AMINE AND MANGA

The history of anime begins at the start of the 20th century, when Japanese filmmakers experimented with the animation techniques that were being explored in the West. During the 1970s, anime developed further, separating itself from its Western roots, and developing unique genres such as the mecha genre and its Super Robot subgenre. Notable shows in this period include Lupin III and Mazinger Z. During this period several filmmakers became famous, especially Hayao Miyazaki and Mamoru Oshii.

Unlike America, where live-action shows and movies have generous budgets, the live-action industry in Japan is a small market and suffered from budgeting and location restrictions. The varied use of animation allowed artists to create settings that did not look like anything at all.[1]

In the 1980s, anime was accepted in the mainstream in Japan, and experienced a boom in production. The rise of the Gundam and Macross Real Robot space opera franchises and the beginnings of Rumiko Takahashi's career began in this decade. The cyberpunk film Akira set records in 1988 for the production costs of an anime film and went on to become a cult success worldwide (later in 2004, the same creators produced Steamboy, the most expensive anime film). The Super Dimension Fortress Macross also became a worldwide success after being adapted as part of Robotech, and Megazone 23 also gained recognition in the West after it was adapted as Robotech: The Movie.[citation needed]

In the 1990s and 2000s, anime series such as Dragon Ball Z, Pokémon, Sailor Moon and the postcyberpunk film Ghost in the Shell became worldwide successes, while other anime series such as Gundam, Macross, Neon Genesis Evangelion and Cowboy Bebop were popular in Japan and attracted attention from the West.[citation needed] A number of anime-influenced animations have been produced in the West, and the growth of the internet also led to the rise of fansubbed anime. Spirited Away shared the first prize at the 2002 Berlin Film Festival and won the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature in 2003, while Innocence: Ghost in the Shell was featured at the 2004 Cannes Film Festival.

I spent yesterday touring Harajuku and Akihabira, Tokyo, Japan, with Patrick Galbraith, a doctoral student at ToDai who is conducting an ethnographic study of otaku culture. Patrick is astonishingly knowledgeable but, even more impressive, he manages the difficult ethnographic trick of perspective and attachment, the "Hop on Pop" or "Aca-Fan" model of admiring and being apart of that which one also writes about and analyzes. It's a very difficult balancing act and he does it superbly. Thank you, Patrick, for an utterly unforgettable day of art, fashion, music, technology, digital innovation, history, sociology, economics, culture, and deep appreciation of otaku culture.

For a part of our day, we were accompanied by JohnHathway, the pseudonym of a stunningly original and talented physics graduate student who devotes himself to the most painstaking kind of anime, where he layers literally thousands upon thousands of layers of images, using Adobe computer photoshop layering, to produce a final image that he then sells in self-produced manga. You can find his work at http://mots.jp. You can buy it, you can tell your friends.

Of course JohnHathway-sama's work has the familiar big-eyed sexy girl-women, but there is also a Bosch-like representation of the city that, when you see the animated version, is where he begins, with the architecture, slowly accreting and building up layers and layers and layers and LAYERS (more and more and more and more) until it is a whole urban cityscape with flying witches and demons and lovely lolitas on militaristic broomsticks, utopic and dystopic in such combinations one continues where the other ends.

One of my favorite things on JohnHathway's website is the video of the professor (he said it was his father) showing the physics of the little manga girl's pigtails, the absolutely perfect angle from which pigtails should fall from the head. Hilarious. And the manga version comes complete with all the algorythms.

What intrigues me about JohnHathway is not only the brilliance and originality of his art but the brilliance and originality of his life. I interviewed him for the book I am doing on cognition and digitality, and specifically for the section on how rational choice economic theory simply does not apply to many forms of contemporary digital culture, DIY work where the economic rewards are far less significant than some kind of membership in community. I may post later on the many different examples of this that we saw as we toured myriad (dozens!) of different kinds of outlet for doujinshi (amateur fan-based and fan-created art).

JohnHathway is such a doujinshi, and, if he can make it as an artist, he won't have to become a saraiiman, but will remain an artist, painstakingly creating these masterpieces that he now sells for about the equivalent of five or ten bucks for the manga, with full stories of the worlds he creates.

Why? Because he loves it. Where does that fit in rational choice economic theory? What is the role of the hobby? That's the question. But, instead of an answer, I'll simply reproduce one of JohnHathway's images and hope that you will click through to his website and maybe even buy one of his mangas and tell your students, tell your friends
http://kesananh.net
http://hocanhvan.info

One of the great things about the increasing affordability of video technology is that it makes the tools of media production available to anyone who is interested. This democratization of technology allows members of subcultures to turn into amateur anthropologists, training their cameras on themselves and investigating their place in the overall culture. The documentary Otaku Unite! is an attempt to do just that, examining the history and current state of anime/manga fandom in the United States. While the film is obviously intended for a popular audience, it can have some value for those of us researching what it means to be a fan of a foreign media like anime.

The film first tries to deal with the etymology of the word otaku. Often translated as “geek” or “nerd,” the word otaku can still carry with it baggage from its Japanese origins. Dave Merrill, organizer of Anime Weekend Atlanta, fires the opening salvo on the term by declaring that being an otaku is not a positive thing. From there, the documentary examines how the word came into usage in Japan and how it has come to mean something different in the US. More often than not, “otaku” is bandied about as a badge of honor and a way of identifying with a select group of like-minded fans.

Otaku Unite! then discusses how anime is different from Western animation and briefly examines the history of Japanese animation in the United States. (According to the documentary this history of US anime began with the broadcast of Speed Racer, overlooking the original black-and-white stylings of Astro Boy.) I found the segment on early fandom to be one of the more interesting sections of the film. For example, animation historian Fred Patten dates first organized anime fan activity to May 1977, making it a few months older than I am and predating the majority of current self-described otaku. Older fans relate brief tales of how hard it was for anime fans “back in the day” because professionally translated videos and manga (and even fansubs at first) did not exist. The film then lends a sympathetic ear to Carl Macek who relates how he had been threatened by fans unhappy with his work on the Robotech epic in the mid-1980s. Before discussing anime conventions, Otaku Unite! mentions the spread of fandom in the wake of the Internet, including a look at anime web pages (and featuring a brief graphic of AnimeResearch.com).

The documentary gives a history of US anime conventions and takes the viewer behind the scenes at Anime Weekend Atlanta. There are interesting scenes of cosplay as well as footage of Emily and Robert DeJesus’ wedding at Anime Central. The best part of this section is that it demonstrates the shifting demographics of anime fandom, something to which I can personally attest. The film ends on a positive and inclusive note, advocating an accommodating attitude toward varying levels of involvement in the anime community. (We don't all have to be uber-otaku.) Yet some of the speakers warn against the medium becoming too popular, and against anime being produced for American audiences (a trend we have begun to see recently), losing what makes anime and manga unique.

My biggest problem with the film is that it does not quite seem to know its audience. Before the ending credits roll, a call to arms streaks across the screen, declaring “The time to unite is now! Otaku Unite!” This would seem to indicate that this is a documentary for otaku, by otaku. And yet much of the information contained in the film was not particularly revelatory for me, nor would it be for most people involved in the anime community for a significant period of time. In term of content, then, Otaku Unite! seems like it is intended for an audience not already familiar with anime and anime fans, yet the viewer is sometimes addressed as if s/he were already an otaku.

In spite of this flaw, Otaku Unite! is a wonderful summation of anime fan culture and practice. It is fun to watch, and the editing and the music keep the film flowing along at a quick clip. Director Eric Bresler should be commended for this valuable look at anime fan culture in the United States.

While neither long, in-depth, nor politically correct, the following 1983 article by essayist Nakamori Akio represents a watershed moment in subcultural journalism: the official debut of the word “otaku” as the definition of a then-new social demographic. Prior to its introduction, this anime- and manga-obsessed group was known under a variety of names, including mania (“maniacs”), nekura-zoku (loosely, “the gloomy tribe”), and even byōki (a play on the word “sick”), but none captured the diverse crowd’s distinctive esprit de corps — or lack thereof — symbolized by the word “otaku.”

When this first installment of “Otaku no Kenkyu” (『おたく』の研究,　“Otaku Research”) first appeared in the pages of an obscure weekly soft-core porno comic magazine called Manga Burikko, Nakamori probably had little idea that the word would eventually take a life of its own. It’s important to note that he didn’t coin the actual word, which is nothing more than a politer-than-polite way of saying “you” in Japanese. Perhaps because of this, “otaku” wouldn’t gain widespread popularity until 1989, after a one-two PR punch of Nakamori using the term in his biography of notorious serial killer Miyazaki Tsutomu, combined with the publication of pop-culture commentator Machiyama Tomohiro’s bestselling book Otaku no Hon (“The Otaku Book”) the same year.

From humble roots, “otaku” flowered to become the de facto term for individuals who pursue their hobbies with a single-minded passion bordering on obsession. As part of a series, here is our original translation of Nakamori’s first column in “Otaku no Kenkyu” — which we believe has never before appeared in English.

Ever heard of “Comiket” (also abbreviated as “Comike”)? I only went for the first time myself last year, at the ripe old age of 23, and let me tell you: it was a trip. It’s like a festival for manga freaks. More to the point, it’s a place to sell amateur comic books and fanzines. As to what was so surprising, it wasn’t so much that over ten-thousand young men and women gathered from all over Tokyo, but rather their eccentricities. How can I put this? They’re like those kids — every class has one — who never got enough exercise, who spent recess holed up in the classroom, lurking in the shadows obsessing over a shogi board or whatever. That’s them. Rumpled long hair parted on one side, or a classic kiddie bowl-cut look. Smartly clad in shirts and slacks their mothers bought off the “all ¥980/1980” rack at Ito Yokado or Seiyu [discount retailers], their feet shod in knock-offs of the “R”-branded Regal sneakers that were popular several seasons ago, their shoulder bags bulging and sagging — you know them. The boys were all either skin and bones as if borderline malnourished, or squealing piggies with faces so chubby the arms of their silver-plated eyeglasses were in danger of disappearing into the sides of their brow; all of the girls sported bobbed hair and most were overweight, their tubby, tree-like legs stuffed into long white socks. Now these unassuming classroom corner-dwellers with their perpetually downcast expressions have come out of the woodwork and swelled their ranks into a really rather surprising TEN THOUSAND PEOPLE. And just because they’re here, they’re channeling all of their normal gloominess into freaking out. Some are dressed in costumes of anime characters, others look like a shady character from a Azuma Hideo comic, still others constantly try foisting off their “lolicon” fanzines on unsuspecting girls, the shit-eating grins never leaving their faces all the while. Others just run around aimlessly… Man, it’s enough to make your head explode. The vast majority are in their teens, mostly junior and senior high school students.

Come to think of it, manga freaks and Comiket are only the start of it. There’s those guys who camp out before the opening day of anime movies, dudes who nearly get themselves run over trying to capture photos of the “blue train” as it comes down the tracks, guys with every back issue of SF Magazine and the Hayakawa science-fiction novels lining their bookshelves, science fair types with coke-bottle glasses who station themselves at the local computer shop, guys who get up early to secure space in line for idol singer and actress autograph sessions, boys who spent their childhoods going to the best cram-schools but turn into timid fish-eyed losers, guys who won’t shut up when the topic of audio gear comes around. These people are normally called “maniacs” or “fanatics,” or at best “nekura-zoku” (“the gloomy tribe”), but none of these terms really hit the mark. For whatever reason, it seems like a single umbrella term that covers these people, or the general phenomenon, hasn’t been formally established. So we’ve decided to designate them as the “otaku,” and that’s what we’ll be calling them from now on.

The question of why we’re calling them “otaku,” and the debate over exactly what “otaku” means, we’d like to explore in leisurely detail over subsequent installments. But in the meantime, take a good look around yourself, and we think you’ll see them — that’s right, there they are — the o…ta…ku….