not calling out until Masayoshi’s presence is confirmed by the car headlights — suggests how difficult it is to see in the darkness of the alley.   As viewers, we can pick Masayoshi out almost immediately, because the show isn’t really trying to hide him from us — notice how the shot’s lighting and color draw the eye to that specific part of the frame?

So adding a step to Gotō’s discovery process is important, because it emphasizes how dark this space is from the perspective of someone who’s in it.

Altogether, the cold open positions Samurai Flamenco as a series grounded in ordinary reality, with its “realism” defined by how closely the show tracks with everyday experience — particularly, of urban space.  To put it another way, the cold open suggests that while this series will aim for a certain level of visual verisimilitude, its world is “the real world” because its characters live in and move through the kind of spaces that we do in real life.  That in turn sets certain expectations for character behavior and what could reasonably happen in this series.

That said, we still have to reckon with how Masayoshi’s declaration at the end is framed.  Think of how when Masayoshi’s head rises into the frame, he eclipses Goto, filling nearly the entire visual field;

how the world turns to gold behind him as he speaks; that when he names himself an “ally of justice,” he’s staring right at the camera — at the viewer.  

While none of these shots violate the realism of the cold open up to this point (it’s truck headlights that create the gold backlighting effect, after all) these shots are slightly more dramatic, expressionistic, and attention-getting than what’s come before.  The resulting contrast makes Masayoshi’s “I’m an ally of justice” feel just this side of uncanny — an eruption of strangeness in the middle of the ordinary that unsettles and disrupts.  Put another way, when Masayoshi says that, and it’s framed that way, it feels like something outside what we might usually expect could happen.  Now, I’m not claiming this is super-secret foreshadowing that Masayoshi’s desire to be a hero will literally warp the fabric of reality around his wish. That feels like a bit of a reach.  But I would say that the cold open primes us for the idea that however ridiculous the hero media Masayoshi is obsessed with can seem, it might just have the potential to change the way things work, and is therefore worth serious attention.

The episode version, of course, upends that when it shifts the focus from what Masayoshi is saying to his full-frontal nudity.  Still, as the scene devolves into wacky antics, the gag isn’t so much what Masayoshi is saying as his apparent obliviousness — he’s spouting lines like this while standing naked in a public alley, and even after Goto identifies himself as a police officer who intends to arrest Masayoshi and has told Masayoshi to freeze, Masayoshi’s response is to continue approaching the clearly nervous cop and plead his case.

The joke hinges, in other words, on Masayoshi’s personality.  And if we look at what distinguishes the episode version from the cold open, we see that its unique formal features work to emphasize character and relationship development.

As mentioned earlier, the episode version completely removes several shots that were part of Gotō’s discovery of Masayoshi, like the view of the alley entrance and Gotō noticing Masayoshi in the dark, meaning Gotō spots him more quickly, and we get to their encounter that much faster.  The overhead view of the alley is also gone, but in this case, the dialogue and action that took place during that shot are still there — just reframed into a shot/reverse-shot sequence alternating between Masayoshi and Gotō.  We can still sense physical distance between the characters, since they’re framed in matching medium long shots, are seen roughly from the other’s perspective (almost-but-not-quite Gotō’s view of Masayoshi, and vice-versa), and are never in the same frame together until Gotō insists he’s going to arrest Masayoshi (that is, after the big nudity reveal).

Nevertheless, the space feels subtly bigger and more open than when we saw the buildings boxing the pair in, in part because we’re seeing it broken up into multiple views rather than as a single complete space.

What’s lost in spatial realism is gained in our actually getting to see Masayoshi and Gotō’s reactions to each other during their initial exchange, which were largely hidden in the cold open.  To be sure, the visuals align with Sugita and Masuda’s vocal performances, so there are no real surprises here.  Still, both characters are instantly easier to understand and relate to because we can see Masayoshi’s alarm at being discovered, Gotō’s caution that has him lean forward (that tilted chin) rather than take another step, Gotō’s irritation that this clearly nervous and at least half-naked guy sitting in an alley has the nerve to insist he’s “not a strange person” — and so on.  We have a richer sense of who both of them are, and what their interactions will be like, because of this reframing.

In addition, the visual language of the episode version puts Masayoshi and Gotō on roughly equal footing.  The cold open achieved its own kind of balance, giving Gotō the majority of the screentime, but giving Masayoshi the “final word.”  Still, it was very clear which of these two will be the main character, because, aside from Masayoshi having the more unique look, he also gets the more impressive framing (again, he ends the sequence center frame, close-up, literally bathed in golden light).  But the episode version undercuts the mysterious air Masayoshi had by the end of the cold open, and depicts both Masayoshi and Gotō in almost literally the same way, with the same framing, and roughly the same amount of time spent on each of their shots.  This actually continues past the material covered in the cold open: the setup for Gotō’s “A pervert!” — a low-angle tilted shot — is also used to show Masayoshi protesting, just reversing the angle; 

then, the shot over Gotō’s shoulder as he insists he’s going to arrest Masayoshi is flipped into one over Masayoshi’s shoulder as he approaches Gotō; 

and so on.

In this version, the presentation privileges neither of them, and one way to read that that makes sense in light of everything that comes after is this: while Masayoshi is the lead, Gotō is equally important — not just to “the story” or “the plot,” but to the entire experience of Samurai Flamenco.  More generally, the episode version says this series will be driven by characters interacting, (mis)communicating, and responding to the strong personalities around them.

To wrap up this comparison, I suggested that the episode version is poking fun at Masayoshi rather than the at idea that hero media might be worth serious consideration.  What I’d add is that it does kind of still do that. Despite his conviction, Masayoshi loses his composure once Goto calls him a pervert, and from this point until the episode’s climax, his interest in heroes becomes a source of humor, while Gotō explaining why Masayoshi’s plans won’t work serves to highlight the ridiculousness of building your life and moral code around Kamen Rider, Super Sentai, and the like.

The show advances both ideas — but it didn’t have to stage Masayoshi and Goto’s first meeting twice to do that.  Because it did, and because it avoids identifying one version as “what really happened,” instead allowing the versions to overlap but not exactly, I think that “Samurai Flamenco, Debut!” sets up the idea that both takes are correct: hero media is ridiculous entertainment for children and can’t impact the real world; also, hero media can inspire people in powerful, positive ways, meaning it can absolutely make a difference.  Repetition with a difference becomes a way of creating and holding open the tension between these two ideas, both within this premiere episode and across the series as a whole.

Again, I want to stress that repetition does a lot of other things in this episode, and in this series.  It’s a versatile tool that Samurai Flamenco makes use of time and time again, and there will be ample reason to come back to it as I work through the other 21 episodes.  But looking back over “Samurai Flamenco Debut!!” and thinking about Samurai Flamenco as a whole, I feel like the sheer amount of repetition in this episode also signals how important repetition as a concept will be to the series.  I’m thinking, for instance, of the way that genre tropes and formulas become an explicit problem in the show’s long middle arc, particularly the Torture and Flamengers episodes — and how routines, cycles, and being stuck in a rut are problems for several major characters.  As with the two versions of Masayoshi and Gotō’s first meeting, the effect is subtle, and more apparent in hindsight than on first viewing, so “foreshadowing” might feel like too strong a word — but if you take into account all the different kinds of repetition in episode one, there’s just so much of it that it’s almost hard not to see it that way.

In Plain Sight: Gotō and His Girlfriend the Second Time Through

One of the pleasures of revisiting Samurai Flamenco is discovering how different the series is on rewatch.  It’s not just that you start to spot foreshadowing of late-series twists and surprises; rather, knowledge of what’s to come and how much changes over the course of the show colors your viewing.  For instance, until I knew how much more grown-up Masayoshi would be at the end of Samurai Flamenco, I didn’t appreciate just how self-centered and stubborn he was in the first nine or ten episodes — and not just when he’s at his worst during the Torture Arc.  Likewise, Kaname definitely had a “trickster mentor” air pre-Flamengers, but when you return to the show’s early episodes after seeing him become more reliable, all his earlier buffoonery starts to look suspect.

Well, maybe not all.  He did punch out a Wow Show! host because he got in too much of a punchin’ groove.  And there was the time he jumped off a running motorcycle that nearly slammed right into Gotō.  And…

But hands down, what affects all subsequent re-viewings of Samurai Flamenco more than anything is the Gotō’s Girlfriend situation.  Even the discovery that Masayoshi had reality-warping powers has less of an impact, because while that does explain some things, it doesn’t prompt the complete and total reevaluation of one of the show’s fundamental pillars.  Learning about Gotō Girlfriend’s disappearance and how Gotō has coped with that loss does have that effect.  Although Gotō was never as straight-laced as a character in his position might be, he was always Samurai Flamenco’s anchor in Normal, setting the baseline for reasonable behavior, expectations, and actions that more eccentric characters played off of.  Moreover, as the show’s effective co-protagonist, Gotō was the character we spent the most time with after Masayoshi, including time when Gotō was alone…which was not infrequently spent exchanging messages with his Girlfriend.  Conversations with Her were one of the major ways that Gotō’s character was developed — and for viewers to learn what was on his mind when Masayoshi wasn’t around, since Samurai Flamenco isn’t big on interior monologue.

…well, it didn’t seem like it was.

The revelations in 19 and their fallout therefore don’t just cast new light on a few scenes — they impact virtually every episode, even those in which Gotō has a minimal part.  That’s not to say that the impact is the same in every instance, though.  Sometimes, knowing what’s in Gotō’s backstory clarifies what was formerly an ambiguous moment, like Gotō agreeing to overlook Samurai Flamenco and Flamenco Girl’s activities despite being tased by Mari the night before.   Gotō is pretty forgiving -- but it probably didn't hurt that Masayoshi pointed how Mari’s violent vigilantism “saved many women who might have been victims.”  (To drive it home, what does Gotō do as soon as Masayoshi says that?  He looks at his phone.)

More often, knowing where the messages Gotō receives are coming from seems to offers new insight into what Gotō is thinking, suggesting inner turmoil not visible on the surface, or intensifying an otherwise understated emotion.  (Think of Masayoshi’s sunny acceptance that killing monsters is part of being a hero during Torture Arc, Goto’s obvious unease — and his Girlfriend saying that the look in Masayoshi’s eyes frightens Her.)  Occasionally, this can shift the overall tone of a scene.  The most memorable instance is, of course, when Gotō gets a message in the middle of trying to Stop the Rocket, turning what was already the best gag in a subtly comic action scene into one of the most wonderfully WTF moments in the entire series.  More generally, though, when Her texts trigger a tonal shift, it usually makes the scene in question a little more melancholy, in direct relation to how happy and/or invested in his relationship Gotō appears at the time.

While I won’t discuss the Gotō’s Girlfriend situation in every write-up, I do plan to come back to it often.  Beyond cataloging what feels different in hindsight, there's a lot about it that I find interesting and worth exploring — for instance, how to talk about Gotō’s Girlfriend as a character.  Even though I generally talk about Her as if She’s singular, She's really two characters who overlap but aren’t identical: Real Girlfriend who disappeared when She and Gotō were in high school; and Text Girlfriend, Gotō’s coping mechanism who exists only in his head and in his texts, but who nevertheless exists as a presence for the audience.

Paradoxically, the latter is the more developed Girlfriend and the one we get to know best, while Real Girlfriend becomes more of a cipher the more we learn about Her.  That's worth discussing on its own, I think, AND in connection with everything that happens with Her and to Her in Final Arc.  I have such complicated feelings about that that this write-up gets delayed a week every time I try to say more than "I'm going to write about this at length later."  Suffice it to say for now that there’s a lot I like and also parts I find troubling, and I can’t wait to dig into it…eventually.

Before moving on to episode-one-specific Girlfriend discussion, a few notes on terminology and approach.  First and foremost, I’m going to do my best to discuss Gotō’s mental state in a sensitive way, not just in terms of the language I use, but also how I frame my discussion.  Second, because “Text Girlfriend” is the one we spend more time with, you can assume that if I don’t say otherwise, She’s the one I’m referring to when I say “Gotō’s Girlfriend.”  Finally, and related to number two, unless it’s genuinely necessary, I’ll avoid going out of my way to flag the difference between Text Girlfriend and Real Girlfriend — for instance, putting big quotes around “Her” to indicate that we’re talking about texts that aren’t from Real Girlfriend (ex. "Then Gotō shows Mari one of 'Her' texts, and...").  That would arguably be a more precise approach, but I’ll be taking a lot of care not to conflate the two Girlfriends — and assuming you took the spoiler warning seriously, you’ve seen the show, and you don’t need me to keep highlighting the obvious.  

Getting Acquainted with the Lovebirds ~ヾ(＾∇＾)

Virtually every scene focusing on Gotō, his Girlfriend, and their relationship become at least a little bittersweet on rewatch, but I think that’s especially true of their bits in episode one.  The obvious reason is because for most viewers, this is the first episode you revisit after watching episode 22.  You go from seeing Gotō in the depths of despair after losing Her -- and thanks to the flashback, you actually suffer through it with him twice in the same 22 minutes.  Then, suddenly, Gotō is back in that relationship, looking happy and satisfied, except now you KNOW.  And you know what he's in for 21 episodes later.  So that’s part of it.

The other reason these scenes can be painful the second time through is because episode one so effectively sells Gotō’s Girlfriend as a character, along with Gotō’s feelings for Her.  Her texts convey a vibrant and distinctive personality — although not all of it comes through in the simulcast translations.  For instance, She doesn’t just open that first text with “Hey,” but a more playful “Nyahoho~i”; and says “I want to see you” four separate times, with the last three coming almost one right on top of the other — “I want to see you! I want to see you I want to see you I WANT TO SEE YOU.”  There’s also a skipped-over line that has her playing up her embarrassment at having left her umbrella behind (“(/ω＼) Embarrassed— 💩”)  

I bring this up just to note it, not to rag on the translator(s).  Apart from the ordinary stresses of simulcast translation, limited onscreen space, and limited time to display the translation, it wasn’t obvious at this point in the series that Gotō’s Girlfriend’s texts would be important enough to warrant a fuller, more colorful translation.  Plus, they did include the \(^O^)/ emoji in their translation of the first message, which draws attention to all the embellishment in the original, thereby giving a little more of the flavor of her messages than we’d get if it were just straight text.

And really, you don’t need to be able to read Japanese to see that Her texts are packed with emoticons and emoji, including animated hearts, surprised and embarrassed faces, and ample use of the poop 💩 emoji.  Look a little more closely, and you’ll notice every sentence has something attached to it, acting as intensifiers (the blue despair face 😨, broken heart 💔, and poop 💩) when she announces she can’t find her umbrella), clarifications (the little purple devil 😈 that turns “I’m kidding” into good-natured teasing), and decoration, as when her nickname for Gotō, “Gocchin,” is flanked by six different emoji (“💖🐷 Gocchiiiiiiin✨❤️🦁🌸”).  She sometimes substitutes emoji for words, like the umbrella emoji ☂️ for “umbrella,” and also seems to enjoy visual punning: when She announces She’ll come next month to take — “tori” — her umbrella home, She follows that with a bird emoji 🐦, which can also be “tori.”  Then She turns “yoroshiku onegaishimasu” into “yoroshiku onegaishimanbooooo,” ending with a mola mola/ocean sunfish emoji, which is “manbo” in Japanese.

Already, a particular voice and presence emerges from these two messages.  Gotō’s Girlfriend comes off as cute, playful, and clever, but with a certain agreeable weirdness, too (“onegaishimanboooo”).  That She can be informal and joke around with Gotō (“I want to see you” x 4, “Just kidding, I’m going to bed”) suggests She’s confident in a well-established relationship, and that She and Gotō are enough on the same wavelength that She can say something like that without fear of hurting him.  Alternately, maybe She’s a little thoughtless about stuff like that.  But looking at all the decoration, these are messages that would take a little effort to type out, so we could see that effort as a sign of Her affection — along with the fact that as emoji/emoticon-intensive as Her messages are, She replies almost immediately when Gotō answers Her text about the umbrella.

Gotō’s quick to pick up, too, snapping open his phone just as soon as he gets the notification and staring intensely at the screen as he reads.  Then…he just melts.  Cut to Gotō walking to the convenience store, humming to himself; he’s swaying side to side, a little spring in his step, a smile on his lips…  

His pace starts to pick up; his grin widens.  

Now he’s running, now he’s bounding down the street — and finally, unable to contain himself any longer, Gotō lets loose a joyous shout into the night.

Sugita’s performance is perfection — and I think that’s true of Gotō’s portrayal here more generally.  We don’t have to be told that Gotō is smitten with his Girlfriend — we can see it in the way that he’s physically overcome by his feelings for Her.  That sudden burst of energy is in such stark contrast to the Gotō we saw standing guard at the police box just moments ago, not just visibly bored but frozen in place, literally unmoving until the very end.  

Now, to be sure, that scene reads as more comic than bleak, thanks to its bright color palette and the lighthearted background track (“Nonki na Hirusagari”).  Still, it’s clear that police work can be dull, and that Gotō’s relationship is a little ray of light that allows him to endure the dullness, and the coming home to a teeny-tiny apartment where no one is waiting for him, and the not being able to go to the convenience store without having to get past a bunch of idiot kids acting like idiots right outside the door, 

and of course there’s a huge line, and oh would you just LOOK at this DRUNK ASSHOLE cutting in line, and of course the cashier just rings him up like it’s no problem —

I’m deliberately laying it on a little thick here, because, again, the tone of this segment is light — but because the tone is light, it can be easy to miss that our introduction to Gotō is largely a collection of the little frustrations that are part of Gotō’s daily life.  The exception is his time with his Girlfriend.  At this point in the series, Gotō’s contentment is entirely wrapped up in Her, and damn that’s painful to type now.  I do think it’s to the show’s credit that none of this plays as farce the second time through, especially given how over-the-moon Gotō is.  It’s all a little weirder, and I do find myself asking questions like “Is this the first time he’s done the bit with the umbrella, or is this an established scenario he runs through every now and then?”  But the overwhelming feeling I have is pity, for him, and for Her.

One last thing episode one-specific thing I’d like to note before wrapping up.  As much foreshadowing as Samurai Flamenco offers, the show generally avoids tipping its hand vis-a-vis the Gotō’s Girlfriend situation.  I’ve rewatched the show many times, and found just a few instances that, in hindsight, seem like blatant hints that things aren’t exactly what they seem.  See, for instance, episode 4: Gotō sends Her a text, and while he’s waiting for a response, he types out another message that we don’t see.  The next time he opens his phone, he has a text waiting on him from Her.

Σ(･口･)

Episode one has something that may qualify: in certain shots early in the episode, Gotō has lines under his eyes that aren’t part of his standard character model.  

We see them during his first scene at the police box, when he’s so deeply bored, then they show up again when he’s texting his Girlfriend at his apartment after work.  

Their final appearance is when Gotō is listening to Masayoshi explain his crimefighting plans, just after the commercial break.  

It’s be easy to read that as Gotō just being exhausted…although the only other time I recall seeing Gotō with lines under his eyes like this with any consistency — and he isn’t just waking up or something along those lines — is the long flashback in episode 22, when Gotō is drowning in grief over his Girlfriend’s disappearance.

In that light, this feels kind of like a sign: “Despite seeming like a fully functional adult in a wholly satisfying relationship, Gotō is still suffering, maybe more than he even knows.”  In general, I think that’s true, especially given how Gotō reacts to Masayoshi calling him out in episode 20 — but I’m hesitant to put a lot of weight on these lines as evidence given that they sort of…appear and disappear.  They’re completely gone after Gotō leaves his apartment for the convenience store, and stay gone until after the episode’s midpoint.  Then, after their brief appearance in Masayoshi’s collection room, that it — lines no more.  It’s not simply a matter of omitting details that wouldn’t be visible from a distance, either — we get plenty of close-ups between the convenience store and the collection room, and no lines.  If the show wanted Gotō with lines under his eyes to mean something really important, you’d expect them to be consistent, right?

At the same time…you’ve seen Samurai Flamenco, right?  This show struggled to stay on model for features the characters are supposed to have all the time, like Masayoshi's prominent lower eyelashes.  It wouldn’t be surprising for a design element that was only supposed to be in place for part of an episode to go missing during the initial broadcast run.  And as much attention to detail as the Blu-ray improvements show, corrections were relatively skimpy until the Flamengers arc.  So I do think it’s plausible that the show may have intended the lines under Gotō’s eyes to carry a specific meaning that would become more apparent on second viewing — and they just dropped the ball. We'll probably never know, though.

Broadcast vs. Blu-Ray - Are the Improvements to the Blu-Ray version of This Episode Enough to Justify Seeking it Out?

Yes, but I’d say more if you want to get a friend into Samurai Flamenco than if you’re interested in a dramatically different viewing experience.  The broadcast version of “Samurai Flamenco Debut!!” wasn’t particularly polished despite being the first episode out of the gate, and the alterations made for the home video release are relatively minimal.  If you’ve seen the show already, you probably won’t notice them the way you will the revisions to the Flamengers episodes, for example.

That said, there are some changes that I appreciated.  The first part of Masayoshi’s “CHANGE! SUNSHINE!” gets an animation bump, adding details to each frame.  More importantly, there are also small fixes that improve spatial continuity, like replacing the background behind the drunken salaryman during his confrontation with Masayoshi so that he actually drops his cigarettes in the street Gotō ends up walking down.  That wasn't true of the broadcast version.  Likewise, the Blu-ray version makes sure that the video of Masayoshi lecturing the delinquent middle schoolers shows him pointing a finger at the delinquent middle schooler recording him rather than randomly thrusting his finger into the sky.  It’s a better-looking episode, no question, but the difference isn’t dramatic.

See my detailed comparison here.

Scattered Observations

“Samurai Flamenco Debut!!” is the only episode for which series director Ōmori Takahiro provided the storyboards, and one of only two for which he serves as the episode director.  (Would you be surprised if I told you the other was…episode 22?)  This is fairly typical for Ōmori, who is often credited as the “director” or “chief director” for a series as a whole, but “episode director” for only the first and/or final episode of a show.  I have a pet theory that in addition to what we generally think of as directorial skills (knowing how to set up a shot to create a particular impression, coaching performances, etc.), Ōmori is also a talented project manager, and that he’s a big part of the reason why Samurai Flamenco came out as good as it did as studio Manglobe approached its end.

The setting of Samurai Flamenco is Yukimachi Town, a (fictional) district within the larger (equally fictional) Shibiru City.  We aren’t actually in Tokyo proper yet, and won’t be spending a lot of time there until the Flamengers Arc.

You may have noticed that Gotō and his co-worker Totsuka sometimes have a dark-colored stab vest on over their uniform, but usually only one of them at a time.  That’s not an error — if you watch, it’s always the one who is standing guard outside the police box, or who has just come from in from doing so.  That specific duty is called ritsuban.  The fact that the one standing outside is usually turned away from the police box interior makes it easy for Gotō to conceal his reactions when something Samurai Flamenco-related comes up.  Likewise, that Totsuka is looking inside during Masayoshi and Gotō’s conversation in this episode underscores that yes, Totsuka is listening in…

Every character seen in the opening has at least a cameo in episode one, although Mari, Mizuki, and Moe only show up on a magazine cover.  They won’t appear in person until episode two.

Look closely when Masayoshi opens the door to his apartment, and you’ll see he has a Red Axe keychain.

The curry Masayoshi and Gotō eat is branded with Brass Rangers Ensemble, the sentai series that’s airing in-universe during this part of Samurai Flamenco’s run, and that Masayoshi has a guest spot on in episode 5.

If you enjoyed this write-up, please share it with your friends, and support Samurai Flamenco in whatever way possible. Stream from legal sources (ex. Crunchyroll), buy the home video releases if they are available where you are (I can personally vouch for All the Anime’s excellent Region B Blu-rays, and am currently enjoying Peppermint Anime's German dub), and support people who engage with the show, whether through critical essays and appreciations, fan art and fan fiction, remixes, or whatever.

Until next time, FLAMWENCO!

Ko (ratherboogie)

[blizziem]

A lot of my online social sphere was caught talking about new Netflix exclusive show. If you read tittle of this post, you already know which show we are talking about but in case you haven’t caught up on the current discussion, Devilman Crybaby is modernized retelling of Go Nagai’s original 1972 manga which has served as an inspiration for a lot of more recent works like Neon Genesis Evangelion. The show is a story about Akira Fudo, who by the scheming of his childhood friend Ryo becomes the titular Devilman after a demon tries to posses his body. As a devilman he fights against other demons who try to take over the world by taking over people who seemingly revel in their primal urges revolving around sex, drugs and violence. This sounds pretty straight forward premise for a good old superhero show, but, as you propably can guess from the Eva connection, is much more complicated than that. If you are looking for something to watch and don’t mind dark stories, it is a solid watch with good production values and excellent soundtrack. However, I feel personally pretty conflicted after watching it. (Continued after the break, but if you have not seen the show and are interested so see it, I recommend you go watch it first. It is ten episodes long so it’ll take an afternoon).

Before we move on, I should point out that I saw this show only once, and I consider myself to be very casual anime fan. Thus I don’t claim to be a some sort of master thinker with all the knowledge who knows what everything means and all that. That in mind you propably shouldn’t take anything I say as a truth, just as opinions of a guy who spends too much time thinking this stuff and watching some youtube videos about it by guys with much better delivery.

Anyhow, to summarize the plot, basically after a half of a series full of monster of the week style setup Ryo reveals the existence of the demons to whole world. Since these demons can impersonate anyone perfectly, this leads to deepening paranoia in general public and officials, which reaches is full point when Roy reveals that basically anyone who feels alienated form the society some way may become a demon (which isn’t exactly true), using Akira as an example. Akira’s friend and love interest Miki tries to defend him on the internet, but this backfires and while Akira is away, a lynch mob comes and basically kills every single character of the main cast of in the very brutal way, including Miki who’se head is put on a head of a stick. Akira tries to hurry back to save Miki, but he is too late. He sees the mob dancing in very tribalistic manner around a bonfire with her head, which is the last straw on his already strained psyche, and he ends up killing the mob with fire.

Akira confronts Ryo who turns out to be actually Satan who’se subconcious plan all along was to free demons from their imprisonment, which was orchestrated by the God himself. Akira promises to kill Satan himself, and he meets up with other devilmen, whist demons are killing last of the humans. The massive battle ensues and during it everyone else except Satan and Akira dies. They lay on the desolate beach (that looks pretty End of Evaesque) and Satan is reminiscing about his and Akira’s past together whilst hinting he has always loved him. Satan realizes that Akira doesn’t speak only to find out he is dead, and first time in his life he feels sadness which he doesn’t seem to understand, all the while god is wiping earth clean again.

Saying that show is dark would be an understatement. From the get go it is filled with gratuitous sexual imagery and violence. Which given what show is about (or atleast my read on it) makes sense. In it’s core, Devilman Crybaby is about power, and humanity’s relationship to it. Basically, before humanity’s rise, demons roamed the world and basically hunted and dominated each other. When Satan arrived, he fell in love with these creatures, but god wiped them underground, and thus, humanity slowly became to power. But demons were completely gone, and time to time they popped up causing havoc, until they finally took over and destroyed humanity.

The demons are basically stand in for powerful individuals like kings or bankers, who are doing whatever they want with the power they have, as opposed normal powerless humans who only can really achieve anything with co-operation. But instead co-operation, the people are driven to fight each other whilst the demons are gaining more power. Mean while, the devilmen represent those who have the power but instead of their own gain, they are willing to use it for good of others. And it is story about these individuals that the show tells. A very cynical and pessimistic story, since devilmen are unable to stop demon plan, whilst being rejected by humans for being demons. This infighting between this groups and their conflicting desires and views ultimately lead destruction of everything, and those few who are left only realize what was lost too late.

And boy, does this feel topical given the political climate we currently live in. Despite originally being manga from 70’s, this story feels more relevant than ever. It is no wonder that this is the point in time we get a modernized remake of this story, with more modern storytelling techniques and style compared to the original. Which introduces some interesting results when looking this show as a whole. The thigh focus on the characterization really drives home the horror of the situation perfectly, but also makes the show downright painful to watch given that every single character goes couple Game of Thrones seasons worth of suffering before their horrible fates. And none of these people deserve what is happening to them, which is the point of the whole show.

That said, I am not really fan of the point since I also believe humanity can be better than what this show depicts it being.  It may take significant work and effort from our part, but I think we can defeat these proverbial demons this show depicts us loosing to. I get the pessimistic cynicism was the intended tone of the makers of the show and this show captures it perfectly, but I am not the one who thinks cynicism is really productive in the end. So, I prefer look this show as a warning of what may happen if we don’t get our shit together.

I’ve spent a lot of words talking about symbolic meaning of the show, because I think that’s how it works best. Since without that layer this show ends up being about bunch of likable people suffering and dying horribly, and that just left me feel really sad and miserable, thinking all the interesting possibilities letting these characters live would have created. Without it’s meta textual layer, Crybaby would just be tragedy that lacks any point, since only surviving character, Ryo, basically gets shafted when it comes to characterization compared to rest of the cast.

So, I think it is easy to see why do I feel conflicted about this show. With all the production values it has, it either ends up being a message I don’t agree with or a hollow tragedy, with former only slightly more satisfying than the latter. I am glad I saw it, but I doubt I will remember it as a similar kind of fond appreciation like I do Eva, which target’s it’s pessimism to a target that truly deserves it’s contempt, rather than whole of the humanity. We as a species might be crappy, but not totally condemnable.

[ramajmedia]

Theory: Kong Fights Godzilla To Become The New Alpha

Godzilla vs. Kong will feature the long-awaited showdown between the King of the Monsters and the King of Skull Island, and we have as theory as to why they're fighting. While Godzilla’s upcoming battle with King Kong was directly set up in Godzilla: King of the Monsters, a specific reason for the two to face-off hasn’t been given. One possible reason for the two to fight is that Kong will seek to challenge Godzilla in an effort to take his place as the new alpha.

Directed by Adam Wingard and written by Terry Rosio, the fourth installment in Legendary’s MonsterVerse releases in March of 2020. A portion of the cast from Godzilla: King of the Monsters returns for Godzilla vs. Kong, including Millie Bobby Brown as Madison Russell, Kyle Chandler as Dr. Mark Russell, and Zhang Ziyi as Dr. Chen. The new movie puts Godzilla and Kong on a collision course that will erupt into a “spectacular battle for the ages”, which will involve Monarch and their mission to discover the origin of the Titans.

Related: When Will The Godzilla vs Kong Trailer Release?

Godzilla vs. Kong will be the first crossover between the two properties since the 1962 Toho movie King Kong vs. Godzilla. The outcome of their first meeting has long been disputed by Godzilla and King Kong fans for a number of reasons, but director Adam Wingard promises that Godzilla vs. Kong will have a definitive winner. Why the two will fight has yet to be determined, but there are clues in Godzilla: King of the Monsters.

Godzilla Is The Alpha After King of the Monsters

An important theme present throughout Godzilla: King of the Monsters is the idea of an animal hierarchy, where Titans show deference to those who are stronger than them. The Titan who is the strongest of the group is recognized by his inferiors as the alpha or the apex predator. In Godzilla: King of the Monsters, this title is openly disputed by ancient rivals Godzilla and King Ghidorah.

In the movie, King Ghidorah temporarily took the title of alpha after managing to defeat Rodan. After letting out a roar, King Ghidorah managed to awaken all the other Titans, who acknowledged him as the alpha. His rule over the other Titans was opposed by Godzilla, who battled him three times over the course of the movie. In their final confrontation, both monsters were powered up by outside energy sources. After a heroic sacrifice from Mothra, Godzilla succeeded in killing King Ghidorah. In the aftermath of the battle, Rodan bowed down to Godzilla as a way of recognizing him as the new King of the Monsters. The other Titans in the vicinity followed suit.

This means that Godzilla is now the alpha, and the leader of the monsters. Like Ghidorah prior to their final battle, Godzilla now controls the Titans. Even so, the fact that Godzilla defeated King Ghidorah once before indicates that Godzilla was the original King of the Monsters, and that Godzilla was simply eliminating a “False King” who had stolen a crown that never belonged to him in the first place.

Related: Will Rodan Return In Godzilla vs. Kong (& How Will He Be Different)?

King of the Monsters Credits Shows Titans Migrating To Skull Island

The credits of Godzilla: King of the Monsters reveal several newspaper clippings that shed light on the immediate aftermath of Godzilla’s battle with King Ghidorah. Some of these clippings drop hints about the plot of Godzilla vs. Kong by name-dropping both Kong and Skull Island. One article even compares the two with the headline “What is a King to a God?” Others reveal that Titans are being drawn toward Skull Island, but these clippings don’t specifically mention which monsters are on their way, or why.

It appears that Gareth Brook’s “Hollow Earth” theory from Kong: Skull Island is the key to understanding what’s happening on Skull Island in the wake of Godzilla vs. Kong. Brooks’ theory, which was proven to be true in King of the Monsters, means that Titans are able to both live and travel in tunnels that exist deep underground. Skull Island is one of the gateways to Hollow Earth, as well as the reason for much of the conflict in Kong: Skull Island. In the movie, the Skull Crawlers would use this gateway to escape to the surface. Kong, the island’s self-appointed protector, took it upon himself to stop them.

If Titans are headed to Skull Island through the Hollow Earth, another battle between Titans could ensue. Such a fight would presumably draw the attention of Godzilla, who could follow the Titans to Skull Island to check out the source of the disturbance.

Will Kong Challenge Godzilla For The Crown?

Even if the opportunity arose, would Kong want to fight Godzilla? It should be pointed out that Kong was not among the many Titans who answered King Ghidorah’s summons in Godzilla: King of the Monsters. A possible explanation for this is that Kong chose to ignore the call because he didn’t regard Ghidorah as the alpha. He could adopt the same attitude to his successor, Godzilla.

Related: Godzilla's New MonsterVerse Height Confirmed After King Of The Monsters

If Godzilla comes to Skull Island, it stands to reason that Kong would view Godzilla as an intruder in his home. This alone would be reason enough for the two Titans to trade blows. However, the setup for their showdown may be more complicated than that. On Skull Island, Kong is essentially the alpha, and so he expects to be treated as such. The giant gorilla is superior to the other creatures that exist on the island, and this is a fact Kong is most assuredly aware of.

That being said, Kong is not the dominant predator outside of Skull Island. Kong could object if new arrivals, such as the Titans teased in the credits of Godzilla: King of the Monsters, regard a different monster as their king. Kong could remedy this by attempting to beat Godzilla and take his title. If Kong were to assume the mantle of alpha, Rodan and the others would have to answer to him instead. For Kong, this would be a way of reigning in all the Titans let loose on his domain. Of course, the events of Godzilla and King of the Monsters are proof that beating Godzilla won’t be an easy task.

More: MonsterVerse Reveals Godzilla's New Title After King Of The Monsters

source https://screenrant.com/godzilla-vs-kong-movie-fight-reason-theory-alpha/

[the-master-cylinder]

SUMMARY Houston police officer Jack Caine will not let police procedure prevent him from pursuing his mission to wipe out the White Boys, a gang of white collar drug dealers who killed his partner while Caine was stopping a convenience store robbery.

The White Boys disguise their narcotics trafficking behind rows of expensive luxury sports cars, executive level jobs, and flashy designer suits. Led by the vicious but urbane Victor Manning, the White Boys operate above accusation but not suspicion. When the White Boys steal a shipment of heroin from a federal evidence warehouse, they hide evidence of their involvement by blowing up the facility, killing or injuring numerous people. This brings in the FBI, and Caine is partnered with a by-the-book agent Arwood “Larry” Smith. They investigate the drug theft and the later murder of several key White Boys soldiers by a hyper fast spinning disk. At the same time, Caine is made aware – via his girlfriend, coroner Diane Pallone – of a series of drug-related deaths. The corpses are full of heroin, but the cause of death is a puncture wound to the forehead. Unknown to Caine and the police officers, the deaths are caused by an alien who is extracting something from the victims, but is being pursued by Azeck, a similar alien to himself.

Azeck soon tracks Talec to a supermarket where a battle ensues. After being severely injured in the fight, Azeck is able to sneak into Caine’s car as Caine and Smith investigate the bloody scene left at the super market. After Cane and Smith are ordered off the investigation by their superiors, they discover the mortally wounded Azeck. Azeck explains that he is a police officer from his own home planet, and that Talec shoots his victims full of synthetic heroin and then uses alien technology to extract the resulting endorphins from their brains, synthesizing them into a drug called “Barsi” to be used by addicts on his home planet. He warns Caine and Smith that if Talec is not stopped, thousands of intergalactic drug dealers will start to come to Earth to slaughter its population, as Earth is a cheap source of Barsi which is extremely rare in the rest of the galaxy. Azeck dies and his body cremates itself – but Smith has retained Azeck’s powerful hand-gun and intends to pass it onto his FBI superior to prove that the aliens exist. Cain warns that Switzer should not be trusted and wants to give the gun to his own Chief Malone. The two disagree and separate.

Smith gives the weapon to Inspector Switzer, who reveals that they already know about the aliens and intend on opening dialogue with Talec in order to gain technological and weapon advantages. He then attempts to shoot Smith, but Caine saves him at the last moment. Thanks to information from Azeck, they track Talec down to an industrial complex but are waylaid by the White Boys who believe Caine to be behind the deaths of their soldiers. Talec arrives in the middle of the standoff and kills the remaining White Boys before being forced to retreat after Smith uses Azeck’s weapon against him.

At the complex, Azeck’s weapon runs out of charge and Talec attempts to kill Caine using his drug harpoon. While fending off the harpoon Caine grabs a vial of the synthesized Barsi drug and the two engage in hand-to-hand combat over the vial, resulting in Talec being impaled on a steel spar. Cain retrieves Talecs gun – a similar weapon to Azeck’s – and shoots nearby drums of fuel, killing Talec in the resulting explosion.

With Talec dead, Caine and Smith realize that they have completed Azeck’s mission: Talec won’t return to his home planet, so no one from his home planet knows about Earth.

BEHIND THE SCENES “When we wrap here, I’ll go back to New York for a couple of months, where I’m studying acting under Warren Robertson,” said Lundgren. “All I want to do is keep making enough movies so that I get to work with good people … not that I haven’t already.” How much acting talent Lundgren has remains to be seen, but he’s clearly extremely intelligent, and has already beaten the Arnold Schwarzenegger problem-though Swedish, he speaks accent less, vernacular English with no effort.

The final confrontation occurs in a deserted cement fac tory, filmed near Houston’s Ship Channel, with Caine pursuing Talec, who has kidnapped Dr. Pallone. Talec gets impaled on a rusty pipe and goes out with a bang, literally. His species doesn’t just expire. They melt and explode when they die.

Bruno Van Zeebroeck, DARK ANGEL’s special effects chief, was easily the most direct, un-Hollywood-like personality encountered on the set. He gave Lundgren, who was a European and Australian karate champion in the early 80s, high marks for his physical efforts. “He’s not lazy,” said Van Zeebroeck. “He likes to do his own stunts, and that makes the whole thing go easier, especially in special effects. Instead of having to shoot with tricky camera angles and stand-ins, we can go full-tilt.”

Van Zeebroeck has a rich history in special effects, having worked in various capacities in television and on films including DIE HARD, PREDATOR, DUNE, and RETURN OF THE JEDI. DARK ANGEL is his first feature film as special effects supervisor. Van Zeebroeck said he has been pleased with the effects they have achieved. “We did a lot of spectacular pyrotechnics,” he said. “This is going to be a good special effects movie. In the abandoned cement factory, we set off 14 fireball explosions in sequence. One mistake, and somebody would have fried. But we haven’t had a single injury on this movie. I’m proud of that.”

Another major effect was filmed when the crew blew up Houston’s condemned Franklin Bank Building, doubling for the film’s Federal Building. “My department would be exactly on budget except for that one,” said Van Zeebroeck. Normally, a building scheduled for demolition would be stripped of reusable materials. For movie purposes, however, the building had to stay intact, at least on the outside. “When it came down,” said Van Zeebroeck, “I got charged $47,000 for the glass alone.’

Van Zeebroeck’s crew of eight was enthusiastic about working with him. “He’s a good guy,” one said, while Van Zeebroeck was out of earshot. “He treats you right and he teaches you stuff. You’re not just a flunky to him.”

This was important to the crew, since half were Houston locals, aspiring to the big time while learning their craft in Houston’s gradually growing film industry. ROBOCOP 2 began shooting in Houston two months after DARK ANGEL wrapped. Young said that producing Hemdale’s COHEN AND TATE in Houston is what brought him back for DARK ANGEL. “The city is incredibly cooperative, you can make a movie for much less here, and the technical help is thoroughly professional.” There do seem to be limits, though. About half the crew of 160 were locals, but all the crew supervisors were imported from Los Angeles.

Most of the special FX were of the on-set variety. “There were a lot of second unit effects.” Irwin adds. “that involved this weird tube that extracted endorphins from unsuspecting human heads, but as far as opticals go, there were very few. It was mostly explosions, gunfire, a lot of exciting car chases. I don’t think anyone is disappointed-it’s like Lethal Weapon or Die Hard, another test-tube adventure. Put all the ingredients in, shake it up, and hey, it explodes, makes millions.”

Craig Baxley, the director of I Come in Peace, was put together with Irwin by Baxley’s father, stunt coordinator Paul Baxley. Irwin had a good time working with “Bax,” whose only previous film was Action Jackson. The director Irwin claims, “has a good visual style toward action, and I have a good visual style toward lighting, and we just clicked on that script.”

Irwin has a realistic view of his craft. “The mechanics of filmmaking have nothing to do with art. You’re given a call sheet, and see the call time is 6:30, first setup is by 7. and the sun goes down by 7:45, and you have to do this many shots because we’re not coming back here, and so on. It’s funny to stand back and say, ‘Well, artistically here. we intended to… It’s impossible. You have to think on your feet and go.

“That was the great thing about Craig. He would go on a technical scout of all the locations, get a floor plan of the location or a constructed set, and would map out all the angles and all the coverage. He gave everyone a shot list and this floor plan, with all the numbered angles. He had it written down two weeks in advance, and it was great.”

Pre-planning is a big help for the cinematographer, because it enables him and his crew of focus pullers, grips and gaffers to get the lights, camera tracks, cables, etc. laid more quickly. There are even directors who are very specific about such things, but those aren’t necessarily the kind Irwin likes. “I prefer,” he explains. “to work with a director who says, ‘Here’s what I want to feel when I’m watching this footage after we’ve shot it,’ instead of the guy who says, 35 mil [lens] right here, [camera] 2 feet off the deck.’ Then I’m just filling in the blanks, and there aren’t that many blanks.”

But, says Irwin, he can work with directors who are very rigid about their technical demands, because that gives him more time to light the set. David Cronenberg is quite the opposite. “He will not prep anything,” Irwin remarks. “He doesn’t want storyboards, doesn’t want to rehearse in empty rehearsal halls, or anything like that. He wants to be on the set and work it out with the actors, and the blocking comes from there. I’ve gotten used to that.”

How Irwin chooses to set up and light his shots is often dictated by the location-literally. “As soon as I see a location, it tells me, ‘Here’s how I’m waiting to be lit. If there’s a window, that becomes a light source; if I have neon lights, I have to light it like that.” In the case of an opening nightclub scene in I Come in Peace, when the bad alien smashes it up in his search for drugs, “the street outside was kind of seedy and run-down. Inside the nightclub, it was all very slick and colorful in a different way. The counterpoint there was great for me. It took two days to light and shoot it. There were neon lights hidden in walls”-much of it purple-“and valance lights and strip lights everywhere.”

Matthias Hues Interview

Okay, but then you got cast in Dark Angel, which is probably your biggest role. How did that role come about? Did you audition, or did Dolph Lundgren recommend you? Matthias Hues: I auditioned. I got a call saying that the producers were looking for a basketball player, or track and field champion. I was track and field, so I walked into the production office and saw all these massive basketball players and professional athletes. I walked in to meet the director, Craig R. Baxley, and he took one look at me and said, “This is your job, but you’re going to have to do everything I say. You’re going to have to be willing to die for it. You’ll have to do every stunt because I want to see your face. That’s why we need an athlete, because we need someone that can actually do what the character can do.’ I said, ‘No worries! I’ll do anything!’

Did Dolph remember you at all from when you first moved to Los Angeles? Matthias Hues: He was the first person in Hollywood that I walked up to and asked for a job. At the time, he just made fun of me and put me down, but I was just one of the many people who come up to him every day, so he didn’t take me seriously.

Was there any on-set payback? Matthias Hues: I didn’t have to say anything, because Dolph came up to the director and said he wanted to take his shirt off in the final fight scene with me. The director said, ‘No Dolph. If anyone’s taking their shirt off, it’s Matthias, not you!’

I had more then one challenge on a daily basis, mainly to stay alive where the explosive team and stunt coordinator argued with the director if it be smart to have me to this or that as it might kill me. All I kept overhearing is the director saying, he just has to be faster or jump higher. No worries he can outrun all explosions. Mind you I was nearly blind in the film, more or less. Wearing the white contacts I only could see shadows, I was let around the set most of the time by an assistant once I had the contacts in so I wouldn’t run into things. Once we ran through the shot, I simply remembered the steps I had to take, like running over the cars. I rehearsed this all morning and when the take came I put on the contacts and did it all by memory while the last thing I overheard is the explosive guy saying that if I miss this or that car or stand still on them while running I will be blown up. But the race wasn’t over there. I needed to clear a jump through the window, on fire and land on a small rig built 70 feet in the air, which was packed with a camera and someone to catch me. I arrived with so much speed it was a miracle I didn’t take us all down. Your adrenaline is so high, but if I would look at it now and have someone explain it to me and say this is now what you are going to do, I would say, do it yourself..!

Azeck and Talec (the good and the bad aliens, respectively; they’re both the ugly, what with white eyes and Twisted Sister hair and weird viscous blood-“cream of snot,” says special effects man Tony Gardner, come to Planet Earth armed to the teeth, and everyone on the production is sure their lethal frisbee will be an audience pleaser. “It’s about the size of a compact disk,” says Van Zeebroeck. “It’s ejected from a gauntlet the alien wears on his hand and goes right for the throat. It can slice through steel beams and everything.

“The idea of doing something different with the weaponry intrigued me,” continues Baxley, “but we were working from the knowledge that everything has been done. All you can do is put a new twist on things. So we looked for a different photographic treatment; what we wound up with was a point-of-view that puts you right on board as it flies.”

Like Phantasm’s flying spheres, the disks were a technical challenge. “There was a scene where it slices through a wall,” explains Van Zeebroeck, “and Craig was looking for an effect like what you get when you take a power saw and draw it across the wall-sparking, fire, chunks of stuff being torn out. We tried about eight different ways of doing it-sparklers, igniters, primer cord; you name it, we tried it-before coming up with the solution.

We used these teeny, tiny bullet hits called D-80 quarter loads. We stacked them side by side it took 54 hits-cut them into this wall, set up the disk and the result was great.”

Although the basic alien make-ups were straightforward-little more than contact lenses and hair extensions—their death throes kept Gardner busy. “When the aliens die, their whole bodies kind of internally combust like flash paper,” he says. “Azeck dies in the back seat of Caine’s car, and we did some appliances on the actor (Jay Bilas), making his face look as though it was splitting open. We lined the cracks with tiny, rice-sized bulbs, about 15 per crack, so it looked as though light was escaping. We also made a mouth plate with a bunch of larger bulbs emitting red light. As Jay’s lips part, it looks as though something is building up inside.

“He reaches up, as though he wants to tell Caine something or give him something, and we built a false arm rigged on a rheostat so we could control the intensity of light, gradually increasing it. All of this happens within seconds, then you cut to outside the car and see this huge, red fireball engulf it. When we cut back to the interior, all you see are the police officers scrambling to get out of the front seat of the car and some smoldering clothes in the back.” Talec’s demise is even nastier. “He gets blasted repeatedly by a shotgun in an old factory building. The blast knocks him backwards and he’s impaled on a pipe; the director compared the effect he wanted to a spider pinned to a card, writhing and unable to get away. Once he’s impaled he drops his own weapon; Caine picks it up, shoots him, and he explodes.

“The first rig we used was designed so we could show Talec being propelled backwards and up into the air. It was kind of like a teeter-totter on wheels. In effect, we had Matthias Hues on a large, mobile slant board with a false body extending from waist to neck. Inside that false chest there was a ram with a length of pipe about three feet long on it. The whole platform was moved backwards as the shotgun hits went off, and on the last hit the ram released so you get the sense he had been slammed into the pipe with tremendous force. It was also rigged with tubes that oozed alien blood. Once Talec was impaled, Matthias was slung in a harness.

“For the explosion we did a full-body cast; the head and hands were detailed, but the body was cast in non-fire-resistant, rigid foam dyed a kind of pinkish-white. The clothing covered it and it was wrapped in detonation cord. The idea was for the body to explode into a cloud of pinkish whitish dust, but what’s nice is that because it isn’t flame resistant it actually turns into a fireball. When audiences see that, they’ll know Talec is really dead he’s not coming back.”

Van Zeebroeck’s expertise was in nonstop demand. “This was a very heavy pyrotechnics show,” he comments. “We’re doing some of the most complicated stuff I’ve ever seen. Lots of stuntmen, lots of actors, cars exploding and flipping over, fireballs everywhere. In one scene we have Talec running over the hoods of cars while explosions go off in the cars, around the cars, parts of the cars fly off… it’s quite something.

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“We did an explosion at the Franklin Bank, a historical building that’s 80 years old,” he relates. “Craig wanted to see a wall of fire six stories high all across this six-lane boulevard and that’s what I gave him. It was awesome. We built fire hoods around the windows to hold the initial source of the explosion. We used napthaline bombs inside the building and put gasoline borders outside so that the fire would progress from inside to outside. We had mortars behind cars blowing gas on the fire at ground level and the whole thing climbed about ten stories high. There were 29 different explosions, 29 different wires to multiple detonators at the other end, and they had to be fired in sequence. It took eight of us about 12 hours to rig that effect. I like to see things blow up right—it’s a science.”

The film wrapped its principal photography in Houston the last week of April 1989, two weeks over schedule and over budget by an undisclosed amount. Producer Jeff Young was unwilling to reveal the budget figures (the Houston Chronicle pegged it at $8 million).

Several cast and crew members gave Baxley credit for maintaining an amiable work atmosphere despite setbacks and a grueling dusk-to-dawn night shooting schedule. “Usually, by now, everybody would be growling and snapping at each other,” said one crew member. “But he’s not a yeller. He stays calm even when everything is coming apart. That helps a lot.” Perhaps helping former stuntman Baxley stay relaxed was the fact that DARK ANGEL is a high-action, stunt laden film, and the stunt coordinator was his father, Paul Baxley Jr., an experienced director himself.

Dark Angel/I Come in Peace (1990) Soundtrack/Score

CAST/CREW Directed Craig R. Baxley

Produced Jeff Young Jon Turtle Rafael Eisenman

Written Jonathan Tydor David Koepp

Starring Dolph Lundgren Brian Benben Betsy Brantley Matthias Hues Jay Bilas

Music Jan Hammer

Cinematography Mark Irwin

CREDITS/REFERENCES/SOURCES/BIBLIOGRAPHY thewitteringnerd Cinefantastique v21n01 Fangoria#97 Horrorfan#04

Dark Angel/I Come in Peace (1990) SUMMARY Houston police officer Jack Caine will not let police procedure prevent him from pursuing his mission to wipe out the White Boys, a gang of white collar drug dealers who killed his partner while Caine was stopping a convenience store robbery.