Preparing Thoughts on Evangelion and Media Fandoms

After spending most of Thanksgiving working on PhD applications (though I still have a couple deadlines left), I’m back to work at the Consortium and ready to blog it up over here at the Department of Alchemy. Alongside all of these applications, it’s time to begin preparing other applications and abstracts for next year’s academic conferences and fan conventions. Last year, I had an excellent time traveling down to New Orleans for the Popular Culture Association national conference, where I spoke about the discourse surrounding otaku identity. This year, the PCA conference is being hosted in St. Louis, MO, but it’s also sandwiched between PAX East and Anime Boston. Regardless of whether or not I can attend in the spring, I submitted the below proposal to the Asian Popular Culture track, which was readily accepted. If I attend in person or if I Skype in to the panel, I’ll be relating most of my secondary research from the Consortium on transmedia and fandom to the Evangelion franchise in Japan and America.

From Narrative to Character: Transmedia, Emotional Economies, and the Success of Neon Genesis Evangelion

Hideaki Anno and Studio Gainax’s “Neon Genesis Evangelion” has been heralded as one of the most influential Japanese animations in the history of the medium. Met with wild success among Japanese otaku after its premiere in 1995/96, Evangelion strangely also became a media phenomenon among the general public, particularly following Eiji Otsuka’s criticism of the series in the Mainichi Daily News.

Even after the series ended in 1996, Neon Genesis Evangelion continued to remain a key franchise in the otaku community. Beginning with toys and video games and branching out to pachinko machines and cell phones, Evangelion’s narrative extends well beyond Anno’s original “text.” However, it is in these extensions where Evangelion’s success emerges.

This paper argues that the emotional economies present between fans, narrative, and character drive Neon Genesis Evangelion’s transmedia success. The emotional connection that fans establish between the original story and the stories they create fuel this fan-produced narrative that underlies cosplay, galge (female character-driven video games), and the moé phenomenon.

This paper also explores questions posed by the most recent developments in the Evangelion franchise: the quartet of movies (of which Evangelion 1.0 and 2.0 have already premiered in Japan). Although these movies are clearly an adaptation of the original narrative, they also represent an instance of transmedia storytelling that provides new perspectives to a previously-built world. How does this conflict between adaptation and transmedia storytelling affect the comprehension of the Evangelion narrative for a new generation of fans? Is the emotional economy regenerated or merely prolonged? And how can we better understand the relationship between fans and media by examining the Evangelion franchise as in evolves before our eyes?

Making Fun of Miyazaki, One Fanzine at a Time

Yeah, blog fail, but I’ve been too busy with work at the Consortium, so don’t hold it against me, otaku masses.

Instead, here’s a quick repost of the abstract I sent (two weeks late…) to Colony Drop as a submission for their fanzine (forthcoming, I have no idea the hell when).

How Ponyo on the Cliff by the Sea is Basically a Movie About a Cliff and Nothing Much More (Or, How Miyazaki Tricked Me Into Believing Just That)

While you might expect a colorful and energetic analysis of a film by Hayao Miyazaki, a filmmaker great enough to merit an Academy Award, this is an essay about flying fish.

Miyazaki’s Ponyo (2008) succeeds a long line of popular, animated films produced by Studio Ghibli, inclusive of such titles as Princess Mononoke and Spirited Away, many of which (if not all) do not feature flying fish or anything resembling airborne herring to the least degree. Ponyo, written and directed solely by Miyazaki (a first for the Studio), features a goldfish-turned-muppet-turned-girl named Brynhildr (later, she rejects her father-imposed name for the moniker, Ponyo, bestowed upon her by a five-year-old Japanese boy) who steals the role of protagonist in this film by shoving aside more-interesting characters and unresolved plot holes. And while Ponyo the film attempts to coat a bildungsroman with elementary-school zest, this is not a movie about Ponyo the muppet. This is a movie about flying fish.

Why flying fish? Or, why flying anything? Critics of Miyazaki’s films have continually highlighted the theme of flight that pervades his movies. However, flying is not what Miyazaki’s films are about. It’s really about hair. Hair, constantly moving, blown around by wind or falling or violent weapons whizzing by unprotected foreheads. Miyazaki loves to animate hair. Why do you think that My Neighbor Totoro — a film that features a monstrous, fuzzy amalgamation of a raccoon and owl — succeeds so well as an animated film, for instance? It’s certainly not the “cute” varmint that nearly devours a pair of juvenile girls in the barrens of a giant forest. The Studio has been blustering hair since Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind in 1984, gliding to Laputa: Castle in the Sky (1986), and culminating in the intense power of “the Ghibli Engine” that is the 1992 production of Porco Rosso.

But this is a movie about flying fish, correct? Right on the mark, but it’s about flying fish. Fish need water, water that Miyazaki unfortunately cannot animate in an acceptable manner. Water might be said to flow like hair in wind, but Miyazaki’s style dictates that all forms of liquid move like Play-doh, hair gel, or Irvin Yeaworth’s 1958 The Blob.

So, if Ponyo — a movie about a fish in the ocean — relies so much on water, does Ponyo flop? Well, this essay certainly will not let the lack of dramatic structure nor the focus on pure character profiling (the Miyazaki moé moment) slip by without lambaste. Miyazaki’s Ponyo is a wonderful work of art; however, it is not a good film. Yet, while I must believe that Isao Takahata is planning the ultimate smackdown for his directing partner in the near future, I affirm wholeheartedly that Ponyo is a good Miyazaki production.

Yes, Miyazaki pulls a fast one on his audience, forcing them to ask the filmgoer to their left or right, What the hell did we just watch?, usually preceded by, Why are Noah Cyrus and Frankie Jonas singing an Auto-tuned bastardization of the theme song in this American dub?, but he does so in a manner that satisfies the thematic animated style emphasized in his previous compositions. How? Flying fish. Miyazaki fashions a world where one never existed, between cliffs, a world of water in which fish fly like birds over submerged cars and through flourishing trees. And these silent flying fish carry Ponyo to the same pinnacle occupied by Spirited Away’s bathhouse or Laupta’s flying, aged castle.

I hope for this essay to fill in many holes left by ignorant American otaku on the history, style, and animation of Miyazaki’s most popular Ghibli films. And, of course, focus a bit more on the important elemental scenes of Ponyo, such as the flying fish that most reviewers so astutely and skillfully ignore.

Show Me Your Moves: The Akiba Dance Image as Evidence Toward a Greater Understanding of Otaku Temporality

Been thinking a bit about true otaku culture recently (as in, our friends the Japanese ファン), what with Patrick Galbraith’s new book out on the Japanese market (and a fall release for the American audience on the way).


Akiba-kei.

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