Post Revision & Anime

Post fix 1: I have finished editing (probably not for the last time) my recent piece about sophistication according to base complexity and definition. I apologize for what was originally a confusing log of the evolution of my thought process and encourage you to read the revision.

Post fix 2: I was scrolling through the list of my posts, feeling nostalgic for the time I would casually blog whatever I was thinking about from a recent experience, when I found this. I immediately realized it needs some followup, for I have seen two animes. Here's the update.

S.C. was one day watching something on YouTube which he told me was the first episode of a space-western anime. After hearing how a friend had told him about it and another one in a conversation most simply put as "stuff like Firefly," and having had a glimpse of the exposition, I decided to use my spare time to check it out.

My curiosity could not have prepared me for the experience. Trigun was fascinating enough to make me set aside my repulsion from the general style and put up with the outrageous moments of anime as I knew it; and as I watched each episode, these feelings dissolved into an appreciation for the art and an acceptance of the silliness as a quality of the characters I grew to love. This may not have happened if the show wasn't tame compared to my previous exposures to anime (the stereotypical ridiculousness was never in the form of bad drama/action), and it was certainly aided by the simple philosophical intrigue offered by the wandering protagonist.

You are introduced to a cornball but highly skilled marksman with an unknown past, hunted and feared by all for something that apparently warrants a sixty billion dollar (double dollar, technically) reward for his capture. The first episode sets the stage for a season of exploits that tease and slowly reveal who this man is, as well as where and when the show is set. Vash the Stampede is known to show up at a random town and obliterate the entire place; but in this trail of destruction people forget the absurd fact that nobody ever dies. Following him around, you quickly see that he is not the monster everyone thinks he is. He foils the wicked, escapes the impossible, and helps everybody to a childlike extreme without his name passing as more than a rumor.

But what starts off simple and lighthearted becomes deep and mysterious as Vash's past hunts him down better than any bounty hunter. Through most of the season, revelations are given in the form of things to question, and everything is woven together by the end with extremely well-written flashbacks of things you had and hadn't seen before. The philosophical (and even theological!) spikes in an enormous sci-fi tale told from the crux backwards as Vash moves forwards. I was amazed.

And I eagerly turned to Cowboy Bebop, the counterpart among fans, which is more like Firefly than Trigun. I no longer had to take anime quirks in stride because this show steered clear of them. The art outdid itself, and the content was all over the place and awesome all the way.

Spike Spiegel and company are bounty hunters ("cowboys") trying to snag a living in outer space, shooting to bring in the wanted but usually ending up involved in much more than they intended. Typically they set things straight and honest where they would not have considered it their business and come up shorthanded where they insist it matters; they're like a small gang of Han Solos.

The show at large follows the various misadventures of this bunch; but while there is little of a unifying plot, the world is pleasantly knitted together. The writers achieve a delicate presentation that gives pieces of a whole without overtly assembling them. One scenario will provide information that another references for different reasons, and both treat it like common knowledge. The characters know the whole so you can take it for granted, and this works wonderfully.

Such coherence makes way for the complex crossing of paths between the characters as each makes a personal journey reconciling their past with their future. The true beauty of Cowboy Bebop is this collective dynamic, this band of friends traveling different roads through an evolving fellowship with each other. It masterfully portrays the joint individuality and universality of human life while exploring countless topics and situations.

(The show's one failing is how explicit the content can be at times. On top of the language and rather bloody shootouts, it very bluntly portrays a decadent culture that could be implied without showing some guy's collection of erotica plastered on the wall, bursting in on a pair of gays when trying to track down their crime boss, etc. This kind of thing varies from the odd camera angle to what is essentially a brief topless shot for plot purposes. View with discretion; if you can see Firefly, you can watch this.)

So, as always, the stereotypical conceals unique excellence. I am not specifically an anime fan, but two of the best TV shows I have seen are anime. Somebody told me these came from the golden age of anime and most programs these days are garbage; considering the decline I have witnessed in American kids' shows and cartoons, I believe it.