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Taiyo Matsumoto

Cats of the Louvre

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Weird. Uncanny. Melancholy. Beautiful. Those were just a few of the adjectives I jotted down while reading Taiyo Matsumoto’s Cats of the Louvre, the latest volume in the museum’s ongoing graphic novel series. Like Nicholas De Crécy’s Glacial Period and Jiro Taniguchi’s Guardians of the Louvre, Cats of the Louvre is less an illustrated guide to the museum than a story that happens to take place within its walls—in this case, the attic, where a colony of cats have taken up residence. Through a series of eighteen vignettes, Matsumoto gradually reveals that the cats’ primary caretaker—an elderly night watchman—has dedicated his life to searching the museum for his missing sister, who disappeared into one of the paintings when she was a child.

The key to finding Arrieta turns out to be Snowbébé, a kitten who frequently escapes from the attic to roam the galleries, hiding inside canvases to avoid detection. Snowbébé’s gift is both an essential plot point and an opportunity for Matsumoto to luxuriate in the smaller details of his favorite paintings, as is evident in a lovely, strange sequence that unfolds inside Henri Lerambert’s The Funeral Procession of Love (1580). From a modern viewer’s standpoint, Lerambert’s painting seems a little kitschy, with its parade of cherubs, poets, and philosophers strolling under the watchful eye of the goddess Diana:

Once Snowbébé steps into the painting, however, the landscape comes to life in unexpected ways: the flowers grin, the animals speak, and the laws of gravity disappear. In one brief but delightful sequence, for example, Snowbébé and Arrieta cavort across the ceilings and walls of a temple, while in another they board Diana’s chariot for a ride through the Milky Way. Yet for all the joyful (and weird) imagery, there’s a wistful quality to these two chapters, as Snowbébé slowly realizes that he cannot remain inside the Parade forever; his presence has disturbed the painting’s equilibrium, bringing storm clouds and disrupting the flow of time itself, forcing him to choose between staying with his new friend, or returning to the “cold and smelly and noisy” world of the Louvre.

What prevents Snowbébé’s odyssey from seeming twee or precious is Matsumoto’s studied primitivism; his characters’ mask-like faces, oddly proportioned bodies, and grotesque smiles are genuinely unnerving, creating a surreal atmosphere in which the boundaries between reality and imagination are blurred. Nowhere is this tendency more obvious than in the way he draws Snowbébé and his friends: the cats look like animals to their caretakers, but assume a humanoid form when interacting with each other. In Matsumoto’s hands, they look more like people in cat costumes than pussycats, with their essential feline features—ears, whiskers, tails, elongated limbs—rendered in an exaggerated fashion that gives them a faintly alien appearance.

Matsumoto’s depiction of the Louvre is more straightforward, recreating iconic works with fidelity to the originals, whether he’s drawing a lesser-known genre painting or a genuinely famous sculpture. His rendition of the physical environment—the claustrophobic, dusty garret where the cats live, the grand staircases and hallways that lead to the galleries—is similarly precise, helping the reader envision the sheer size and opulence of the museum. As a result, the Louvre transcends its basic function as a setting, taking on the qualities of a living, breathing organism whose vaulted ceilings and majestic columns invite comparisons with dinosaurs or whales:

And while all the comics in the Louvre Collection have done an admirable job of depicting the museum, Cats of the Louvre approaches its subject matter without didacticism or pedantry; though Matsumoto’s human characters express strong feelings about art, those conversations spring organically from the story. Equally important, Cats of the Louvre has its own personality; unlike Hirohiko Araki’s Rohan at the Louvre, which recycled ideas and characters from JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, Matsumoto’s story stands on its own, capturing his unique response to the museum and its collection. But the best reason to read Cats of the Louvre is its hero Snowbébé, whose quest to find his place in the world invites us to see the Louvre through fresh eyes, as a place of danger and sadness, but also of wonder, magic, and possibility. Recommended.

A review copy was provided by VIZ Media. To read a short preview, click here.

CATS OF THE LOUVRE • STORY AND ART BY TAIYO MATSUMOTO • TRANSLATED BY MICHAEL ARIAS • RATING: TEEN • 432 pp.

My Week in Manga: April 7-April 13, 2014

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My News and Reviews

With all of the various review project that I recently have had going on, it’s been a while since there’s only been two posts at Experiments in Manga for any given week. (Not counting the My Week in Manga feature.) Last week I posted a review of Chōhei Kambayashi’s science fiction novel Yukikaze. Although interesting from the start, it did take me a few chapters to really get into the book, but ultimately I was very impressed with the depth of Kambayashi’s ideas. The sequel Good Luck, Yukikaze has also been translated and released in English. I’ll be making a point of reading it, as well. My other post last week was a part of the Discovering Manga feature which explores some of the ways that I learn about and learn more about manga and the manga industry. This time around I talked about the site Organization Anti-Social Geniuses which has some great manga-related content–not just reviews, but articles and interviews, too. If you’re not already familiar with OASG, it’s definitely worth checking out.

As for other things worth checking out online: Justin Stroman’s most recent guest post at Manga Bookshelf focuses on manga adapters and the history of manga adaptation. Vertical is hinting at a new license. (A huge volume of 1980s manga, possibly in hardcover? Yes, please.) Manjiorin of Manga Connection has started her Swan review project. I recently finished reading all of Swan that was published in English. I absolutely loved the series, so am looking forward to reading her reviews. A Bento Books newsletter is now available for those interested in staying on top of Bento Books and its releases. The Kodansha Comics tumblr weighs in on piracy from a publisher’s perspective. And finally, Ryan Holmberg takes a look at 1930s shoujo manga with his article Matsumoto Katsuji and the American Roots of Kawaii.

Quick Takes

Beast & FeastBeast & Feast by Norikazu Akira. After a somewhat dubious first chapter, Beast & Feast ends up being a rather cute and sweet boys’ love manga, although it does seem a little odd to describe it using those words. Considering the seriousness of the yakuza storyline and the violence (mostly implied rather than seen), the manga can actually be surprisingly lighthearted. This is mostly due to the characters. Despite their differences, and despite the fact that Hyodo is a yakuza and Kazuha is a police detective, the two of them ultimately make a great couple and they care about each other tremendously. There’s also a fair amount of explicit sex. Hyodo’s sexual appetite is insatiable, making Beast & Feast a very apt title for the manga. While I wasn’t blown away by Beast & Feast, it was solidly entertaining in addition to having attractive artwork. I enjoyed the manga and its characters. So much so that I plan on picking up Honey Darling, the only other manga by Akira currently available in English. (Actually, now that I think about it, she also collaborated on Clan of the Nakagamis.)

Bride of Deimos, Volume 1Bride of Deimos, Volumes 1-7 written by Etsuko Ikeda, illustrated by Yuho Ashibe. There is something about shoujo horror that I find irresistible; maybe it’s just that so much of it seems to have close ties to Gothic literature and Romanticism and emphasizes the emotional and psychological aspects of the story. Bride of Deimos is an interesting example of this type of shoujo horror. It’s from the 1970s and so it also has that fabulous classic shoujo style, too. Only seven of the seventeen volumes were ever released in English. However, the manga tends to be mostly episodic, so it’s not as though the story feels terribly incomplete. I do wish more had been translated though; I ended up really enjoying the series. The framing story for Bride of Deimos focuses on Minako, a young woman whom the androgynously beautiful devil Deimos is determined to make his bride. Many of the individual tales in some way involve love and generally end very badly for those involved. Bride of Deimos somewhat strangely incorporates both Japanese and Greek mythology as well other elements of traditional Western horror and the supernatural.

Panorama of HellPanorama of Hell by Hideshi Hino. And then there’s Panorama of Hell, a horror manga of a completely different sort from 1982. As can probably be determined from the cover alone, Panorama of Hell is extremely gruesome, bloody, violent, and visceral. Panorama of Hell is legitimately terrifying and frightening, and probably one of the best horror manga that I have read. But because it is so graphic and disturbing, and because the humor is so exceptionally dark, Panorama of Hell is definitely not something that I would recommend to just anyone. It takes a reader with a strong heart and stomach to really appreciate the manga. Panorama of Hell is the story of an unnamed painter who has an obsession with blood which he uses in the creation of his artwork. The manga explores his paintings before turning to his family, his past, and all of the abuse and insanity which has had a tremendous influence on him. Hino mixes surreal imagery with historic events in Panorama of Hell. The results are hellish, driving home just how terrible reality can be. Some of Panorama of Hell is actually based on Hino’s life, which in itself is terrifying.

Sunny, Volume 2Sunny, Volumes 2-3 by Taiyo Matsumoto. Sunny is another manga that draws inspiration from the creator’s life. Set in Japan in the 1970s, Sunny can be almost overwhelmingly melancholic. Although there are heartwarming moments there are just as many scenes that are absolutely heartbreaking. Sunny follows the lives of the children at the Star Kids Home. Some are orphans, some have been completely abandoned by their parents, and some have only been temporarily separated from their families. The story also follows the adults in their lives, both those who are positive influences on the children and those who have caused them harm. The people at Star Kids Home, the children and the adults, form an odd sort of family with all of the benefits and disadvantages that that entails. Out of all of the manga by Matsumoto that has so far been released in English, Sunny is the most realistic and therefore probably the most readily accessible for a casual reader. It lacks much of the surrealism present in his other works. Instead Sunny relies even more heavily on the complexities of the characters and their relationships with one another.

My Week in Manga: July 8-July 14, 2013

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My News and Reviews

Last week I posted two reviews. The first was for The Vast Spread of the Seas, the third novel in Fuyumi Ono’s fantasy series The Twelve Kingdoms. I’ve really been enjoying reading The Twelve Kingdoms and this volume was no exception. I also reviewed Jen Lee Quick’s Off*Beat, Volume 1. Originally published by Tokyopop, the recently established Chromatic Press has rescued the series and I couldn’t be happier. The new Chromatic editions also include some additional bonus content as well.

Elsewhere online: Xavier Guilbert has published his interview with Taiyo Matsumoto from the 2013 Toronto Comic Arts Festival. The most recent episode of the Comic Books Are Burning In Hell podcast focuses on Suehiro Maruo. Kodansha Comics is offering two digital samplers containing the complete first chapters of many of its series. The Real sampler collects chapters from Kodansha’s “real-life” manga: Arisa, Bloody Monday, Danza, Genshiken, Genshiken: Second Season, I Am Here, Kitchen Princess, Missions of Love, and Vinland Saga. The Unreal sampler includes chapters from Kodansha’s fantasy, science fiction, and supernatural series: @ Full Moon, Attack on Titan, Cage of Eden, Fairy Tail, Mardock Scramble, Ninja Girls, No. 6, Sankarea: Undying Love, and Until the Full Moon.

Finally, this week is the Yun Kouga Manga Moveable Feast! Melinda Beasi of Manga Bookshelf is hosting this round and has already posted a marvelous introduction. For my contribution to the Feast I’ll be reviewing the first Loveless omnibus later this week. Loveless was originally published in English by Tokyopop, but Viz Media rescued the license last year (which made me very happy.) Although I enjoy Loveless, I haven’t actually read any of Kouga’s other manga. I look forward to seeing what everyone else has to say about her work.

Quick Takes

Dog X Cat, Volume 1Dog X Cat, Volumes 1-3 by Yoshimi Amasaki. Junya and Atsu have been friends since they were young. They’re in college now and their friendship becomes a little more complicated when Junya lets it slip that he’s actually in love with Atsu. Dog X Cat might not have the most original plot–I’ve seen the friends becoming lovers storyline many a time–but the two young men have a charming relationship with each other and a lot of sex. (Dog X Cat is part of Digital Manga’s more explicit 801 imprint, after all.) Some chapters are told from Junya’s perspective while others are from Atsu’s. It’s nice to see both sides of their story. Dog X Cat is an ongoing series; the fourth volume is scheduled to be released in English in 2014.

Mardock Scramble, Volume 5Mardock Scramble, Volumes 5-7 by Yoshitoki Oima. I’ve read Tow Ubukata’s original Mardock Scramble, but somehow managed to forget how pivotal child and sexual abuse was to the plot. The manga handles it fairly well and hasn’t turned it into something titillating. One thing that I didn’t forget from the novels was the lengthy casino scene. In particular, nearly two hundred pages worth of Blackjack which sorely tried my patience. Although some of the finer details and plot complications are glossed over in Oima’s adaptation, I much preferred reading the two volumes of manga covering the same material. This left one volume for Oima to bring everything to a quickly paced, action-packed close. For the most part, Oima’s interpretation of Mardock Scramble largely succeeds.

No. 5, Volume 1No. 5, Volumes 1-2 by Taiyo Matsumoto. Only two volumes of No. 5 were ever released in English in print. However, the entire series is now available digitally (on a platform I can’t use). I’ve come to love Matsumoto’s work in general and I particularly enjoy No. 5. The story follows Number Five, a member of the Rainbow Council of the International Peackeeping Forces, a small group of people with superhuman abilities. He’s fallen in love and gone rogue and now his teammates must hunt him down. While Number One and the rest of the Rainbow Council try to maintain control of the situation, there are others who are making the argument that the group is obviously dangerous and should no longer exist.

Black Lagoon, Episodes 13-24 directed by Sunao Katabuchi. Although I still enjoyed the second half of Black Lagoon anime, for some reason that I can’t identify I didn’t like it quite as much as the first. The anime follows the manga fairly closely, but takes a few of its own liberties while keeping the same tone as the original. I do think that I still prefer the manga slightly more than the anime, but the anime is entertaining as well. Additionally, the action is a little clearer and easier to follow in the anime. And I continue to be impressed by the sound design. The Black Lagoon anime tends to be violent and bloody and even the protagonists aren’t really “good guys.” They can be just as vicious as the other people they come up against.

Random Musings: Toronto Comic Arts Festival 2013

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© Taiyo Matsumoto

I first learned about the Toronto Comic Arts Festival (TCAF) in 2011 when Usamaru Furuya and Natsume Ono were invited to the event as featured guests. (As a side note: translations of their diary manga from the trip are included in the 2013 TCAF program guide.) It took me two years to finally work up the courage to attend TCAF myself and get my passport in order. 2013 marked TCAF’s tenth anniversary. This year’s festival featured over four hundred creators from nineteen different countries, including mangaka Taiyo Matsumoto and Gengoroh Tagame. While there were festival events throughout May, TCAF 2013’s main exhibition took place on Saturday, May 11th and Sunday, May 12th.

In order to keep the cost of the trip as low as possible, I crossed over the border into Canada from Michigan early Saturday morning along with my good friend Traci (who contributed a guest post here at Experiments in Manga not too long ago.) I arrived in Toronto in time to see The World of Taiyo Matsumoto, an exhibition at The Japan Foundation featuring original artwork by Matsumoto (creator of Blue Spring, Tekkon Kinkreet, GoGo Monster, and the recently released Sunny.) Matsumoto himself was in attendance for a special interview and artist’s talk. The turnout was huge—standing-room only and some people even had to be turned away. Matsumoto admitted that he never expected so many people to turn out to see him and that he was greatly honored. The event and exhibit, which focused on Matsumoto’s artwork, were marvelous. I certainly learned quite a bit: Matsumoto and Santa Inoue (creator of Tokyo Tribes) are cousins and they regularly talk about manga and help each other out; Tekkon Kinkreet was originally intended to be six volumes long, but ended after three since it wasn’t popular enough to continue (although Matsumoto said that he is satisfied with its conclusion and has no desire to revisit the story); in the beginning, Matsumoto was actually reluctant and even resentful working on Ping Pong, which became his breakout manga; and while Matsumoto has always been an innovative artist, more recent developments in printing technology have allowed him to experiment with different drawing materials and techniques, moving even further away from the use of screentone.

© Maurice Vellekoop

From The Japan Foundation, I headed over to the spotlight on Gengoroh Tagame, a highly influential gay manga artist. Joining Tagame were Anne Ishii, Chip Kidd, and Graham Kolbeins to celebrate Tagame and his work and to discuss the recent release of The Passion of Gengoroh Tagame, which they all had a hand in bringing into being. The panelists were all very enthusiastic and had a great senses of humor. Because of this, the spotlight was engaging and entertaining in addition to being informative. Apparently, there was a rumor that Tagame did not want his work translated into English. He assured us all that this was not true. In fact, he was surprised that it took until now for a collection of his manga to be released in English. It is possible that the rumor may have had a chilling effect on the licensing of Tagame’s materials. Like so many other people (myself included), he is very excited about the publication of The Passion of Gengoroh Tagame. He is also unbelievably happy that others share enjoyment in his fantasies. Tagame is unusual in that very few gay manga artists in Japan are able to make their living on their artwork alone, most hold at least a second job. The panel ended with a very interesting conversation about gay manga and bara (manga typically geared towards gay men) and boys’ love and yaoi (manga typically geared towards women.) It’s difficult to generalize about the genres and the distinction between them isn’t always as clear as some people claim or would like; there can be considerable grey area, crossover, and overlap between the two. For a time, yaoi served as an outlet for gay manga before bara became more publicly acceptable and gay manga magazines were established. Tagame actually started out by submitting his work to yaoi magazines when he was eighteen and he continues to have a large number of female fans. In line for his signing after the talk were people of all (adult) ages, genders, and sexualities, which was wonderful to see.

After having my copy of The Passion of Gengoroh Tagame signed, Traci and I met up together again. We made our way down to The Beguiling Books & Art which is an astounding, award-winning comics store. If you find yourself in Toronto, I highly recommend stopping by The Beguiling. It has new comics, old comics, out-of-print comics, mainstream comics, alternative comics, independent comics, domestic comics, international comics (including the largest selection of manga that I’ve ever seen in one place), and more, more, more. And since the shop was across the street from Koreatown, Traci and I took the opportunity to chow down on some delicious Korean food before heading over to Church on Church to catch the tail end of the TCAF Queer Mixer. Unfortunately, we missed the reception and artist talks, but we still were able to see the exhibit Legends: The Gay Erotic Art of Maurice Vellekoop and Gengoroh Tagame which was well worth the trek across town. (Honestly, I was more interested in the art than I was in the mixer itself, anyways.) On a more personal note, I have never had the opportunity to walk around a queer neighborhood before. It was an awesome and somewhat surreal experience for me; it made me very happy just to be in the Church Wellesley Village area.

On Sunday, I attended the Comics Editing International panel which brought together four comics editors from different countries and backgrounds: Thomas Ragon from Dargaud (the oldest comics publisher in France), James Lucas Jones from Oni Press, Mark Siegel from First Second Books, and Hideki Egami from IKKI/Shogakukan. The group talked about the similarities and differences between their work as editors and the comics markets in their countries. The panel was fascinating. I love IKKI manga, and so was very excited to hear editor-in-chief Egami speak. IKKI is different from most magazines in Japan; it appeals to mangaka who want more control over their work and artistic vision as well as those who want to escape the factory-like system associated with so many of the other magazines. Egami mentioned that the manga industry in general is in decline in Japan, and so publishers are beginning to look outside of the country more and more where once they were almost exclusively focused on the domestic market. IKKI has even started to experiment by publishing left-to-right comics with horizontal text, hoping that they will be more easily adapted, translated, and distributed in other countries. I also attended Sunday’s Queer Comics panel which featured Zan Christensen (who is utterly delightful), Erika Moen, Justin Hall, Chip Kidd, and Gilbert Hernandez and Jaime Hernandez. They talked about queer comics specifically and the representation of queer characters in comics in general, with a particular emphasis on non-binary and fluid sexualities and genders, which I personally appreciated. It was a great group and a great discussion.

My very small, TCAF haul

For the most part, I intentionally flew under the radar while at TCAF. I saw several of my fellow manga lovers around (Deb Aoki, Brigid Alverson, and Jocelyne Allen, just to name a few) and I know that there were even more of us there, too, but I tend to keep to myself and didn’t seek anyone out. I did, however, wander around the exhibitors’ area for a bit. Because I promised that I would, I made a point to introduce myself to the wonderful ladies of Chromatic Press and Tokyo Demons, which is one of my more recent obsessions. (I had been invited to the Chromatic Manga Mixer on Friday night, but I sadly wasn’t in town yet.) I also chatted with Alex Woolfson about  Artifice and The Young Protectors and stopped by Jess Fink‘s table long enough to awkwardly profess my love for her work. Ryan Sand’s new publishing effort Youth in Decline made it’s official debut at TCAF, so I picked up a copy of the first issue of Frontier to show my support. One of the best things about TCAF, other than the chance to see so many fantastic artists who I already follow all in one place (and there were a lot of them there), was the opportunity to discover creators who I wasn’t previously aware of. This is how I ended up bringing home Andrew Fulton‘s minicomic Pubes of Fire, Pubes of Flame which continues to greatly amuse me.

I really do not do well in unstructured, social settings; simply attending TCAF was a huge deal for me and a tremendous personal achievement. I largely consider my first TCAF experience to be a success. I am very happy to report that Traci and I both had a phenomenal time. After only a few hours of being there, I was already making plans for a return visit for next year’s show. Seriously, TCAF is amazing. There was so much going on that I had to make some extremely tough decisions about which programs to attend over others. I saw a ton of incredible work from incredible creators from all over the world and I still feel like there was more that I didn’t get to see. So next year, I’ll be showing up no later than the Friday before the main exhibition and preferably earlier. I’ll be scheduling more time to spend exploring every nook and cranny of the exhibitors’ area. I’ll also be carrying around some snacks with me during the festival; I was so busy and engaged by the programming and exhibits that I actually forgot to eat for most of the day. Next year, I hope to have the guts to actually introduce myself to everyone and maybe even socialize a bit more, too. (Please do not be offended if I didn’t say hello to you this year!) As long as there’s a TCAF, you can expect me to be there.

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 by showing us what the girls have in common. 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.

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.

My Viz 25

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Viz is celebrating will celebrate its 25th anniversary this summer, which is quite an accomplishment. Given how many English-language manga publishers have fallen away over time, you have to give Viz credit for sticking around, no matter how well resourced they may be. They’ve always struck me as grown-ups and professionals, which certainly helps. Beyond that, I appreciate the range of material they’ve published over time and that they continue to try and publish.

So, in preparation for the milestone, I thought I’d list 25 of my favorite Viz manga. It’s impressive that it was actually difficult to limit this list to 25, and I ended up having to institute a one-title-per-creator rule to make it possible. Here they are in alphabetical order:

  1. 20th Century Boys, written and illustrated by Naoki Urasawa: my favorite of Urasawa’s paranoid thriller, because it’s as frisky and funny as it is suspenseful.
  2. A, A1, written and illustrated by Moto Hagio: dreamy science fiction about people with too many feelings for the universe to contain.
  3. Benkei in New York, written by Jinpachi Mori, illustrated by Jiro Taniguchi: beautifully drawn (because it’s Taniguchi) and slyly written noir tales of a mysterious Japanese man in the Big Apple.
  4. Children of the Sea, written and illustrated by Daisuke Igarashi: some of the most viscerally absorbing art I’ve ever seen in a comic used to tell a solid environmental fable.
  5. Cross Game, written and illustrated by Mitsuru Adachi: simply the bet, funniest, most heartfelt sport manga I’ve ever read.
  6. The Drifting Classroom, written and illustrated by Kazuo Umezu: an elementary school gets blown into a dangerous wasteland, and everything falls apart in the most gruesome, hilarious ways.
  7. Even a Monkey Can Draw Manga, written and illustrated by Koji Aihara and Kentaro Takekuma: much more than a parody of instruction manuals, it’s a hilarious take-down of the form itself and the sausage-factory elements that can produce it.
  8. Fullmetal Alchemist, written and illustrated by Hiromu Arakawa: a great shônen adventure series with some of the crispest, most focused storytelling you’re likely to find in this category.
  9. GoGo Monster, written and illustrated by Taiyo Matsumoto: gorgeous art used in service of an imaginative, emotionally complex story, beautifully packaged for bonus points.
  10. Hikaru no Go, written by Yumi Hotta, illustrated by Takeshi Obata: the series that will make you ask how a comic about a board game can be so exciting.
  11. Honey and Clover, written and illustrated by Chica Umino: art-school students give a master class in mono no aware.
  12. House of Five Leaves, written and illustrated by Natsume Ono: elegant, character-driven examination of a group of kidnappers in Edo era Japan.
  13. I’ll Give it My All… Tomorrow, written and illustrated by Shunju Aono: one of the few comics about losers trying to make comics that I can truly love, because Aono knows he’s writing about a loser and spares his protagonist virtually nothing.
  14. Maison Ikkoku, written and illustrated by Rumiko Takahashi: further evidence, as if it was needed, that Takahashi is queen of the well-told situation comedy.
  15. Nana, written and illustrated by Ai Yazawa: the lives and love of two very different young women who share the same name and an enduring friendship through life’s ups and downs in rock-and-roll Tokyo.
  16. Oishinbo, written by Tetu Karia, illustrated by Akira Hanasaki: gone too soon, but much appreciated for its food-obsessed tour through Japan’s culinary culture.
  17. One Piece, written and illustrated by Eiichiro Oda: an absolutely magical blend of high adventure, low comedy, heartbreaking drama, and whatever the hell else Oda feels like throwing into the mix.
  18. Ôoku: The Inner Chambers, written and illustrated by Fumi Yoshinaga: an engrossing alternate universe where most of the men have died, leaving the survivor to sly, courtly intrigue and surprising emotional brutality.
  19. Phoenix, written and illustrated by Osamu Tezuka: a sprawling example of Tezuka at his peak.
  20. Real, written and illustrated by Takehiko Inoue: as smart and sensitive as it is gorgeous and visceral, telling the stories of wheelchair basketball players.
  21. Sand Chronicles, written and illustrated by Hinako Ashihara: heartfelt melodrama about a girl’s troubled journey from early adolescence to womanhood.
  22. Saturn Apartments, written and illustrated by Hisae Iwaoka: another example of why I love slice-of-life science fiction with down-to-earth people in out-of-this-world circumstances.
  23. Secret Comics Japan, written and illustrated by various artists: long before Ax came this wooly and marvelous collection of alternative manga shorts.
  24. Sexy Voice and Robo, written and illustrated by Iou Kuroda: a nosy girl drags a hapless guy into her sometimes-perilous odd jobs snooping for a retired mobster, offering great variety of tones but consistently sharp observations about human nature.
  25. Uzumaki, written and illustrated by Junji Ito: because you always love your first Ito manga best, and this one is an excellent representation of his horrifying work. Of course, if Viz had published Tomie first…

What are your favorite Viz series? If you’d rather post a similar list at your own blog, I’d love to read it (and link to it). Otherwise, let loose in the comments.

 

The Best Manga You’re Not Reading: Blue Spring

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As depicted in most shojo and shonen manga, the Japanese high school is the epitome of order, with students in neat, military-style uniforms diligently studying for exams, tidying up classrooms, staging plays, and participating in cultural festivals. Students who don’t fit into the school’s established pecking order — social, athletic, or academic — quickly find themselves ostracized by their peers for lack of purpose.

Taiyo Matsumoto, however, offers a very different image of the Japanese high school in his anthology Blue Spring. His subjects are the kids with “front teeth rotten from huffing thinner,” who “answer to reason with their fists and never question their excessive passions” — in short, the delinquents. Kitano High School, the milieu these kids inhabit, is a crumbling eyesore with graffiti-covered walls, trash-filled stairwells, and indifferent faculty. Students cut class and fill their after-school hours with girlie magazines, petty crime, and smack-talk at the local diner, marking time until they join the world of adult responsibility.

Gangs, bullies, disaffected teens playing at thug life — it’s familiar territory, yet in Matsumoto’s hands, these potentially cliche stories acquire a new and strange quality. Matsumoto eschews linear narrative in favor of digressions and fragments; as a result, we feel more like we’re living in the characters’ heads than reading a tidy account of their actions. Snatches of daydreams sometimes interrupt the narrative, as do jump cuts and surreal imagery: sharks and puffer fish drift past a classroom window where two teens make out, a UFO languishes above the school campus. Even the graffiti plays an integral part of Matsumoto’s storytelling; the walls are a paean to masturbation, booze, and suicide, cheerfully urging “No more political pacts–sex acts!”

One of the most arresting aspects of Blue Spring is Matsumoto’s ability to manipulate time. In one of the book’s most visually stunning sequences, for example, Matsumoto seamlessly blends two events — a baseball game and a mahjong game — into a single sequence:

Matsumoto makes it seem as if the gambler’s action precipitated the slide into second base. It’s an elegant visual trick that establishes the simultaneity of the two games while suggesting the intensity of the mahjong play; the discarding of a tile is portrayed with the same explosive energy as stealing a base.

Some of Matsumoto’s time-bending sequences are more cinematic, evoking the kind of split-screen technique popularized in the 1960s by filmmakers like John Frankenheimer and Richard Fleischer. The prologue, for example, contains a series of short, vertical strips in which we see unnamed teenagers preparing for a day at school. Matsumoto deliberates re-frames the activity in each panel, drawing back to show the full scene in some, and pulling in close to reveal the blankness of a characters’ face in another:


It’s an effective montage, largely for the way it juxtaposes the banal with the violent; the fist-fight is presented in the same, matter-of-fact fashion as the student eating breakfast, suggesting that conflict is as routine for some of Blue Spring‘s characters as catching the train to school. The transitions, too, are handled deftly; the eye can process these little vignettes in a sequence while the brain grasps the entire prologue as a simultaneous collage of events, a representative cross-section of high school students going about their business on a typical day.

Matsumoto’s stark, black-and-white imagery won’t be to every reader’s taste; I’d be the first admit that many of the kids in Blue Spring look older and wearier than Keith Richards, with their sunken eyes and rotten teeth. But the studied ugliness of the character designs and urban settings suits the material perfectly, hinting at the anger and emptiness of the characters’ lives. Matsumoto offers no easy answers for his characters’ behavior, nor any false hope that they will escape the lives of violence and despair that seem to be their destiny. Rather, he offers a frank, funny and often disturbing look at the years in which most of us were unformed lumps of clay — or, in Matsumoto’s memorable formulation, a time when most of us were blue: “No matter how passionate you were, no matter how much your blood boiled, I believe youth is a blue time. Blue — that indistinct blue that paints the town before the sun rises.”

This is an expanded version of a review that appeared at PopCultureShock on 4/30/07.

BLUE SPRING • BY TAIYO MATSUMOTO • VIZ • 216 pp. • RATING: MATURE (18+)

The Best Manga You’re Not Reading: Blue Spring

by

As depicted in most shojo and shonen manga, the Japanese high school is the epitome of order, with students in neat, military-style uniforms diligently studying for exams, tidying up classrooms, staging plays, and participating in cultural festivals. Students who don’t fit into the school’s established pecking order — social, athletic, or academic — quickly find themselves ostracized by their peers for lack of purpose.

Taiyo Matsumoto, however, offers a very different image of the Japanese high school in his anthology Blue Spring. His subjects are the kids with “front teeth rotten from huffing thinner,” who “answer to reason with their fists and never question their excessive passions” — in short, the delinquents. Kitano High School, the milieu these kids inhabit, is a crumbling eyesore with graffiti-covered walls, trash-filled stairwells, and indifferent faculty. Students cut class and fill their after-school hours with girlie magazines, petty crime, and smack-talk at the local diner, marking time until they join the world of adult responsibility.

Gangs, bullies, disaffected teens playing at thug life — it’s familiar territory, yet in Matsumoto’s hands, these potentially cliche stories acquire a new and strange quality. Matsumoto eschews linear narrative in favor of digressions and fragments; as a result, we feel more like we’re living in the characters’ heads than reading a tidy account of their actions. Snatches of daydreams sometimes interrupt the narrative, as do jump cuts and surreal imagery: sharks and puffer fish drift past a classroom window where two teens make out, a UFO languishes above the school campus. Even the graffiti plays an integral part of Matsumoto’s storytelling; the walls are a paean to masturbation, booze, and suicide, cheerfully urging “No more political pacts—sex acts!”

One of the most arresting aspects of Blue Spring is Matsumoto’s ability to manipulate time. In one of the book’s most visually stunning sequences, for example, Matsumoto seamlessly blends two events — a baseball game and a mahjong game — into a single sequence:

Matsumoto makes it seem as if the gambler’s action precipitated the slide into second base. It’s an elegant visual trick that establishes the simultaneity of the two games while suggesting the intensity of the mahjong play; the discarding of a tile is portrayed with the same explosive energy as stealing a base.

Some of Matsumoto’s time-bending sequences are more cinematic, evoking the kind of split-screen technique popularized in the 1960s by filmmakers like John Frankenheimer and Richard Fleischer. The prologue, for example, contains a series of short, vertical strips in which we see unnamed teenagers preparing for a day at school. Matsumoto deliberates re-frames the activity in each panel, drawing back to show the full scene in some, and pulling in close to reveal the blankness of a characters’ face in another:


It’s an effective montage, largely for the way it juxtaposes the banal with the violent; the fist-fight is presented in the same, matter-of-fact fashion as the student eating breakfast, suggesting that conflict is as routine for some of Blue Spring‘s characters as catching the train to school. The transitions, too, are handled deftly; the eye can process these little vignettes in a sequence while the brain grasps the entire prologue as a simultaneous collage of events, a representative cross-section of high school students going about their business on a typical day.

Matsumoto’s stark, black-and-white imagery won’t be to every reader’s taste; I’d be the first admit that many of the kids in Blue Spring look older and wearier than Keith Richards, with their sunken eyes and rotten teeth. But the studied ugliness of the character designs and urban settings suits the material perfectly, hinting at the anger and emptiness of the characters’ lives. Matsumoto offers no easy answers for his characters’ behavior, nor any false hope that they will escape the lives of violence and despair that seem to be their destiny. Rather, he offers a frank, funny and often disturbing look at the years in which most of us were unformed lumps of clay — or, in Matsumoto’s memorable formulation, a time when most of us were blue: “No matter how passionate you were, no matter how much your blood boiled, I believe youth is a blue time. Blue — that indistinct blue that paints the town before the sun rises.”

This is an expanded version of a review that appeared at PopCultureShock on 4/30/07.

BLUE SPRING • BY TAIYO MATSUMOTO • VIZ • 216 pp. • RATING: MATURE (18+)