Race, power dynamics, and the missed opportunities of Great Pretender
The initial premise promised colorful heists alongside an interesting story, but it ultimately failed its characters of color.
The initial premise promised colorful heists alongside an interesting story, but it ultimately failed its characters of color.
Looking at this series through an economic lens reveals yet another layer of interpretation: a story about the cruelty of business models that profit off the worker’s suffering.
Contemporary virtual YouTubers are often characterized by a mix of conventional femininity and “unladylike” behavior. Yet, while the most prominent creators are able to explore more varied and even subversive topics than traditional idols, they are in many ways still beholden to a set of rules and expectations for what an idol “should” be.
When your cries are constantly dismissed under thinly veiled apologies, it can be hard to feel seen or heard, but that is exactly what happened when I stumbled upon From the New World, the anime adaptation of Kishi Yusuke’s novel by the same name. I ventured into the series expecting a casual sci-fi horror but was instead met with a much deeper allegory for discrimination that paralleled my feelings of being a minority in America.
While Kill la Kill was all about clothes and the way commodification objectifies bodies, it missed the opportunity to talk about the rich history of rebellion using fashion. And moreover, it failed to interrogate the real villains running the show.
It soon becomes clear that within Hyakkaou Academy, it’s the women who get shit done. That was where I found what had first caught my interest in the first place: the women of Kakegurui.
Evangelion takes place in the year 2015. Misato, 29 at the start of the anime, would have been born in 1986. With this knowledge, both American millennials and the members of Japan’s Lost Generation who came of age following Japan’s economic recession in the ‘90s may joke about how Misato is a millennial stereotype. However, this goes beyond a meme and into a message about processing pain, pressure and grief.
There are a lot of assumptions packed into the belief that the best voice actor always gets the role. The statement alone implies that we live in a true meritocracy, which is false. FUNimation, easily the biggest producer of English anime dubs, routinely casts from an extremely small and extremely white pool of voice actors. The idea of “casting the right person for the role” is precluded by insidious biases and practices such as lazy casting, where voice directors will rely on a few go-to voice actors they prefer to work with in lieu of seeking out a wider pool of talent.
As somebody who has witnessed repeatedly the failure of would-be individual saviors to undo entire oppressive systems, I want to try to come to a deeper understanding than what is afforded on the surface by Rebellion’s final twist. What happens when hope is institutionalized? How do oppressive ideologies shape the worlds we can imagine? And the question that has haunted me most: if in the moment we destroyed an oppressive world we were given the full power to create a new one before we had any time to heal, would we like what we make?
Psycho-Pass’ villains are heinous in their own right, but they exist to also criticize the larger failure of a deeply flawed justice system.
Using its “magical school” premise, Witch Hat Atelier explores diversity among students and argues for the importance of accessibility throughout society, but especially in education. With supportive mentors and a focus on individual accommodation, anyone really can wield their own kind of magic.
A distinct antiauthoritarian spirit runs through Imaishi’s works. Yet nowhere is the director’s call for collective action more realized, but most glaringly compromised, than in the show that made him a household name: Gurren Lagann.
For every manga and anime from the 1980s and 1990s that promoted conformity to society and obeying the rules, there were many others that instead featured delinquents as protagonists and found popularity among readers who inherited an economy pulverized by their parents.
While the series wants to tell a story about individuals overcoming their trauma and inner darkness, its strength at depicting individual growth often conflicts with the conservative social systems it ultimately upholds.
Both Kazuki and Toi emerge from similar circumstances of capitalism, oppression, and the hypermasculine coping mechanisms they’ve been given to deal with the pain of that oppression. It is only through learning to care for one another—and learning that they can care for one another—that they can both be free.
Yes, even the horny catgirl anime can be a lesson in real-world inequality.
My Hero Academia, in its proud declarations of right and wrong, good and evil, heroism and villainy, argues how the world should be. Understanding how My Hero Academia works means understanding what this prescription is, and who gets labeled the villains.
How can Western fans of Japanese alt-fashion help keep Harajuku brands alive? Although it is at odds with the current opinion that buying second hand is far better than buying clothes new, we must keep buying clothing directly from these independent brands in order to keep their doors open.
While their first arcs run largely parallel to each other, Shield Hero’s themes of revenge and victimhood undercut any room for growth, while Twelve Kingdoms uses almost identical story elements to explore the nature of power and oppression and push its protagonist towards positive change.
Despite a broad range of titles, when looking at Japanese media about cooking at large, I’ve noticed a frustrating gender imbalance between stories about professional male and female chefs. Stories about male chefs (most often in shounen manga) tend to center around their skill and on their prowess in the kitchen; while the professional lives of female chefs are downplayed in favor of focusing on a romantic storyline.