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Science Fiction/Fantasy, TV

[August 8, 1968] The Little Witch Girl and The Little Ghost Boy (Mahoutsukai Sally and GeGeGe no Kitaro)

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by Janice L. Newman

We visited Japan earlier this summer, and had a lovely time. It’s always interesting comparing how life is different in Japan from our Southern California home, whether it be fish and rice for breakfast or the excellent train system that got us around Tokyo quickly and easily.

Our hotel room had a television, and since we craved immersion whether inside the hotel or out, we often have the boob tube on. Sadly, Japan has a "vast wasteland", too. Between the sumo bouts, the soap operas, the game shows, and the period dramas, there wasn't much of interest to us, although the fact that everything was in Japanese was a plus.

However, we found that if we tuned in at the right time of the day, there was gold to be found. Indeed, we found them in the surprising form of a couple of children’s cartoon shows. They both echoed Western shows in familiar ways, yet also had elements we’d never seen before.

A Magical Girl

The first show was “Mahoutsukai Sally”, or “Sally the Witch”. This charmingly silly show is about a little girl who is the princess of a ‘magical kingdom’. She comes to earth and makes friends here, hiding her magical abilities, which apparently allow her to do almost anything. Most of the time she uses her magic to stop ‘bad’ people; burglars, kidnappers, bullies, and the like.

Stylistically, Sally reminds me of Disney’s early cartoons, the old black and white ones with Mickey Mouse. There’s a strong slapstick element, and the episode plots aren’t particularly concerned with things like consistency or the laws of physics.

On the other hand, the story, with its focus on Sally and her friends, is unusual. Most of the cartoons I’ve seen on American TV have had main characters who are boys. There are superhero shows and adventure shows, like The Amazing Spiderman, The Fantastic Four, Superman, and Johnny Quest. There’s no reason a girl can’t watch superhero shows, of course, but “Mahoutsukai Sally” not only stars a little girl, it focuses on everyday elements of her life in ways that are unusual in American television. For example, she makes new friends at school, invites them over, and secretly magics up a cake for them to share. There’s plenty of drama and adventure, but there are also moments of domesticity, like Sally helping her friend babysit her little brothers. Though infused with ridiculous and sometimes nonsensical plot twists, making the story about a little girl’s life and giving that little girl power makes this cartoon something special. Sure, we’ve had a few cartoons with a girl in the lead, like the Little Audrey shorts, but children’s TV in the USA these days is much more likely to give you a show with a powerful boy (or a man, or a group of men) as the main characters. Sally is a breath of fresh air.

On the third hand, Sally does resemble a different kind of American TV show: recent sitcoms! There’s been a trend in American TV over the past few years toward ‘spooky’ or supernatural family shows like The Munsters, The Addams Family, and especially Bewitched. Sally strongly resembles the last of these, but fashioned for small children instead of adults, with a little girl witch instead of a grown woman. In fact, word has it that the original Mahoutsukai Sally comic was inspired by Bewitched!

A Magical…Boy?

This one, we discovered both the television show and the "manga" (comic) at the same time. GeGeGe no Kitaro, though no less charming than Sally, is perhaps a bit more alien. It is a story focusing on a Japanese youkai. “Youkai” is a difficult word to translate because it’s used as a bit of a catchall for supernatural beings like ghosts, demons, and other sorts of mysterious spirits. “GeGeGe” is an onomatopoeic word that sounds like cackling, or perhaps a ghostly giggle. Kitaro, the hero, is not a scary youkai, though. He’s a kind and helpful lad who uses his powers to fight bad Eastern youkai, evil Western youkai (like Dracula and the wicked witch) and even giant Godzilla-like monsters!

Kitaro is fascinating to watch because it’s a deeply Japanese show. The closest analog would be Casper the Friendly Ghost, which also has a little boy ghost who helps people. But Kitaro’s roots in Japanese folklore and the villages he helps protect offer Americans a glimpse into what life is like in Japan today: older villages existing alongside slick new cities, just as people still walk around in kimono and yukata almost as often as people wear western suits and dresses. Kitaro himself is a product of an old and new world: an old folktale brought to new life on the television screen.

It's also tremendously funny, and extremely good-natured, though the themes can be heavy for a children's show. Indeed, in the aforementioned battle between Eastern and Western horrors, there are a number of deaths (though, technically, the youkai are already kind of dead, as is Dracula…) This heaviness, and the deeply regional nature of the show means that American companies will not likely scramble to re-dub it for American audiences. Sally might fare better, but it, too, seems to have been neglected.

Oh well. At least we got Astro Boy and Kimba the White Lion! And thanks to our knowledge of Japanese, we can look forward to our next trip across the Pacific, not just to visit our friends, but to see what new children’s shows Japan will come out with!




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TV

[October 6, 1963] Birth of a genre (the Japanese cartoon, Astro Boy)

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by Gideon Marcus

Up in the sky!  It's a bird.. it's a plane… it's Superman… no.  it's…

ASTRO BOY!

If you've tuned into NBC on Saturday mornings, you may already have caught sight of the world's newest superhero.  Astro Boy, a robotic child with rocket jets, has already charmed grown-ups and kids alike.  But where did this strange new cartoon come from, why does it seem slightly off-kilter, and what is the provenance of those clearly foreign names in the credits?

The birth of Astro Boy

The story begins in Japan immediately after the war's end within the pages of a comic book.  While comic strips had been known in the country for nearly a century, it was the American occupation and the subsequent exposure to western-style comics that really made them popular in the island nation.  One of the most famous of the Japanese comic artists is Osamu Tezuka, who created the character that would one day be known as Astro Boy in 1952.  Called "Mighty Atom," he has appeared in weekly comic anthologies ever since.

As these comics ("manga" in Japanese) increased in popularity, a number of attempts were made to translate them into other media.  Live-action movies were made for many strips including Uncle Alien, Ironman #28 (no relation to the Iron Man of Marvel comics), and, of course, Mighty Atom.  They were all pretty crude affairs, calling to mind the movie serials of the 1930s.

Astro Boy arrives on television

Surprisingly, it was not until this year that manga began to come out on TV in cartoon form (I'd have thought that would have been a more natural evolution, but perhaps live action is easier to produce.) Japan has flirted with animation before, notably the movie Alakazam the Great, which came out a couple of years ago.  But Japanese cartoons are now flourishing in an unprecedented fashion.  I know of at least three animated series that debuted this year, and there are probably more.

The first and perhaps most anticipated one was Mighty Atom, which debuted in January.  By the time my family and I visited Japan in June, the story was well underway, but I managed to catch a rerun of the first episode, and thus became acquainted with the origin story:

It is the late 1990s, and the world is significantly more advanced, technologically.  Flying cars, space ships, and sentient robots are common.  Episode One opens up on Tobio, a teenaged boy cheerfully driving down the street in his air car.  A large truck suddenly looms into the lane and a collision ensues.  The accident is fatal, and his father, Dr. Tenma of the National Science Institute, carries the body away, sobbing.  That night, he resolves to cast a new Tobio from steel, to create the most advanced robot the world has ever known.

It takes a year, but the result is a metal boy, powerful and brilliant.  At first, the robot is the apple of his creator's eye.  But as the years pass, an increasingly erratic Dr. Tenma grows disenchanted with his invention, which is unable to grow into a man.  He sells Tobio to a robot circus master, who throws dubs the boy "Mighty Atom" and throws him into the ring against Golem, an enormous robotic opponent.  Despite the size disadvantage, Atom dispatches Golem with ease, thrilling the audience.  He refuses to deal a death blow to his opponent, however, and the cruel master locks Atom up and refuses to give him more energy.

During his confinement, Atom discovers a group of discarded robots, their power levels virtually exhausted.  These are former performers of whom the master has tired.  Touched by their plight, Atom offers them some of his own limited reserves of energy to make them mobile again.

That night, a dangerous performance involving fire goes awry, and the circus structure bursts into flames.  Atom springs into action, enlisting his robotic friends to save the human attendees.  He even personally saves his master, who has been trapped under a pile of collapsed timber.

In hospital the next day, Dr. Ochanomizu, Dr. Tenma's successor, entreats the circus master to release Atom into the custody of the Institute, where he will be properly treated.  Atom's master refuses, scoffing at the idea that he should be grateful to a robot who, after all, was only doing his duty.  Whereupon Ochanomizu turns on the television, which carries news of a "Robot Human Rights Act," bestowing full rights upon the robotic underclass.  The master must give Atom up or be guilty of human trafficking.  In tears, the fellow relents.

So begins Tobio's adventures with the Institute under the name, Mighty Atom.  Over the course of the next three episodes, he aids the police in the capture of a renegade robot, leads an expedition to Mars, and is shanghaied to Arabia by an evil archaeologist cum treasure hunter. 

That's the plot in broad strokes.  But it's the execution of the show that's so interesting.  The animation is weird, surreal and sparse, more akin to Felix the Cat than Hanna-Barbera, or even Mighty Mouse.  It's a genuinely funny show, with lots of sight gags and adorably outre character designs. 

What truly got me was the social commentary.  In every outing, Mighty Atom faces intolerance and discrimination.  When a robot goes amok and becomes a criminal, Mighty Atom is blamed; his heroic actions in the first episode are not enough to clear even him of the suspicion leveled against robot-kind.  In Episode 3, Atom's XO is so incensed at having to work for a robot that he tries multiple times to kill him! (and yet, the goodhearted robot can't help but forgive him).  And in the fourth episode, the villains have no qualms with enslaving the robot boy.  I can't imagine an American children's show so directly taking on the touchy topics of slavery and bigotry even though they are perhaps more relevant to our current situation than Japan's (not that Japan is absent of prejudice problems — ask the Koreans who live there).

Astro Boy's American debut

And yet, that's exactly what's happening.  Starting this September, Mighty Atom debuted on American television under the name of "Astro Boy!"

How has the show fared in its journey across the sea?  Not too badly, actually.  If you, like me, went to Worldcon, then you got to see the first show weeks before anyone else, and the general consensus there was that it made for fine viewing.  The dubbing is competent, although it tries a little too hard to match voices to mouth movements (the Japanese are more carefree about such things, putting emphasis instead on acting).  The Japanese version was very spare with its narration, preferring to let the visuals speak for themselves; the American narrator is relentless and ubiquitous.

But every scene is there, and all the lines are translated.  It is the same show. 

How remarkable is that?  We live in an age where television now crosses both seas, and we Americans can enjoy British and Japanese productions less than a year after their premiere in their countries of origin.  Perhaps next year, we'll be seeing the cartoon versions of Eight Man and Ironman #28, which began in Japan last month, on American television.

Who knows?  Someday, Japan's animated creations may end up more popular here than anywhere else!  Make Mine Mighty!

1963, anime, astro boy, mighty atom, osamu tezuka, japan, gideon marcus, television

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Movies

[July 17, 1961] Bridging two worlds (The animation, Alakazam the Great)

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And here is Ms. Rosemary Benton with her monthly report, this time on a subject near and dear to my heart: Japan…

July 14th was a red letter day for me.  Not only did I receive word that my uncle was marrying his long time Japanese girlfriend, Mika, but Alakazam The Great was released in theaters across America.  This film is a beautiful piece of animation from Toei Animation Company Ltd. 

Released in Japan in August last year under the title Journey to the West, the story of Alakazam the Great is actually a retelling of a very old and popular tale from China known as Saiyuuki.  Scholars of this 16th century morality epic will recognize Sun Wukong in our protagonist, Alakazam, as well as his dealings with the Buddha, named King Amo in the film.  There are far fewer acts in the film than there are in the original story of Sun Wukong, but the writers did do an impressive job of compacting the four main arcs of the epic into an 88 minute movie. 

Our story begins shortly after Alakazam has earned the title of king of the animal kingdom.  But as our narrator descibes, Alakazam is a conceited ruler obsessed with becoming more powerful than any human magician.  After tricking Merlin (yes, that Merlin; more on this later) into teaching him his craft, Alakazam believes that he can take on anything, even the entire magical population of the heavenly land of Majutsu.  Following a humiliating defeat, the king of Majutsu, King Amo, sends him on a pilgrimage to learn wisdom, humility and mercy so that he may once again rule the animals as a wise and compassionate leader.  Meeting many interesting companions along the way, Alakazam eventually learns to utilize his magic for good and justice.  He saves the prince of heaven, returns to his love, and lives happily ever after. 

I was very excited to see this film for two major reasons, as well as many many lesser reasons.  First and foremost the credited director of the film is Osamu Tezuka, one of modern Japan's most prolific "manga" (Japanese comics) creators.  I am an appreciator of the comic book medium, so Tezuka is hardly an unknown name to me.  Thanks to my soon-to-be-aunt I've been able to obtain translations of numerous works of his, all of which are exceptional with whimsical storytelling ferrying intense characters into entrancing conflicts.  To date he has created numerous adaptations of western classics like Faust (1950) and Crime and Punishment (1953), and has created hugely popular works for Japanese young adults including the science fiction action story Astro Boy and the coming of age title Jungle Emperor.  Upon looking into the production of the film, however, it is unclear how much direct involvement he had.  Still, I like to think that he had a part in not only the style, but the script — both of which bear a striking similarity to Tezuka's situational humor and Disney-inspired art style. 

Second, and perhaps most importantly, this is a film that beautifully showcases the changing relationship that America has with Japan and her citizens.  The very fact that this film made it to our shores at all suggests that there are English speaking audiences out there who are interested in the much larger world of Japanese cinema rather than the limited diet of Japanese culture (samurai, bonsai trees, tea…and Godzilla) normally encountered in America.  I would like to believe that there are even those high up in the entertainment industry who see this film not only a way to make money, but to introduce Americans to other noteworthy Japanese cinema besides the thrilling giant radioactive monsters we've seen so far. 

As avid consumers of film, Americans both young and old, literate or illiterate, have been exposed to Japan and her citizens for many years.  Until recently, these depictions were one-sided affairs, universally from the White perspective.  Observing film history chronologically, one can see a positive and dramatic change since World War II regarding the portrayal of Japan and the Japanese in American cinema. 

Live action documentary propaganda films created by the United States government in the 1940s were, predictably, focused on explaining the relocation of Japanese-American citizens to internment camps.  These 20-30 minute shorts were stark in their description of the camps, but also tried to show that civility and nationalism could work hand in hand during this time of crisis.  In 1942 a film from the U.S.  Office of War Information titled Japanese Relocation depicted Japanese-Americans as being humanely and voluntarily evacuated to orderly camps.  The reason being that there was a possibility that the West Coast of the U.S.  could become the site of a Japanese invasion, and in order to avoid conflict over who was loyal to Japan versus the U.S., precautionary relocation needed to occur.  The 1944 film A Challenge to Democracy, produced by the War Relocation Authority, also characterized the relocation as a voluntary choice made by patriotic Japanese-American citizens who could be released if they displayed unquestionable loyalty to the war effort.  In both of these movies the Japanese are shown as compliant, obedient and content with their situation.  These notions were partly reinforced in the silent film Topaz, a 1945 amateur film by internee Dave Tatsuno.  In the film one can see smiling faces despite the sorrow Tatsuno said they experienced.  Regardless, those who were shown in the camp were still experiencing play, family, community and civil responsibility.

As the war progressed, animated shorts emerged with far more harsh portrayals of the Japanese.  Stereotypical depictions of "Tojo" were common such as in Paramount Pictures' Private Snafu, UPA studios' Commando Duck (1944).  In each of these examples the supposed evil nature of the Japanese took precedence over the portrayal of any moral grey areas.  The Japanese were dehumanized and shown as cowardly; animated films played to the wider fear and anxiety of Japan generated by the grueling brutality of the war. 

In the 1950s, our view of the Japanese began to shift.  An early anomaly during the time when Japanese-Americans were still largely ignored in film (if not outright demonized), Go for Broke! (1951), featured not only Japanese-American actors, but told the story of Japanese-Americans fighting for America in Italy and France while their families waited for them at internment camps.  Bad Day at Black Rock (1955) continued the portrayal of Japanese-Americans along a similar vein – honorable and possessing good attributes.  By 1957 the Japanese were beginning to regain some of their humanity in American cinema despite still being the common villains.  Bridge on the River Kwai depicts the brutality of the Japanese POW camps, its prisoners forced to construct bridges for the Japanese army, yet there are laudable aspects to the enemy.  The Japanese are not all portrayed as irredeemable monsters.  And then, in 1958, there was Geisha Boy – a romantic comedy that stressed the importance of the United States' alliance with Japan against communism and even explored the possibility of a blossoming romance between the protagonist, Jerry Lewis, and his character's Japanese interpreter. 

Enter Alakazam, one of the first real glimpses of Japan as seen by Japan.  Well, not quite.  According to Mika, who'd happened to see the original film in Japan but was still willing to rewatch it with me in America, the original Japanese and the English language scripts are significantly different from one another on the surface.  In translating the script to better suit a Western audience, iconic figures from both West and East mythologies exist along side one another. 

In the original Chinese story, and in the film, the concept of the supreme heaven is ruled by Taoist deities.  No one would expect Hercules and Merlin to be classified as sages and to reside in this version of heaven, and yet they appear as such in the English story.  Merlin is a mountain hermit who teaches Alakazam all he knows of magic.  Hercules challenges Alakazam when he attempts to infiltrate Majutsu Land (The Heavens).  Western concepts are also substituted for more Japanese ones.  Such is the case when Alakazam first meets King Amo.  In the Japanese version the scene sets up a contest of strength between the two.  Alakazam claims that he can transform into any creature and leap, “108,000 li”, in a single bound.  His hubris is his overestimation of his abilities and his conviction that his skill is greater than anyone's. 

In the English version Alakazam says that he has come to challenge heaven because, “You old guys should make room for the younger generation”.  His hubris is that he can challenge those more experienced than himself and still retain superiority.  Despite what is lost in the translation of people and places, little appears to be lacking from the message of the film be it in English or in Japanese.  The moral still rings consistently true – Alakazam must learn how to rule for his people rather than for himself. 

Paralleling the relationship between the U.S.  and Japan, little is different between us despite our superficial cultural differences.  We both see ourselves as Alakazam did, but like him we must both grow to be better leaders.  I believe that we will continue to find our common goal as more and more films make their way from Japan to our shores.  It's too early to tell what the reception of American audiences will be to Alakazam the Great, but one can hope that it will not only herald more cross-cultural exchange, but more understanding between our peoples. 

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