I rarely use a series title as a post title —probably— but I rarely examine a work from the perspective of a writer either. I’m choosing to do so today after watching the first episode of the 2008 anime TV series Casshern Sins. The work is something of a re-imagining of an old anime series from the 1970’s (which has been remade on two other occasions, once in live action with heavy digital effects) and it takes full advantage of its nature by not wasting time.
If people want to get into the work at all they can easily find out who Casshern and Luna are and why it’s significant to the series mythos that Casshern is said to have killed Luna. In this first episode we don’t know whether that’s true or not, and we also don’t know whether this action has truly set about the ruination of the world and its robotic inhabitants. However, this is actually intriguing symbolism for how the idea of Casshern killing Luna ruins the entire image of the relationship that the two built up in the original series.
The other thing that stands out is that the exposition flows naturally. Characters and their natures, even the general plot and the formula that the rest of the show will likely follow, becomes apparent to the viewer through the course of the episode without a lot of prodding. This feeling of commonplace occurrence during introductions is what most serial/longer works strive for, but honestly such scenes tend to end out being too contrived. Normally the introduction of Casshern would fall under that as well, but it’s self-evident that what’s happening really is the “everyday” for this world.
One mark that I was ready to strike against this work was that of its dicey believability. After all, in a world of robots why the hell would they speak to each other? Communication would theoretically be useful or necessary, but why human speech? Even this matter was quickly brushed away by the one self-evident truth of writing: if a logical person can think of a plausible explanation then you don’t need to give them one. The one I came up with is that these robots were created in a certain spirit of romance such that their programs mirror humans rather than surpass them. Perhaps you can think of one? Alternately the robots as a whole are probably allegories for humanity so that’s why their manner is human.
Well, I think that the trend of not including forced explanations will eventually be spoiled later in the series by supreme wordiness as Casshern searches for understanding so that’s a bummer. On that note the amnesiac protagonist is usually an asinine premise, but for a robot it actually makes sense that if they’d been through trauma then their program and memory would be messed up right? That goes back to what I was saying about the reader being able to do the job of the writer.
I wasn’t happy that Ringo didn’t just get destroyed since that seemed out of tune with the relentlessness of the rest of the episode, but obviously that’s the kind of tone they wanted to set for the work. That puts me in mind of how most of the characters die in the Vampire Hunter D stories unless they can contribute some kind of feeling to the ending by being alive. Well honestly it’s usually the same thing every time: the character who remains reflects upon D, and/or calls after him while he rides away by himself (his left hand notwithstanding). Perhaps Ringo will similarly be used as a device at the end of the show? That would be in keeping with the idea that everything introduced at the start should be either disposed of or present at the finish.
I don’t plan on writing about this series again once I’ve worked through it more (or completely) since I don’t want to have to castigate something that I’ve already complimented, so I’ll leave it up to you readers to research on your own whether my speculation about Ringo holds true in the end or not.
To finish up with the idea about examining things as a writer, I suppose some might argue that I was looking at things as a literary critic instead. Let me suggest that if one wants to be a good writer (not that I necessarily am) they should cultivate their critical skills and mitigate their technical knowledge to the point that they would be competent as a reviewer, editor, and instructor as well. In theory the reverse holds true as well, but in practice those whose trade is anything less than the purely creative have a hard time breaking through all the way. Perhaps it’s just fate since a lot of good writers are lousy students who need solid editors to clean up their messes and critics to keep them from getting too far ahead of themselves. There’s a bit too much fawning and simpering down in the trenches for my tastes these days, but I suppose that’s due at least in part to there being such a wide range of writing to choose from that reviewers and teachers can focus only upon what they truly appreciate. You might have noticed that I try to expand my attention across the spectrum. Perhaps I should balance out this ramble with another about a work that failed on so many levels that it actually pissed me off. Instead I’ll just say that I fucking hate Shakespeare since I consider it absolute tripe from a writing standpoint.