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I’m a little late to the party, but I’d like to put down my own thoughts on whether or not video games could be consituted as “art.” My answer to that question is that video games already are art, and have been so for a very long time.
Before I start to elaborate though, I want to point out that disagreeing on one thing does not mean you have to disagree with someone about everything. I really like the way Roger Ebert writes, and just because I think he’s wrong in this respect doesn’t mean that it invalidates the rest of his opinions. He’s still very much someone I respect, and I think we on the internet could stand to remember that.
While I cannot tell you when exactly video games “became” art, I can trace back the history of video games and point out any number of instances where art has sprung forth in video games. When Space Invaders was released to arcades, it was one of the first video games to feature “characters,” creating an identifiable adversary to overcome. When Miyamoto Shigeru created Donkey Kong, he created an entire story told with simple animations over multiple “scenes.” Mario himself was a fusion of practicality and creativity, created from the desire to have a distinct hero whose lively animations would still be understandable given the limited technology.When Pitfall debuted, it was not only a technical achievement, but also challenged players to revisit the game repeatedly, to identify with the characters in a way beyond the creator’s intent. When the Famicom was released in Japan, video game music legend Hip Tanaka took on the challenge of learning how to program in Assembly so that he could have finer control on the composition of his scores. When Kojima Hideo was told to make an action game on a system that couldn’t even handle having more than three moving objects on the screen, he created Metal Gear and laid the foundations for “stealth” in video games.
And that’s not even getting into the 16-bit era, or RPGs, or the modern advances we have today, with global communication between players working towards common goals, increasing levels of interactivity,
Art is created from the conflict between imagination and reality, when men are given a set of limitations and must find a way to work within their confines or to break from them, and that is the constant struggle of video game developers. Art is created when people are moved by what is front of them, and you will find a whole generation of people who can recall when video games brought them some of their greatest moments of joy and sorrow. Art is created when people are inspired, and I will tell you personally, video games have inspired me in innumerable ways.
Are video games art? Why, I can’t see why they wouldn’t be.
I might not understand the subtleties of a performance of “Swan Lake,” and I’m not even sure what arabesques and pas are, but as I read the manga Swan I find myself being excited by ballet in a way that I never have been before. Through effective narration and energetic artwork and storytelling, I can experience ballet on another level, despite my lack of experience.
Like so many manga titles, Swan takes what is unfamiliar and makes it less so. It is one of manga’s strengths, whether it’s glamorizing the world of ballet, adding excitement and tension to the art of breadmaking (Yakitate!! Japan), or outright teaching people new ideas (The Manga Guide Series). Essentially, manga often acts as a cultural ambassador of ideas.
But bridging the gap between those who know and those who do not is not solely the domain of fiction, let alone Japanese comics. Figures such as Carl Sagan and Bill Nye used their infectious personalities and honest passion to transform yesterday’s children into today’s scientists. In Starcraft, Lim “SlayerS_`BoxeR`” Yo-Hwan took an underdog race and through his creativity and dedication created an environment where even grandmothers know what “Zerg” are. Casters such as John Madden and Marv Albert have been able to express the excitement of athletic competition to people, from long-time fans to newbies, from those watching on TV to those listening on their car radios. Bruce Lee and Hulk Hogan combined fictitious roles with non-fictitious personalities to champion hard work, discipline, and respect.
Whether it comes naturally or is the product of concerned effort, these ambassadors make ideas accessible, and as anyone who’s tried to explain their hobbies to others probably knows, this is not a simple task. Even then, I think it is very important people try to give others a chance. Rather than standing atop your mountain while waiting for someone to reach your level, you could extend a hand and help someone up. After all, waiting is easy.
As I mentioned previously, Heroman seems to take a lot from Tetsujin 28, particularly with the idea of a kid remote-controlling a robot and using it to fight evil. However, I think there’s another series which draws a number of parallels to Stan Lee and Bones’ collaboration.
The series, or rather franchise I’m talking about is the “Yuusha” or “Brave” series. In the 1990s, Sunrise and toy company Takara created a series of super robot cartoons emphasizing the combining robot (and in turn, sales of toys based on combining robots). There was a new show every year from 1990-1997, with The King of Braves Gaogaigar being the biggest name. The two I want to concentrate on in particular are the first two, Brave Exkaiser and, particularly, The Brave Fighter of the Sun Fighbird.
In both shows, alien space police possess Earth vehicles in order to fend off evil menaces, which is at this point the most likely origin for Heroman in my opinion, particularly with the way the scientist in the first episode of Heroman sends his signal out to find extraterrestrial life. Similarly, in Fighbird a kooky scientist makes contact with alien life forms, including the aforementioned ghost alien cops, but also space criminals who escaped from a space prison (in space).
I know the similarities are pretty shallow, especially because Heroman is barely out at this point and hasn’t even established that much of its own story, but it really reminded me of those early Brave shows.
Anime and its fandom have managed to create personifications out of everything, from computer operating systems to charcoal to cans of soda, applying many of the popular character tropes to them and creating a fun logic exercise you can also get your rocks off to. At this point, you might ask, what’s left to capture the hearts of moe otaku everywhere? But I have the answer.
Imagine, if you will, a world where toilets are transformed into cute, beautiful girls. Modern toilets are a triumph of civilization, carrying with them notions of human progress and indoor plumbing, but at the same time also have quite a bit of variety to them. The division between the different characters could be along brand names, or along type. Personally, I think the latter would be more favorable for the purposes of creating a show/franchise.
The squat toilet could be the traditional yamato nadeshiko-type, while the high-tech toilet with the self-warming seat and such could be the enthusiastic computer geek. The french bidet would be the really classy one. And of course, the urinal would be a total tsundere tomboy.
And I don’t need to say anything about how the doujin community would utilize this fertile ground.
All in all, I think this is what you’d call money down the drain.
(By the way, I’m open to ideas for the title.)
Some time ago I noticed a running joke going across multiple anime throughout the decades, where the animators will put a clock or a watch in a show with the name of the studio displayed on it.
Aim for the Ace! (1973)
Kekkaishi (2006)
I really wish I had more samples to show, and I’m not sure how it all started, either. Does it even have its origins in Japanese animation? Can anyone answer that?
I think the first piece of the puzzle is probably just to see how prolific this sort of thing really is, so I’m making a call out to everyone who reads this blog and beyond: if you are so inclined, find as many instances as you possibly can of anime where a studio’s name is prominently displayed on a clock or watch.
Watching the special music video of legendary UK band Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” as interpreted by Galaxy Express 999 and Captain Harlock creator Matsumoto Leiji, a few quick thoughts come to mind.
1) While the original music video is better, that’s because the classic one is just that hard to top. And while this one isn’t exactly mind-blowing, it’s still very well-animated and has that Matsumoto feel we all know and love. It can be kind of confusing at times though, like it’s trying to tell too much with too little and in the wrong format.
2) I like how the “Matsumoto Gauges,” or that staple of Matsumoto anime and manga where a room is filled to the brim with complex gadgetry and meters and such, has been updated to fit in more with current times. It looks much more “digital” now, and reminds me of modern stereo systems. It doesn’t have quite as visceral a feel, but it makes sense.
3) I wonder if this occurs in the same universe as Interstella 5555. Definitely a possibility, but as Daryl Surat would advise, don’t think about this too hard because Matsumotoverse continuity is paper-thin.
4) I picture Matsumoto going to an anime con and entering this in an AMV competition. Would he win? I don’t know, the character designs do look kind of old…
About two weeks ago, I made a post talking about the “spinning room” effect used in the opening to K-On!! Thinking that was going to be the end of it, I was surprised to have actually had a dream about the very same topic.
In the dream, I was showing someone the K-On!! opening, particularly the aforementioned effect, when suddenly the video started to act kind of funny. The video started to slow down, and at first I thought that maybe it was a problem with my computer as it’s not exactly what you would call “new,” but then the angle of the view itself changed, with greater focus on each individual character playing their instrument as the spinning room effect was still going on. I particularly remember the emphasis on Tsumugi and Ritsu, as the camera seemed to really sit there to showcase the size of their musical instruments.
Funny thing is that it actually took me a few hours after I woke up to even realize I had a dream, and didn’t actually try to show the K-On!! opening to someone. Also, I’m not sure if what I saw in my dream was the idealized version of the OP I had hoped for, but I think it was somewhere in that direction.
In the past year, as I learned to play mahjong, I’ve had quite a few opportunities to play against people I know, whether it’s online or in live settings. Sometimes I win, many times I lose, and though I’m sure I’ve improved, I can’t tell you what strengths I have as a player, if any at all. I honestly have no idea. I also had a revelation that I have absolutely no idea if I’m better than any of my peers or vice versa.
When I think about it though, this is actually a strength of mahjong. Unless an opponent is significantly better than you, it’s actually very difficult to gauge who is the stronger player. If I had to hazard a guess as to why this is the case, I’d say that it has to do with 1) the large influence luck has on the game and 2) the fact that you can only see results, and not the process through which they succeeded.
Both factors manifest themselves, for example, when an opponent declares riichi. If you’ve watched mahjong anime, this is when a character throws a white stick on a table to indicate that his hand is “about to win,” sort of like declaring “Uno,” except it’s optional and you get bonus points for it. At this point, an opposing player has two basic choices: break up their own hand to avoid dealing into the opponent’s hand (in Japanese-style mahjong, a player cannot win off of a tile they already discarded, so you can “play it safe” by discarding things they have already discarded), or continue to build your hand towards victory, at the risk of losing. You either prioritize winning, or not losing. In other words, you attack or defend, advance or retreat.
You can tell to a certain extent what another player is doing, as there are situations where certain tiles are considered “dangerous,” particularly because none have previously been discarded, but there’s no guarantee. So when a player manages to avoid dealing into the riichi player’s hand, you might wonder, are they actually destroying their hand to avoid losing, are they getting lucky with their discards, or are they actually that good? Is it luck? Is it skill? Can you even tell the difference? Watching a replay will give you some of this information, but trying to figure this out in-game is another matter entirely.
Given the random nature of the game, sometimes good tiles are dealt and sometimes you get garbage, but the real influence comes from a combination of luck and the illusion of luck, derived from being able to read only so much information. At the same time, luck is not an all-consuming factor, as the beauty of mahjong is that even if you’re doing terribly, you always feel like you have some control of the game, coming down to that simple choice again of whether to attack or to defend, to go for victory, or to cut your losses. It’s vaguely similar to Texas Hold ‘em (whose rules I just learned the other day) in that respect.
The result of not being able to tell who’s actually a better player is that the game feels more fair, even if it isn’t, and it’s exciting to not be able to tell who has the greatest chance of winning. It makes every game exciting.
Anime fans on Twitter had quite a bit of fun yesterday suggesting “advice” for those new to anime conventions under the hashtag #animeconprotip.
“A can of Axe body spray is way cheaper than a hotel room with a shower.”
“the ideal length for a cosplay skit show is between 5 and 8 hours.”
I even joined in myself:
Now I know that this sort of thing can come across as bitter old con veterans railing against those gosh darn whippersnappers harshing on their 8-tracks and combustible engines and running water, but the actual point of the “anime con pro-tip” is simple and profound: be considerate of others.
It’s not a matter of shame or worrying about the judgment of others, but rather the simple fact that you are sharing a space with other people for a period of 3 days, and that no one benefits when everyone not only inconveniences each other but does so purposely.
You should shower at conventions because Body Odor makes open areas unbearable and enclosed ones absolute torture. You should not be talking during the entirety of an anime showing because you are not the only person in the room and similarly you should take other people into account when you go about screaming through the hotel/convention center. Cosplay skits should be kept short because other people have their own skits to perform, and cosplay itself not solely there to act as an exclusive club where the main goal is to boost your ego. And I understand the desire to speak to a Japanese guest in Japanese, but remember that not only do other people have their own questions to ask, but they would like to understand your question as well.
So in short, think of others, and think of how you would like to be treated.
Or, to summarize it along the lines of the trend which started all of this:
…Yukari would be the death of street racing. (Also the death of people.)
…Everybody’s favorite toy would be the rollacorolla.
…Osaka would try to block her opponent on corners by sticking her arms out.
Okay, I know there’s definitely better/worse ones out there. So now it’s your turn.
