Shindou and Touya - Santa's Go-elves - would like to wish everyone a happy holiday season.
Regular posts will resume on January 7, 2010. Have a Happy New Year!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Happy Holidays!
Shindou and Touya - Santa's Go-elves - would like to wish everyone a happy holiday season.
Regular posts will resume on January 7, 2010. Have a Happy New Year!
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Hanasakeru Seishonen and Miracle Train Reviews
Warning: Some mid-series spoilers for Hanasakeru Seishonen.
I used to limit the number of ongoing anime series I was watching to just a few. There are so many older anime series I need to catch up on, that I didn't think I had time to watch currently-airing series as well. But finally I concluded that if I only caught up on older series that I would never get around to seeing the new series, and the problem would grow on itself.
So recently, I've taken up watching a number of currently-airing series. Two series that I've found interesting - for different reasons - are Hanasakeru Seishonen and Miracle Train.
Hanasakeru Seishonen is a 39-episode series that began this past summer. It's currently airing at Episode 32. I've been pleasantly surprised by this series, which is a change from the usual bloodthirsty shonen stuff that I watch. ;)
The story revolves around Kajika Burnsworth, the only child of Harry Burnsworth, an oil magnate. Harry proposes an odd challenge for his teenage daughter: that she take the next year to choose her future husband from among three candidates. The catch is - he won't tell her who these three men are. Her job is to find that out for herself.
From the outset, it seems pre-destined as to who Harry really means for Kajika to pick: her childhood friend and sometimes-guardian Li-Leng, head of the powerful Chinese industrialist Huang family group. Kajika spent her childhood being raised by friendly natives on a Caribbean island that Harry owned, and Li-Leng was the teenage boy who summered on the island with her. But Li-Leng initially seems more like an older brother figure to Kajika than a romantic interest.
So as the series moves forward, we meet the three men Harry was referring to: Eugene, an heir to one of Burnsworth Oil's subsidiaries and a tragic-poet type figure; Prince Rumaty, the grandson of King Machaty of the oil kingdom Raginei; and Carl Rosenthal, the son of the oil magnate whom Harry Burnsworth beat out for control of Raginei's oil export market. All three of these men come to fall in love with Kajika; but there's more to the story than that.
In a flashback episode, we see that decades ago King Machaty had traveled to America for an international conference, and had a one-night affair with an American woman. Their child, as it turns out, is Harry Burnsworth. As a civil war erupts in Raginei over succession to the throne, the secret that complicates everything is that Kajika - as the child of Machaty's first-born son - is actually first in line to the throne of Raginei.
Kajika is a strong character and genuinely likable. I don't recognize her seiyuu, Aya Endo, from anything else, but all four of Kajika's suitors are played by well-known seiyuu: Toshiyuki Morikawa (Li-Leng), Daisuke Ono (Eugene), Daisuke Namikawa (Rumaty) and Jun Fukuyama (Carl). It's a quality production and an engaging story, and I'm looking forward to watching the last seven episodes to see how it ends.
Miracle Train looked like a lost cause to me, virtually from the first episode. The premise is that the train stations of Tokyo's Oedo line - Tocho, Shinjuku, Roppongi, Tsukishima, Ryogoku, and Shiodome - are personified as bishonen, and their mission is to help female passengers with whatever problem-of-the-week it is that they have.
The first few episodes were tough slogging. Each week's woman who got on board the Miracle Train seemed to have an even less interesting problem than the one who got on the week before, making for a parade of female insipidness that was hardly inspiring. For example: one episode featured a psychic who had gone into business with another psychic. Her partner was pushing her to market her services to as many clients as possible, while she only wanted to read for a few clients a day as she used to. Her problem was solved when Ryogoku told her that it was okay for her to be honest with her partner about her wishes. She needed a total stranger to tell her this...?
The main problem of the show is that we never get to know any of the main characters very well. We get the short version of what distinguishes each of them: Tocho is the seemingly stern (but secretly kind-hearted) leader; Shinjuku is the rakish ladies' man; Roppongi is the quiet, thoughtful one; Tsukishima is the monja-loving one; Ryogoku is the one who loves Edo period doramas; and Shiodome, as the "youngest" (aka the newest-built) station, is short and excitable and child-like in his personality.
Besides the six train station characters, there is a mysterious masked conductor; a young girl dressed in pink who acts as kind of a welcoming hostess figure; and Tokugawa, a little black and white dog.
Tokugawa makes snide asides about the human characters for the viewers' sake, and grumbles a lot about everything. As the series dragged on, I half-expected an Adorable Pet Episode, an episode in which Tokugawa was the star, since episodes centered around cute animals never fail to work. But I guess in a 13-episode series, there wasn't enough time for this.
In short, I kept watching Miracle Train like an automaton, expecting less and less of it, looking forward to the end of the series simply because it would be the end of the series.
But the last two episodes - Episodes 10 and 11 - have been unexpectedly good. Episode 10 was about an actress who was the daughter of a TV cop drama star from decades past. She wanted to do the same action stunts as her father used to, but the director kept using the stuntwoman instead for the dangerous stunts. To convince her that she needed to focus on what was really important - playing her character with heart - the eki-bishies acted out an episode of the old cop drama, complete with a chase scene through the rivers of Tokyo - with a runaway train car. It was funny and clever and quite enjoyable to watch.
And Episode 11 was even better, though in a completely different way. The story featured a rather ditzy girl, who we first see rushing to meet her boyfriend in Roppongi. The girl is easily distracted by everything: an old man who is lost and needs directions, two little schoolkids who are fighting, etc. As she explains to the eki-bishies, since she stops to help everybody, she usually winds up being late for her dates.
As the episode goes on, the eki-bishies escort her to where she is supposed to meet her boyfriend, while Roppongi (the thoughtful one, remember) becomes increasingly disturbed by the girl's behavior, while not being able to articulate why.
It is not until - literally - the last three minutes of the episode, when something truly startling occurs, that we finally understand what the entire episode was about. The twist was so unexpected and yet so perfect that I can't dismiss Miracle Train so easily anymore. The show seems to be hitting its stride - just as it's coming to an end. There are only two episodes left in the series, and you can be sure I'll be there to watch them.
I used to limit the number of ongoing anime series I was watching to just a few. There are so many older anime series I need to catch up on, that I didn't think I had time to watch currently-airing series as well. But finally I concluded that if I only caught up on older series that I would never get around to seeing the new series, and the problem would grow on itself.
So recently, I've taken up watching a number of currently-airing series. Two series that I've found interesting - for different reasons - are Hanasakeru Seishonen and Miracle Train.
Hanasakeru Seishonen is a 39-episode series that began this past summer. It's currently airing at Episode 32. I've been pleasantly surprised by this series, which is a change from the usual bloodthirsty shonen stuff that I watch. ;)
The story revolves around Kajika Burnsworth, the only child of Harry Burnsworth, an oil magnate. Harry proposes an odd challenge for his teenage daughter: that she take the next year to choose her future husband from among three candidates. The catch is - he won't tell her who these three men are. Her job is to find that out for herself.
From the outset, it seems pre-destined as to who Harry really means for Kajika to pick: her childhood friend and sometimes-guardian Li-Leng, head of the powerful Chinese industrialist Huang family group. Kajika spent her childhood being raised by friendly natives on a Caribbean island that Harry owned, and Li-Leng was the teenage boy who summered on the island with her. But Li-Leng initially seems more like an older brother figure to Kajika than a romantic interest.
So as the series moves forward, we meet the three men Harry was referring to: Eugene, an heir to one of Burnsworth Oil's subsidiaries and a tragic-poet type figure; Prince Rumaty, the grandson of King Machaty of the oil kingdom Raginei; and Carl Rosenthal, the son of the oil magnate whom Harry Burnsworth beat out for control of Raginei's oil export market. All three of these men come to fall in love with Kajika; but there's more to the story than that.
In a flashback episode, we see that decades ago King Machaty had traveled to America for an international conference, and had a one-night affair with an American woman. Their child, as it turns out, is Harry Burnsworth. As a civil war erupts in Raginei over succession to the throne, the secret that complicates everything is that Kajika - as the child of Machaty's first-born son - is actually first in line to the throne of Raginei.
Kajika is a strong character and genuinely likable. I don't recognize her seiyuu, Aya Endo, from anything else, but all four of Kajika's suitors are played by well-known seiyuu: Toshiyuki Morikawa (Li-Leng), Daisuke Ono (Eugene), Daisuke Namikawa (Rumaty) and Jun Fukuyama (Carl). It's a quality production and an engaging story, and I'm looking forward to watching the last seven episodes to see how it ends.
Miracle Train looked like a lost cause to me, virtually from the first episode. The premise is that the train stations of Tokyo's Oedo line - Tocho, Shinjuku, Roppongi, Tsukishima, Ryogoku, and Shiodome - are personified as bishonen, and their mission is to help female passengers with whatever problem-of-the-week it is that they have.
The first few episodes were tough slogging. Each week's woman who got on board the Miracle Train seemed to have an even less interesting problem than the one who got on the week before, making for a parade of female insipidness that was hardly inspiring. For example: one episode featured a psychic who had gone into business with another psychic. Her partner was pushing her to market her services to as many clients as possible, while she only wanted to read for a few clients a day as she used to. Her problem was solved when Ryogoku told her that it was okay for her to be honest with her partner about her wishes. She needed a total stranger to tell her this...?
The main problem of the show is that we never get to know any of the main characters very well. We get the short version of what distinguishes each of them: Tocho is the seemingly stern (but secretly kind-hearted) leader; Shinjuku is the rakish ladies' man; Roppongi is the quiet, thoughtful one; Tsukishima is the monja-loving one; Ryogoku is the one who loves Edo period doramas; and Shiodome, as the "youngest" (aka the newest-built) station, is short and excitable and child-like in his personality.
Besides the six train station characters, there is a mysterious masked conductor; a young girl dressed in pink who acts as kind of a welcoming hostess figure; and Tokugawa, a little black and white dog.
Tokugawa makes snide asides about the human characters for the viewers' sake, and grumbles a lot about everything. As the series dragged on, I half-expected an Adorable Pet Episode, an episode in which Tokugawa was the star, since episodes centered around cute animals never fail to work. But I guess in a 13-episode series, there wasn't enough time for this.
In short, I kept watching Miracle Train like an automaton, expecting less and less of it, looking forward to the end of the series simply because it would be the end of the series.
But the last two episodes - Episodes 10 and 11 - have been unexpectedly good. Episode 10 was about an actress who was the daughter of a TV cop drama star from decades past. She wanted to do the same action stunts as her father used to, but the director kept using the stuntwoman instead for the dangerous stunts. To convince her that she needed to focus on what was really important - playing her character with heart - the eki-bishies acted out an episode of the old cop drama, complete with a chase scene through the rivers of Tokyo - with a runaway train car. It was funny and clever and quite enjoyable to watch.
And Episode 11 was even better, though in a completely different way. The story featured a rather ditzy girl, who we first see rushing to meet her boyfriend in Roppongi. The girl is easily distracted by everything: an old man who is lost and needs directions, two little schoolkids who are fighting, etc. As she explains to the eki-bishies, since she stops to help everybody, she usually winds up being late for her dates.
As the episode goes on, the eki-bishies escort her to where she is supposed to meet her boyfriend, while Roppongi (the thoughtful one, remember) becomes increasingly disturbed by the girl's behavior, while not being able to articulate why.
It is not until - literally - the last three minutes of the episode, when something truly startling occurs, that we finally understand what the entire episode was about. The twist was so unexpected and yet so perfect that I can't dismiss Miracle Train so easily anymore. The show seems to be hitting its stride - just as it's coming to an end. There are only two episodes left in the series, and you can be sure I'll be there to watch them.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Neo-Shonen Fujoshi Speaks!
I've finally figured out what kind of otaku I am.
I'd been wondering about it, since - despite being what I thought was one hundred percent female my whole life - once I became an anime and manga fan, I discovered that I am actually part-teenage boy.
Because nothing else would explain why I liked this kind of anime so much:
I'm really into shonen animes. Giant mecha grappling with each other, ships firing laser beams and blowing stuff up, people throwing each other into mountainsides a mile off in the distance... that's my kind of anime.
When reading novels, I like psychological stories, ones that really get into the heads of the characters. My mystery novel, Portola Bay, is a psychological story. I'm a literary type of writer, myself. But when it comes to anime, I prefer to see huge sprawling battle scenes, with people fighting like there's no tomorrow, utilizing bizarre and fantastical weapons and powers.
The way I see it, this hyper-violence is fantasy; it's not real, so I can just enjoy it as fantasy. It's the reason samurais are so easily romanticized today - because none of them actually exist anymore. If they did, you and I would be running in the opposite direction as fast as our little feet could take us: because those guys were fierce. As soon as something is taken out of the realm of reality, it becomes safe to enjoy. For me, shonen manga and anime is about guys engaging in lots of exciting fight scenes; and speaking as a fujoshi, or yaoi fangirl, it's even better that most of them are bishonens.
But it didn't use to be that way. Once, shonen was another kind of animal altogether.
The best panel I saw at this year's Otakon was "Kenshiro to Kenshin: The Neo-Shonen Revolution," presented by Daryl Surat, host of the Anime World Order podcast and contributor to Otaku USA magazine. In a smart, crisply-delivered and humor-filled hour, Surat outlined the history of shonen manga - and it was extremely disturbing.
Referring to shonen stories from the past like Fist of the North Star and Violence Jack, Surat's talk included illustrations showing what shonen used to be about. In a word: ultraviolence. And not just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill ultraviolence. In a genre intended to be read - incredibly enough - by young prepubescent boys, Japanese shonen manga used to display the most graphic violence imaginable.
Here were two examples given. First, a villain keeps two rape slaves, one male and one female - turning them into quadruple amputees so as to leave them completely defenseless. And second: a battle scene where naked women and children, including babies, are imprisoned in see-through plastic bubbles attached to the villain's giant mecha: meaning the hero has to choose whether to let the villain go (and allow him to enslave all of civilization), or to destroy the villain and his mecha - and kill all of the innocent women and children.
The hero goes ahead and destroys the mecha.
Surat deadpanned: "You wouldn't see Ichigo (from Bleach) doing this."
Well, no... you sure wouldn't. And you wouldn't have me as a fan watching it if you did. The creators of shonen manga finally figured it out: you'll get the female fans - if you take care not to completely and utterly alienate them to begin with. Not only were female fans grossed out by gruesome scenes like the ones described above, but they were turned off by the sheer look of shonen heroes. Think Arnold Schwarzenegger in his bodybuilding days - on super-steroids - and that's what these old-school shonen heroes looked like. These were shonen heroes for boys, not for girls and women:
And so, as Surat concluded, the people behind shonen manga and anime made some deliberate changes. Today we have "neo-shonen" manga and anime: shonen for everyone, girls and women included. Starting with Rurouni Kenshin, shonen creators realized that girls were in fact interested in shonen stories, but were not enticed by the mutant-ish appearance of shonen heroes. So Kenshin was made less beefy, less muscular, with a pretty, girly face, so as to draw in the female audience:
His actions too were made less... genuinely samurai-like... and more like what we now see today with Naruto and Ichigo Kurosaki. It's the kinder, gentler brand of shonen hero. A neo-shonen hero.
Surat's excellent presentation made me appreciate the history of shonen and more importantly, what shonen has evolved into today. The decision to make shonen more accessible and attractive to females paid off handsomely not only for its creators, but for all of us fangirls who live on the BL/yaoi side of the tracks. At the end of his presentation, Surat showed a picture of Ed from Fullmetal Alchemist brandishing his metal arm, noting dryly that while women in the audience were probably looking at Ed's face, the only thing he cared about (as a guy) was that cool metal arm. ;)
To each his or her own... Shonen stories becoming girl-friendly has made it possible for myself and innumerable other female fans to enjoy shonen anime as much as the guys do. You don't necessarily have to be a fujoshi either (though I would argue it's more fun that way).
And so that's the kind of otaku I am - I am a yaoi fangirl who loves the new shonen heroes.
It's good being a neo-shonen fujoshi. ;)
I'd been wondering about it, since - despite being what I thought was one hundred percent female my whole life - once I became an anime and manga fan, I discovered that I am actually part-teenage boy.
Because nothing else would explain why I liked this kind of anime so much:
I'm really into shonen animes. Giant mecha grappling with each other, ships firing laser beams and blowing stuff up, people throwing each other into mountainsides a mile off in the distance... that's my kind of anime.
When reading novels, I like psychological stories, ones that really get into the heads of the characters. My mystery novel, Portola Bay, is a psychological story. I'm a literary type of writer, myself. But when it comes to anime, I prefer to see huge sprawling battle scenes, with people fighting like there's no tomorrow, utilizing bizarre and fantastical weapons and powers.
The way I see it, this hyper-violence is fantasy; it's not real, so I can just enjoy it as fantasy. It's the reason samurais are so easily romanticized today - because none of them actually exist anymore. If they did, you and I would be running in the opposite direction as fast as our little feet could take us: because those guys were fierce. As soon as something is taken out of the realm of reality, it becomes safe to enjoy. For me, shonen manga and anime is about guys engaging in lots of exciting fight scenes; and speaking as a fujoshi, or yaoi fangirl, it's even better that most of them are bishonens.
But it didn't use to be that way. Once, shonen was another kind of animal altogether.
The best panel I saw at this year's Otakon was "Kenshiro to Kenshin: The Neo-Shonen Revolution," presented by Daryl Surat, host of the Anime World Order podcast and contributor to Otaku USA magazine. In a smart, crisply-delivered and humor-filled hour, Surat outlined the history of shonen manga - and it was extremely disturbing.
Referring to shonen stories from the past like Fist of the North Star and Violence Jack, Surat's talk included illustrations showing what shonen used to be about. In a word: ultraviolence. And not just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill ultraviolence. In a genre intended to be read - incredibly enough - by young prepubescent boys, Japanese shonen manga used to display the most graphic violence imaginable.
Here were two examples given. First, a villain keeps two rape slaves, one male and one female - turning them into quadruple amputees so as to leave them completely defenseless. And second: a battle scene where naked women and children, including babies, are imprisoned in see-through plastic bubbles attached to the villain's giant mecha: meaning the hero has to choose whether to let the villain go (and allow him to enslave all of civilization), or to destroy the villain and his mecha - and kill all of the innocent women and children.
The hero goes ahead and destroys the mecha.
Surat deadpanned: "You wouldn't see Ichigo (from Bleach) doing this."
Well, no... you sure wouldn't. And you wouldn't have me as a fan watching it if you did. The creators of shonen manga finally figured it out: you'll get the female fans - if you take care not to completely and utterly alienate them to begin with. Not only were female fans grossed out by gruesome scenes like the ones described above, but they were turned off by the sheer look of shonen heroes. Think Arnold Schwarzenegger in his bodybuilding days - on super-steroids - and that's what these old-school shonen heroes looked like. These were shonen heroes for boys, not for girls and women:
And so, as Surat concluded, the people behind shonen manga and anime made some deliberate changes. Today we have "neo-shonen" manga and anime: shonen for everyone, girls and women included. Starting with Rurouni Kenshin, shonen creators realized that girls were in fact interested in shonen stories, but were not enticed by the mutant-ish appearance of shonen heroes. So Kenshin was made less beefy, less muscular, with a pretty, girly face, so as to draw in the female audience:
His actions too were made less... genuinely samurai-like... and more like what we now see today with Naruto and Ichigo Kurosaki. It's the kinder, gentler brand of shonen hero. A neo-shonen hero.
Surat's excellent presentation made me appreciate the history of shonen and more importantly, what shonen has evolved into today. The decision to make shonen more accessible and attractive to females paid off handsomely not only for its creators, but for all of us fangirls who live on the BL/yaoi side of the tracks. At the end of his presentation, Surat showed a picture of Ed from Fullmetal Alchemist brandishing his metal arm, noting dryly that while women in the audience were probably looking at Ed's face, the only thing he cared about (as a guy) was that cool metal arm. ;)
To each his or her own... Shonen stories becoming girl-friendly has made it possible for myself and innumerable other female fans to enjoy shonen anime as much as the guys do. You don't necessarily have to be a fujoshi either (though I would argue it's more fun that way).
And so that's the kind of otaku I am - I am a yaoi fangirl who loves the new shonen heroes.
It's good being a neo-shonen fujoshi. ;)
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Bromance, Shonen Style
Warning: Spoilers for the end of The Prince of Tennis (anime and manga).
In shonen stories there are often relationships between boys that aren't shonen-ai, but that are otherwise very significant and unexpectedly deep. In a sense, they are bromances. I see bromance as being a bit like a romance; the pair involved act in ways that are unfathomable to others but which make perfect sense to them.
One of these odd bromance-type, not easily defined relationships can be found in The Prince of Tennis between the protagonist Ryoma Echizen and Kunimitsu Tezuka, the captain of the school tennis club.
Ryoma Echizen is a short 12-year-old tennis prodigy. Born and raised in America, and already the winner of four American junior championships, when his family returns home to Japan Ryoma enrolls at Seishun Gakuen, or "Seigaku" for short, and joins the tennis club.
Ryoma is an odd shonen hero. He is taciturn, most of the time choosing to watch others and only reacting when provoked. Usually he will observe events, then get a little smirk on his face and say something snarky. Then he'll go beat someone at tennis. He is the most unexpressive shonen hero I've seen yet. His trademark saying is mada mada da ne, meaning approximately "you're not there yet" or "you're not ready yet." He usually uses this phrase on bullies (before he beats the pants off of them in tennis).
In the initial episodes, we first see team captain Tezuka standing on the sidelines, stone-faced, issuing one-word commands to his team. He speaks even less than Ryoma. (He's voiced by Ryotaro Okiayu, who also portrays Scar in Fullmetal Alchemist and Byakuya in Bleach, so that should give you an idea as to how aloof and unapproachable the character sounds.) Tezuka may look emotionless, but he cares fiercely about his team, preferring to show it through action rather than words. His typical saying is don't get careless or don't let your guard down.
(A side note on why everyone looks older than they're supposed to be: originally The Prince of Tennis was set in high school, but then it was switched to junior high. The character designs were never changed, however; and thus you have Tezuka - who looks not a day under 17 - and the other third-year junior high students supposedly being "14 years old." Everyone looks high-school age, in essence, with the exception of Ryoma.)
Despite his stern visage and adherence to formality, Tezuka actually breaks the rules for Ryoma practically from day one. Early on, seeing Ryoma's enormous potential, he challenges him to a secret tennis match in which he beats the freshman, leaving the younger boy panting on his knees on the ground. Across the net, Tezuka stares down at him and intones, "Echizen - become the pillar of support for Seigaku."
This statement is a clue as to why Tezuka treats Ryoma differently. In flashback, when Tezuka was a freshman, we see that a senior team member - angered by what he perceived as being Tezuka's arrogance - slammed a racket into his elbow. Tezuka was going to quit the club until then-captain Yamato told the brilliant young player to let go of this trivial event and "become the pillar of support for Seigaku." Tezuka then chose to remain, eventually becoming the selfless leader of Seigaku's tennis team as well as its top player.
So Tezuka views Ryoma as a younger version of himself; and everything that he does throughout the story is intended to mold Ryoma into the best player and person he can be, as well as possibly the future captain of Seigaku. And central to that view is Tezuka's perception that Ryoma, the son of a former tennis champion, is so blinded by competing with his father that he loses sight of the opponents that are right in front of him - which later leads to a critical moment in Ryoma's development.
Tezuka plays all out in a semi-final match, in part to show Ryoma by example what it means to put the team ahead of everything else. In the match, he injures his shoulder severely and goes to a rehab clinic in Germany to prepare for Seigaku's competition in the national tournament.
In an anime-only arc not featured in the manga, Seigaku's coach falls ill and calls Tezuka back from Germany to serve in her place at a training camp. The camp has been set up to choose the members of Japan's team who will play America's team in a junior high goodwill invitational tournament.
At the camp, Tezuka initially considers Ryoma for the team, but then he observes Ryoma's attitude. Ryoma has become complacent after winning an important match in the regional finals, and is considered by all to be a shoo-in to be chosen for the team. When he asks Tezuka for a rematch, Tezuka cryptically tells him that there are a lot of strong people in the world and that "someone who becomes distracted and doesn't fight seriously" has no chance of winning. Even when Ryoma learns that Kevin Smith, the American team captain, has a grudge against him and is playing dirty tennis against other junior high players - he lazily remarks that maybe he'll just ignore Kevin. Unknown to Ryoma, Tezuka overhears this, and it's the final straw. When the members are announced for Japan's team, Ryoma is not among them.
Riding the team bus home from camp, Ryoma's face is expressionless. When they get off the bus, however, someone tells him that Kevin Smith is playing tennis at the nearby park. Tezuka follows Ryoma to the park along with Kawamura, another Seigaku team member.
What happens next is one of those moments that truly seems WTF until you look at it in context. The best way to get the full impact is to watch the scene from the anime.
The WTF moment, if you need it to be specified (though I'm guessing you won't - it's very obvious) - comes at the 4:00 minute mark:
In case the embed fails, to recap what happens: Ryoma faces off against Kevin while ignoring Tezuka's orders to stop. When Tezuka finally grabs Ryoma's arm, Ryoma tells him to let go. Whereupon Tezuka backhands him across the face, sending the smaller boy sprawling to the ground.
This scene - which would be wildly out of place between any characters other than these two - somehow weirdly works because it's these two. For all of his seeming initial lack of reaction, Ryoma's passive-aggressive behavior in this scene shows how angry he actually is at Tezuka, and hurt at not being named to the team. Tezuka's act, while obviously extreme, fits in his role as Ryoma's mentor. In general he's trying to instill discipline and respect, but he's also hoping to bring Ryoma to his senses. In Tezuka's world of traditional Japanese hierarchy and order, Ryoma has already gone dangerously off the rails. And he's been trying to make a greater point to him for days now, but Ryoma hasn't been listening.
As the rest of the episode unfolds, Ryoma - still mutinous - continues to look for Kevin on neighborhood tennis courts, until finally he has only one place left he can go.
He goes to Tezuka's house late at night. Tezuka meets him in the foyer and asks Ryoma what he has come for:
Ryoma: I want to ask a favor.
Tezuka: What is it?
Ryoma: I... I do want to play in the Junior Invitational.
Tezuka: The members have already been chosen.
Ryoma: Then... What are you saying I should do? You won't let me play in the tournament and you won't let me play an unauthorized match. I - What am I supposed to do?
This is actually the most emotional we ever see Ryoma in the entire series. He's enormously frustrated and everything that Tezuka has been saying to him hasn't taken yet - but finally he's come to Tezuka. This is the teachable moment Tezuka has been waiting for.
As the conversation continues, Ryoma says he now understands that Tezuka was trying to get him to focus on his current opponents, and admits that his fighting spirit wasn't there. Now fired up over Kevin's challenge, he asks again to be placed on the team. When Tezuka again states that the team members have been chosen, Ryoma lowers his head in despair. Then - and only then - Tezuka mentions that the position of substitute is still open, with no guarantee that Ryoma would get to play - but the possibility would be there. Ryoma eagerly accepts the position.
We then see in flashback that Tezuka anticipated something like this and was ready for it. When the members were being chosen, Tezuka had already decided that Ryoma would be the substitute; but he had asked to be allowed to inform Ryoma of this later. In other words, Tezuka had been waiting for Ryoma to come to him once his attitude had changed. He was holding the news of his substitute position on the team until he was sure Ryoma deserved to hear it.
Towards the end of the series, Ryoma receives an unexpected invitation to the U.S. Open prelims just as Seigaku is about to compete in the national tournament. At first he tells the team that he'll forgo the U.S. Open and stay with Seigaku, but Tezuka knows better. Ryoma is clearly distracted, and forfeits a match against another team member because he is conflicted about his decision.
Later, Ryoma apologizes to Tezuka for forfeiting the match, saying that he doesn't want to fail to meet the captain's expectations to become "Seigaku's pillar of support." Perhaps surprisingly, Tezuka says that he never meant his statement to restrict Ryoma's future. He tells him that even if he goes to play in America that the team will take courage from his example; in essence saying to Ryoma that he will be a pillar of Seigaku no matter what he chooses to do. With this, Ryoma's mind clears, and he decides to compete in the U.S. Open.
In this relationship, we see Tezuka making sacrifices and putting in a great deal of thought as to how to treat Ryoma in ways that help him develop as a person and a team player. Although Ryoma's character doesn't change much in the story, practically the only growth he does experience is directly due to Tezuka's influence. The two silently understand one another...
... which to me is the essence of bromance. ;) In an anime series that isn't high on character development, this is the closest The Prince of Tennis comes to true depth.
In shonen stories there are often relationships between boys that aren't shonen-ai, but that are otherwise very significant and unexpectedly deep. In a sense, they are bromances. I see bromance as being a bit like a romance; the pair involved act in ways that are unfathomable to others but which make perfect sense to them.
One of these odd bromance-type, not easily defined relationships can be found in The Prince of Tennis between the protagonist Ryoma Echizen and Kunimitsu Tezuka, the captain of the school tennis club.
Ryoma Echizen is a short 12-year-old tennis prodigy. Born and raised in America, and already the winner of four American junior championships, when his family returns home to Japan Ryoma enrolls at Seishun Gakuen, or "Seigaku" for short, and joins the tennis club.
Ryoma is an odd shonen hero. He is taciturn, most of the time choosing to watch others and only reacting when provoked. Usually he will observe events, then get a little smirk on his face and say something snarky. Then he'll go beat someone at tennis. He is the most unexpressive shonen hero I've seen yet. His trademark saying is mada mada da ne, meaning approximately "you're not there yet" or "you're not ready yet." He usually uses this phrase on bullies (before he beats the pants off of them in tennis).
In the initial episodes, we first see team captain Tezuka standing on the sidelines, stone-faced, issuing one-word commands to his team. He speaks even less than Ryoma. (He's voiced by Ryotaro Okiayu, who also portrays Scar in Fullmetal Alchemist and Byakuya in Bleach, so that should give you an idea as to how aloof and unapproachable the character sounds.) Tezuka may look emotionless, but he cares fiercely about his team, preferring to show it through action rather than words. His typical saying is don't get careless or don't let your guard down.
(A side note on why everyone looks older than they're supposed to be: originally The Prince of Tennis was set in high school, but then it was switched to junior high. The character designs were never changed, however; and thus you have Tezuka - who looks not a day under 17 - and the other third-year junior high students supposedly being "14 years old." Everyone looks high-school age, in essence, with the exception of Ryoma.)
Despite his stern visage and adherence to formality, Tezuka actually breaks the rules for Ryoma practically from day one. Early on, seeing Ryoma's enormous potential, he challenges him to a secret tennis match in which he beats the freshman, leaving the younger boy panting on his knees on the ground. Across the net, Tezuka stares down at him and intones, "Echizen - become the pillar of support for Seigaku."
This statement is a clue as to why Tezuka treats Ryoma differently. In flashback, when Tezuka was a freshman, we see that a senior team member - angered by what he perceived as being Tezuka's arrogance - slammed a racket into his elbow. Tezuka was going to quit the club until then-captain Yamato told the brilliant young player to let go of this trivial event and "become the pillar of support for Seigaku." Tezuka then chose to remain, eventually becoming the selfless leader of Seigaku's tennis team as well as its top player.
So Tezuka views Ryoma as a younger version of himself; and everything that he does throughout the story is intended to mold Ryoma into the best player and person he can be, as well as possibly the future captain of Seigaku. And central to that view is Tezuka's perception that Ryoma, the son of a former tennis champion, is so blinded by competing with his father that he loses sight of the opponents that are right in front of him - which later leads to a critical moment in Ryoma's development.
Tezuka plays all out in a semi-final match, in part to show Ryoma by example what it means to put the team ahead of everything else. In the match, he injures his shoulder severely and goes to a rehab clinic in Germany to prepare for Seigaku's competition in the national tournament.
In an anime-only arc not featured in the manga, Seigaku's coach falls ill and calls Tezuka back from Germany to serve in her place at a training camp. The camp has been set up to choose the members of Japan's team who will play America's team in a junior high goodwill invitational tournament.
At the camp, Tezuka initially considers Ryoma for the team, but then he observes Ryoma's attitude. Ryoma has become complacent after winning an important match in the regional finals, and is considered by all to be a shoo-in to be chosen for the team. When he asks Tezuka for a rematch, Tezuka cryptically tells him that there are a lot of strong people in the world and that "someone who becomes distracted and doesn't fight seriously" has no chance of winning. Even when Ryoma learns that Kevin Smith, the American team captain, has a grudge against him and is playing dirty tennis against other junior high players - he lazily remarks that maybe he'll just ignore Kevin. Unknown to Ryoma, Tezuka overhears this, and it's the final straw. When the members are announced for Japan's team, Ryoma is not among them.
Riding the team bus home from camp, Ryoma's face is expressionless. When they get off the bus, however, someone tells him that Kevin Smith is playing tennis at the nearby park. Tezuka follows Ryoma to the park along with Kawamura, another Seigaku team member.
What happens next is one of those moments that truly seems WTF until you look at it in context. The best way to get the full impact is to watch the scene from the anime.
The WTF moment, if you need it to be specified (though I'm guessing you won't - it's very obvious) - comes at the 4:00 minute mark:
In case the embed fails, to recap what happens: Ryoma faces off against Kevin while ignoring Tezuka's orders to stop. When Tezuka finally grabs Ryoma's arm, Ryoma tells him to let go. Whereupon Tezuka backhands him across the face, sending the smaller boy sprawling to the ground.
This scene - which would be wildly out of place between any characters other than these two - somehow weirdly works because it's these two. For all of his seeming initial lack of reaction, Ryoma's passive-aggressive behavior in this scene shows how angry he actually is at Tezuka, and hurt at not being named to the team. Tezuka's act, while obviously extreme, fits in his role as Ryoma's mentor. In general he's trying to instill discipline and respect, but he's also hoping to bring Ryoma to his senses. In Tezuka's world of traditional Japanese hierarchy and order, Ryoma has already gone dangerously off the rails. And he's been trying to make a greater point to him for days now, but Ryoma hasn't been listening.
As the rest of the episode unfolds, Ryoma - still mutinous - continues to look for Kevin on neighborhood tennis courts, until finally he has only one place left he can go.
He goes to Tezuka's house late at night. Tezuka meets him in the foyer and asks Ryoma what he has come for:
Ryoma: I want to ask a favor.
Tezuka: What is it?
Ryoma: I... I do want to play in the Junior Invitational.
Tezuka: The members have already been chosen.
Ryoma: Then... What are you saying I should do? You won't let me play in the tournament and you won't let me play an unauthorized match. I - What am I supposed to do?
This is actually the most emotional we ever see Ryoma in the entire series. He's enormously frustrated and everything that Tezuka has been saying to him hasn't taken yet - but finally he's come to Tezuka. This is the teachable moment Tezuka has been waiting for.
As the conversation continues, Ryoma says he now understands that Tezuka was trying to get him to focus on his current opponents, and admits that his fighting spirit wasn't there. Now fired up over Kevin's challenge, he asks again to be placed on the team. When Tezuka again states that the team members have been chosen, Ryoma lowers his head in despair. Then - and only then - Tezuka mentions that the position of substitute is still open, with no guarantee that Ryoma would get to play - but the possibility would be there. Ryoma eagerly accepts the position.
We then see in flashback that Tezuka anticipated something like this and was ready for it. When the members were being chosen, Tezuka had already decided that Ryoma would be the substitute; but he had asked to be allowed to inform Ryoma of this later. In other words, Tezuka had been waiting for Ryoma to come to him once his attitude had changed. He was holding the news of his substitute position on the team until he was sure Ryoma deserved to hear it.
Towards the end of the series, Ryoma receives an unexpected invitation to the U.S. Open prelims just as Seigaku is about to compete in the national tournament. At first he tells the team that he'll forgo the U.S. Open and stay with Seigaku, but Tezuka knows better. Ryoma is clearly distracted, and forfeits a match against another team member because he is conflicted about his decision.
Later, Ryoma apologizes to Tezuka for forfeiting the match, saying that he doesn't want to fail to meet the captain's expectations to become "Seigaku's pillar of support." Perhaps surprisingly, Tezuka says that he never meant his statement to restrict Ryoma's future. He tells him that even if he goes to play in America that the team will take courage from his example; in essence saying to Ryoma that he will be a pillar of Seigaku no matter what he chooses to do. With this, Ryoma's mind clears, and he decides to compete in the U.S. Open.
In this relationship, we see Tezuka making sacrifices and putting in a great deal of thought as to how to treat Ryoma in ways that help him develop as a person and a team player. Although Ryoma's character doesn't change much in the story, practically the only growth he does experience is directly due to Tezuka's influence. The two silently understand one another...
... which to me is the essence of bromance. ;) In an anime series that isn't high on character development, this is the closest The Prince of Tennis comes to true depth.
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