Overman King Gainer can be put on record as featuring one of my favourite OPs in the history of anime. Much of the cast, including designated “villains” and robots alike, go-go dance to the rocking tune. It pumped me up so much that most of the time I didn’t skip it. I would dance around the house singing the song even when I wasn’t watching. Thanks to the wonders of the multimedia review age, I can share that OP with you right now:
Unfortunately, you’d be harder pressed to find the series itself by legitimate means, as it has been out of print for the English world for a fair while now. Why you can pick up something not particularly exciting like Lost Universethirteen years after its screening but not this 2002 piece is beyond me. The two of them bear comparison because they represent two different generations of anime: Lost Universe the awkward transition from cel work to digital animation with some clumsy CG, and Overman King Gainer the confident application of digital with smooth results.
Overman King Gainer also has the distinction of being a mostly good series, but it’s not without its faults. I think that I noticed the flaws so intently because I enjoyed the series so much. When that happens, any let down is magnified far more than disappointments in shows that weren’t particularly good to begin with.
Full disclosure: I have an aversion to apes. I simply don’t like them. I have never seen a Planet of the Apes film, so this is a new experience for me. In the age of The Simpsons it’s hard not to have a base familiarity with the series, though, so I think I knew enough going in to make a reasoned judgment.
I had a healthy scepticism for all of the early promos for this film. It wasn’t until the last trailer was released that I was willing to give it a chance. In the end, James Franco delivers on his promise with all of his limbs intact.
Shrek! is the perfect antidote to the movie franchise that it inspired. Where that was a movie about discovering the beauty within and being a good “person” despite outer appearances, this is a book about being hideous in body and soul and revelling in it.
Shrek is a villain, not a hero. There are no heroes in Shrek’s world. It is glorious.
Written by William Steig, who was 86 at the time of publication, Shrek! tells the story of an ogre who is kicked out of home by his parents and terrorises the countryside while looking for a princess.
At 32 pages, there’s not much more it than that, but it’s worth mentioning that there is absolutely nothing of the Dreamworks film in this picture book beyond basic character designs. As a subversion of fairy tales, it works much better because there are no knowing winks to non-existent cameras, no waffles and, best of all, no Smash Mouth. I don’t know if it would be as subversive if the billion dollar franchise had never existed but, as the counterpoint to the bitter rantings of a man with a grudge against Disney, it’s brilliant.
Steig’s artwork is charming, and exactly as it appears on the cover. This is a very rough, hand made book. The dialogue generally rhymes and pretends to be set for a fantasy world, but it’s not important: Shrek is on a journey of self-realisation. Shrek suspects that he’s the greatest and most horrible, and it’s not until the ending that he gets it confirmed in the funniest way possible.
This incarnation of Shrek is truly like an onion; if you cross him he’ll make you cry. I wouldn’t have him any other way, and certainly not as a billion dollar franchise. Shrek! counts among one of the best dollars I’ve ever spent.
Lost Universe is the science fiction anime equivalent of Slayers, by substantially the same staff and set in a parallel universe, and it’s pleasant enough. Unfortunately, it fizzles into very little by the end. Given its relatively small cast, very few of the characters have clear motivations, and the ultimate threat isn’t really threatening enough. When it appears that the void of space is what’s at stake rather than visible land and people, it’s much harder to connect.
As the vanguard of the last sixteen years of British literature, Nick Hornby has a lot to answer for. You can call what he writes what you like – “lad lit”, “dick lit” (as opposed to chick lit, obviously) – but that doesn’t make it any better than what it is: fiction about people who never bothered growing up and show no intention of ever doing so.
This isn’t true of his entire canon, but it holds up for both the instigator of the genre, High Fidelity and its spiritual sequel, 2009’s Juliet, Naked. Reading about people who choose to wallow in lives that they consider wasted is not particularly fun or illuminating. It’s High Fidelity 14 years after the fact: if you thought that collection of characters was developmentally arrested, you will not be at all impressed with this troupe.
Captain America: The First Avenger is a pretty good film. Technically the fifth in the Marvel universe that has been forged since 2008’s Iron Man, it is the chronological first. I would go so far as to say it’s the best one that they’ve offered yet, completely failing to pander to easy nationalistic pride while presenting a valid hero’s journey and allowing Chris Evans to create a character with some nuance and likability. Intensely stylish and pure of heart, Captain America: The First Avenger is surprising in many ways … except for its wholly and depressingly unnecessary subtitle.
As far as I can tell, you have to be an American to win the Pulitzer Prize. This comes as a relief to me, because I can criticise Jennifer Egan’s Pulitzer Prize winning A Visit From The Goon Squad without being asked “Where’s your Pulitzer, Mister Critic?” (If I were American, it would hang on the wall of my office, next to a copy of the prize winning article, “Why the world doesn’t need Superman”).
I can understand why A Visit From The Goon Squad won plaudits: it’s so painfully worthy. Substance abuse, daddy issues and the guilt of being upwardly mobile are all addressed within these thirteen short stories masquerading as a novel. These are themes that are so common in American literature that they have come to define it. I have to wonder if some authors feel discouraged if they have written a book without troublesome parents, casual drug use that turns catastrophic or, in the last ten years, at least passing reference to living in a post 9/11 world.
Egan doesn’t have to worry about any of that; it’s all in here, and she has the Pulitzer to show for it.
The quadrant of America that rails against the “lamestream media” is the same that claims that the educational system is terrible, that kids don’t learn the important things, and that, because education is so bad, funding should be withdrawn from schools. Bad Teacher plays right into the fears of the “heartland”: teachers are apathetic morons and the only lessons that your children need are the filtered teachings of Jesus.
It’s not a good movie, and it’s hard to see who it’s designed to appeal to: it’s a dumb comedy with feigned bite, occasionally falling back on racism and homophobia to generate laughs. If you think that the implied erection of a grade school boy is hilarious, then this film is for you.
I didn’t expect that at the end of the available volumes of A Song of Ice and Fire I would feel like I had run headlong into a brick wall, but that is exactly what happened. I don’t want to sound overly dramatic here but, while A Dance With Dragons is more of a “complete” book than A Feast For Crows (in that it covers more characters), it’s less satisfactory. A Storm of Swords still stands as the single most delightful entry in this canon.
Enough quibbling, though: is A Dance With Dragons any good? Keeping in mind that I only had to wait one week for it rather than six years, I’m going to say that yes, it is. On reflection, its three main characters get three complete story arcs that naturally bleed into the next part of the story. It’s just that, given its eighteen different points of view, a lot of the work that Martin performs between these pages is simple shuffling of pawns across the board so that they may be in place for greater things. None of which happen here.
Contains spoilers for volumes 1-4, not for A Dance With Dragons itself!
The second and third entries in the Tales of Dunk and Egg complement each other so well that it’s hard to imagine that they were published seven years apart. It wasn’t until I came to The Mystery Knight that I could appreciate The Sworn Sword for what it is. I realise that a large part of this is because of the significance of the characters at play: in The Mystery Knight Dunk and Egg participate in activities that have some bearing on the future of the realm, while in The Sworn Sword they’re performing pure acts of hedge knighthood.
The fault in my interpretation lies not in Martin but in myself; with a fuller understanding of the canon of these characters to date I came to enjoy myself much more than I had beforehand. That Martin’s work can grow in retrospect as well as in the telling is something that I can get behind.