Monday, May 22, 2006

Forward, backward, left, up, right slant, sideways, it doesn’t matter–I’ve concluded motion is in itself a greeting, stubborn in its pace, accessible for the very same reason, and by far the best choice out of all the beginnings I formulated. One option was to ply you with links, canvass the Internet for sweet morsels to lay unto your feet, while another route was lined with dire promises and mission statements most inspirational. Too played, too late. I’d like to start in media res, foot on the pavement, right in the thick of it. It’s like we never left.

Anime is lost on me. This is where we adjourned and this is where we’ll start. Oh, I’ve tried being open-minded, pushing past those mental images of smelly conventions and websites set afire over arguments about the cut of Vampire Huntress 78.33 ½’s jib, but my entertainment horizons have not expanded. I’ve tried Ninja Scroll, Appleseed, all the titles deemed palatable by Disney, Akira, which I’ve heard is a seminal work in the genre, and Grave of the Fireflies, probably the only flick that incited a slight up-curling of the lips.

I’m fully aware of the double standard. Why does it take a serious portrayal of war-torn Japan to trip that approval threshold? Do I crave an illustrated rendition of Art Spiegelman’s Maus, for instance, or do I expect Buzz Lightyear to hold forth compellingly on Russo-Mongolian dynamics? No, certainly not. But I know what I don’t crave.

I don’t crave wondering why 30% of the animation wasn’t animated. I don’t crave hero shots dripping with ridiculous gravitas. I don’t crave grotesquely dilated eyes, and I don’t crave characters coiffed as if they were communal smocks in Mrs. Claymutter’s 3rd grade art class. And the brooding! Zip up the emo act and nurse that shit, for the love of Dragonballs, and do it soon because I don’t want to roll my eyes any longer. Am I complaining too much? Perhaps, if only to put tomorrow’s meaningful discourse in sharp relief.