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A First Look at YashaHime: Demon Half-Princess

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For a brief moment in the early 2000s, Rumiko Takashashi’s InuYasha was the shonen franchise in America. It was a constant presence on cable television, where it anchored Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim line-up, and a commercial success for VIZ Media, which issued and re-issued the series in formats ranging from flipped floppies to deluxe, three-in-volumes. By the time InuYasha finished its run in 2008, readers had moved on to other franchises, but InuYasha was an important series for the North American comics market, as it helped reveal an underserved population of teens who weren’t particularly interested in Batman or Captain America, but were interested in reading comics about characters their own age.

InuYasha also demonstrated that teen girls were just as enthusiastic about action, adventure, and horror comics as their male counterparts, especially if the series featured well-rounded female characters. To be sure, plenty of shonen manga included at least one Tough Female Character™, but InuYasha’s three female leads were defined as much by their frustrations, insecurities, and smarts as they were their ass-kicking capabilities. Equally important, Kagome, Sango, and Kikyo weren’t drawn for the male gaze; they were depicted as normal young women, making it easier for teen girls to identify with the characters’ struggles and triumphs.

It seems fitting, then, that the new InuYasha spin-off puts girls front and center. YashaHime: Princess Half-Demon is a “next generation” sequel that focuses on the original characters’ offspring—in this case, the teenage daughters of InuYasha and his big brother Sesshomaru. This time around, however, Sesshomaru’s twins Towa and Setsuna are the leads and InuYasha’s kid Moroha is the brash, impetuous foil to her sterner, more reticent cousins.

The good news is that YashaHime faithfully adheres to the spirit of the original series, with its characteristic mixture of romance, slapstick, horror, and action; anyone worried that the new series might try too hard to differentiate itself from InuYasha will be happy to see that the new show keeps the focus on demon-fighting, quests, and camaraderie. The bad news is that the first episode is so compressed that the new heroines barely make an impression on the viewer, as their introductions are overshadowed by clumsy bits of exposition, cameo appearances by the original series’ main characters, and a showdown between a demon and the old gang.

In an effort to create more continuity between the original series and the sequel, the second episode reveals that Towa was raised by Kagome’s younger brother Sota in present-day Tokyo. Towa’s introductory scenes are so focused on explaining her backstory that her distinctive choice of clothing—a schoolboy’s uniform—initially seems like an afterthought: “better for fighting,” Towa tells us in a voice-over. That detail turns out to be an important clue about how Towa sees herself, as she complains that “girls must be feminine and boys must be masculine,” a distinction that Towa finds as restrictive as the clothes she’s expected to wear. Towa’s gender presentation is addressed in a ham-fisted way—her younger sister pleads with Towa to be more “girly” and “cute”—but the writers’ willingness to address Towa’s fierce rejection of gender binaries suggests that YashaHime may explore some interesting new thematic territory.

The only truly disappointing aspect of YashaHime is the animation, a flaw that’s most evident in its stiffly executed fight scenes. The animators never create a persuasive illusion of people jumping, flying, and running through three-dimensional space; all the characters look like paper cut-outs superimposed on unimaginative backgrounds. The flatness of the imagery is even more obvious when YashaHime and InuYasha are viewed side-by-side, as InuYasha’s softer, more nuanced color palette gave the picture plane more depth and the characters’ bodies more weight. The one bright spot is YashaHime‘s character designs: Moroha, Towa, and Setsuna bear just enough resemblance to their parents to make it easy for the viewer to grasp the father-daughter connection, even though each girl has her own unique look. That attention to detail extends beyond their physical appearance, too, influencing the way they move, talk, and twitch their noses when they catch wind of a demon.

If I sound a little ambivalent about YashaHime, I am: it shows considerable promise, but hasn’t quite escaped the long shadow of its parent series or found the right pacing for the kind of stories it wants to tell. I’m reserving final judgment until the relationships between Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha are more clearly delineated—after all, it was the complex web of feelings and friendships that made InuYasha compelling as much as its demon-of-the-week adventures. Here’s hoping the sequel will embrace that approach, too.

Episodes 1-2 of YashaHime: Princess Half-Demon are currently streaming on Crunchyroll, Funimation, and Hulu. New episodes air on Saturdays.

A Few Thoughts About Stranger Things

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Over the course of three seasons, Stranger Things has devolved from an engaging period piece to a Potemkin village whose neon surfaces, vintage movie posters, garish fashions, and spiral perms have displaced the heart, humor, and horror that made the first two seasons so compelling. The proof lies in the media’s response to the current season, as the New York Times and Vulture have breathlessly cataloged every cereal box and song cue that link Stranger Things to The Goonies and The Neverending Story. In choosing to fetishize the material and pop culture of 1980s, however, the Duffer brothers have neglected the capable team of actors who’ve been selling audiences on the idea that Hawkins is the epicenter of an inter-dimensional catastrophe, lavishing their creative energies instead on recreating that most 80s of artifacts: the mall.

Don’t get me wrong: the idea of a shopping mall concealing a portal to the Upside Down has subversive potential, but the Duffers are too invested in making sure that everything looks right to care whether their story has anything new or meaningful to say about Reagan-era consumer culture. We’re treated to numerous tracking shots of the mall itself, with the camera lovingly documenting the stores, food court, and movie theater as teenagers shop to the sounds of Madonna’s “Material Girl.” Perhaps most tellingly, the characters never really look like they’re at the mall; these scenes look like an 80s sitcom’s idea of what hanging out at the mall was like, right down to the cartoonish portrayal of teenage mating rituals and clique behavior.

Adding insult to injury is the poor writing. Most of the problems lie with the scriptwriters’ decision to lean into the angrier, more compulsive side of Hopper’s personality, with little thought of how his behavior might appear to audiences. Hopper bullies Mike, for example, rather than examining his own feelings about Mike and Eleven dating. These scenes are played for laughs—dads always want to “kill” their daughters’ boyfriends, right?—but the intensity of Hopper’s anger makes these scenes uncomfortable to watch. If anything, his anger is a potent reminder of season two’s biggest flaw: the unexamined way in which Hopper’s desperate, violent attempts to keep Eleven safe crossed a line between loving concern and possessiveness. (Yes, Hopper and Eleven’s relationship was even more egregious than the much-maligned Punk Rockers episode.)

The once poignant dynamic between Joyce and Hopper has also curdled into something sourly antagonistic. Though their first heart-to-heart conversation in Melvald’s is moving, conveying both Hopper’s insecurities and Joyce’s ambivalence towards Hopper as a romantic prospect, the relationship goes downhill from there. Hopper behaves like a boor when Joyce stands him up for a dinner date, even though Hopper had repeatedly stressed that he wasn’t asking her out. That scene might have played better if we were encouraged to see Hopper as entitled or insensitive, but instead Joyce becomes the villain in this scenario, a scatterbrain who’s so obsessed with proving that something awful is happening in Hawkins that she’d rather chat about magnets with a high school science teacher than split a bottle of Chianti with Hopper. The script then puts Hopper and Joyce in a strenuously unfunny holding pattern as they bicker in a manner that’s supposed to show how much they’re secretly attracted to one another. Ryder, whose fierce intensity was an asset in seasons one and two, is particularly unsuited to this kind of banter, overselling every comeback with too much mugging. Worse still, the dialogue is so flat that it barely registers as amusing, let alone flirtatious.

Perhaps the biggest failing of season three, however, are the monsters. Though there’s a genuine ick factor to the Mind Flayer’s new form, it looks too much like raspberry Jello-O to be the stuff of nightmares; only a gruesome scene in which hordes of rats spontaneously explode registers as horrific. Other potentially scary moments–Nancy confronting the Mind Flayer in a hospital ward, Billy being dragged into the Flayer’s den–are too self-consciously derivative of Alien to make much of impression on viewers familiar with the Duffers’ favorite pop-cultural touchstones. As a result, season three lacks a single scene that’s as unnerving as Barb’s disappearance, or as harrowing as Eleven’s visits to the astral plane, two of the defining moments of season one.

There are a few bright spots, thanks to the Duffers’ generous treatment of the supporting characters. Steve and Robin’s friendship, forged through insults and amateur sleuthing, adds some screwball zest to the proceedings, demonstrating Joe Keery and Maya Hawkins’ potential as romantic comedy leads; their scenes crackle with the kind of wit and energy that’s sorely missing from Hopper and Joyce’s ill-fated courtship. Noah Schapp continues to impress as Will, bringing soulful presence to a character who’s often pushed to the margins of his own story. As his friends pair off in season three, Schapp makes us feel Will’s contempt for Mike, Dustin, and Lucas, who’ve traded Dungeons & Dragons for trips to the mall and awkward dates; Schapp’s facial and body language capture his frustration and shame at being relegated to the status of uncool friend.

Alas, little else in season three of Stranger Things feels as honest or scary as Will’s dilemma. Most of season three registers as 80s fanservice with its on-the-nose needle drops and acid-washed fashion, with little sense of what it was actually like to be alive in the Reagan years. Unless the writing team figures out how to bring back the suspense and humor that made seasons one and two so irresistible, Stranger Things will continue to feel more like Goonies cosplay than a horror story that just happens to take place in the 1980s. Not recommended.

Seasons one through three of Stranger Things can be streamed on Netflix.

Manga on the Big Screen: Love*Com, NANA, and Ping Pong

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As anyone who’s seen Green Lantern or Captain America can attest, adapting a comic for the silver screen is an art, not a science. Done poorly, comic book movies alienate fans with the omission of favorite characters and glossing of seminal plotlines, or confuse newcomers with in-jokes and choppy storytelling. Done well, however, comic book movies can appeal to just about anyone who’s receptive to the genre and the characters. VIZ Pictures may not have released as many comic-book movies as DC or Marvel, but its catalog includes adaptations of several popular manga, including Aya Nakahara’s Love*Com, Ai Yazawa’s NANA, and Taiyo Matsumoto’s Ping Pong. These three films make an instructive case study, as they illustrate the pitfalls and potentials of bridging the gap between page and screen.

LOVE*COM: THE MOVIE

VIZ PICTURES • 100 MINUTES • NO RATING

Risa, the tallest girl in the seventh grade, develops a crush on Otani, the shortest boy in her class. Though superficial opposites, the two are really kindred spirits, sharing an enthusiasm for Umibozu (a Japanese rap artist that their classmates detest), swapping good-natured insults, and bonding over memories of rejection for being too tall and too short, respectively.

Whether you’ve read Aya Nakahara’s charming manga or not, you won’t have too much difficulty guessing how the story will end. The problem, however, is that Risa and Otani’s journey from bickering classmates to boyfriend and girlfriend seems utterly contrived. The scriptwriter borrows two romantic rivals from different volumes in the series’ run, but only succeeds in making Mr. “Mighty” Maitake, Risa’s handsome homeroom teacher, an integral part of the story. Even then, Mighty’s arrival is a bolt from the blue, and is never satisfactorily explained; he’s simply inserted into the final act of the story so that he and Otani can compete for Risa’s affections. (And when I say “compete,” I mean it: the two play a pick-up basketball game in front of the entire school.)

The other major drawback to Love*Com is its superficial treatment of the principal characters. Though Aya Nakahara’s manga charts the ups and downs of Risa and Otani’s friendship in minute detail, the movie’s frantic pace never allows us to get to know the characters or understand why they’re drawn to each other; we simply see them walk through a variety of stock scenes — cultural festivals, school trips — without actually seeing the evolution of their feelings dramatized.

It’s a pity that the Love*Com script feels so hastily assembled, as the film has the potential to appeal to both long-time fans and newcomers. The button-cute leads have some chemistry, even if the script doesn’t give them much to do. And the script shows flashes of inspiration; a “director” surrogate periodically interrupts the proceedings to explain certain peculiar-to-manga conventions (most notably the nosebleed-as-sign-of-arousal), intoning this information over strains of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. These digressions occur just a few times, but add some much-needed humor to a film that lacks the wit and honesty of the source material.

The verdict: Skip it. This flat, uninspired retelling of Risa and Otani’s courtship will bore all but the most devoted Love*Com fans.

This review originally appeared at PopCultureShock on 3/24/08.

NANA

VIZ PICTURES • 114 MINUTES • NO RATING

I admire Kentaro Otani’s chutzpah in bringing NANA to the big screen, as it’s the kind of story that inspires intense devotion to the characters; make a poor casting decision or cut a beloved character and you run the risk of angering the manga’s most devoted fans. Otani steers clear of those hazards, however, assembling an appealing cast that look and sound like their cartoon doppelgangers.

The movie offers a somewhat streamlined account of the manga’s first five volumes, beginning with the two Nanas’ fateful encounter on a Tokyo-bound train and ending with Trapnest’s first visit to the girls’ apartment. Most of the dramatic juice is supplied by Hachi’s relationship with the feckless art student Shoji, and by Nana O.’s relationship with Trapnest bassist Ren.

As much as I enjoy the manga, I’ve always found Hachi’s relentless enthusiasm and boy-crazy antics irritating and couldn’t imagine why the fierce, scornful Nana O. didn’t feel the same way about her. As portrayed by Aoi Miyazaki, however, the character makes more sense. Miyazaki does a superb job of convincing us that Nana O. would befriend someone who seems too ditzy, too dependent, and too femme to hang with an up-and-coming punk act. Mika Nakashima, as Nana O., also turns in a solid performance, playing her character as a believable mixture of belligerence, determination, and vulnerability.

The other great advantage of the movie is its soundtrack. All of the rock-n-roll shoptalk and song lyrics seemed a little preposterous on the page; I had a hard time imaging why Trapnest or Black Stones commanded loyal followings, as they seemed like pallid imitations of Siouxsie and the Banshees. Seeing and hearing these acts in the film, however, transported me back to my college years, reminding me how passionately I felt about certain musicians, and how much their songs felt like an expression of my own identity. The film’s two lengthy concert scenes are highpoints of the film, offering us a window into both girls’ complicated emotional lives — their dreams, their disappointments, their improbably close relationship.

I had a few small bones to pick with the scriptwriters — what happened to Junko and Kyosuke? — but on the whole, I found NANA immensely entertaining. The true measure of the film’s appeal, however, is that my sister, who isn’t a manga maven, loved it too, and wanted to know if there was a sequel. Thank goodness the answer is yes.

The verdict: Rent it. Some die-hard fans may take issue with the casting and script, as the film isn’t as faithful to the manga as the anime adaptation is.

This review originally appeared at PopCultureShock on 3/24/08.

PING PONG

VIZ PICTURES • 114 MINUTES • NO RATING

Based on Taiyo Matsumoto’s manga of the same name, Ping Pong focuses on a pair of friends: Peco (Yosuke Kubozuka), a flamboyant table tennis star who’s obsessed with the game, and Smile (Arata), a reticent young man whose primary motive for playing is to spend time with Peco, whom he quietly regards as a hero. Peco’s swaggering style — complete with acrobatic leaps, trash talk, and frequent dives — makes for good theater, but he’s trounced in a tournament by long-time rival Demon (Koji Ohkura). Despondent over the loss, Peco quits the team and burns his paddle. The coach, himself a former champion known as “Butterfly Joe” (Naoto Takenaka), then turns to Smile to lead his peers to victory in the next major competition, a responsibility Smile is reluctant to accept.

Like Hoosiers, Rocky, Rudy, or A League of Their Own, Ping Pong sticks close to the sports movie playbook, delivering epiphanies with clockwork precision. Smile discovers his inner competitor. Peco discovers that he can’t live without ping pong. “Butterfly Joe” imparts wisdom to Smile. And so on.

Yet for all its sports-movie posturing, Ping Pong is weirdly thrilling, thanks, in large part, to the colorful cast of supporting characters: there’s Peco’s chain-smoking grandmother (Mari Natsuki), a fierce devotee of the sport who runs a table tennis dojo; China (Sam Lee), a washed-up Chinese champion seeking a fresh start in Japan; and Dragon (Shidou Nakamura), a competitor who shaves his eyebrows in an effort to look more intimidating. The other key to Ping Pong‘s success is its fidelity to Taiyo Matsumoto’s original vision. Director Fumihiko Sori’s painstaking efforts to recreate the look and feel of the manga are evident throughout the film, from the casting decisions to the extreme camera angles, jump shots, and fleeting fantasy sequences; Sori manages to capture Ping Pong‘s heightened reality without becoming too arch or mannered.

Fans wanting a behind-the-scenes look at the table tennis action or a few pointers for their own game will want to view the omake on this two-disc set, which includes a 54 minute “making of” documentary, a short “how to” feature reviewing ping pong techniques, and the usual assortment of trailers, tv spots, and cast profiles. All in all, Ping Pong makes a great addition to your library, especially if you still have dog-eared copies of No. 5 kicking around the attic.

The verdict: Rent or buy it. The film captures the arch, surreal quality of Taiyo Matsumoto’s writing even better than the animated version of Tekkonkinkreet.

This review originally appeared at PopCultureShock on 8/28/07.