The Northern Anime

 

It's May, and that means it's Anime North time here in Ontario!  And that also means that I've been doing what I do this time of year every year since, um, let me check, since 2005. That's a solid twenty years of me doing panels and things at Anime North, long enough for me to sit back and think, wow, that's a long time.

 

It helps that Anime North is staffed by understanding folks who took a chance on me showing up out of nowhere, who have let me experiment and trial-and-error my way through a wide variety of video formats, panel topics, and event rooms. It also helps that the attendees are a kind and accepting crowd willing to put up with technical snafus, schedule changes, and every other sort of problem endemic to the world of volunteer-driven pop culture events. 

Anime North is happening May 23-25 this year, mere days away as I write this, still with panel clips to edit and flyers to print. But the con will come whether I'm ready or not. If that weekend you happen to come down to the Toronto Congress Centre and the Delta Hotel over on Dixon Road out by Pearson Airport, you'll find yourself wandering through a wonderland of guest panels and autographs, the Doll North area, a dedicated show of Gundam model kits, the secondhand Nominoichi sale, giant vendor halls, gaming halls, artists' alleys, and exhibits. Vtubers, voice actors, artists, translators, guest speakers and experts hold forth on a variety of topics, while fashion shows, masquerades, late night outdoor raves and maid cafes will also distract your attention. Panel topics include Anime Northstalgia, The Food Of Spy X Family, Canadian Anime Heritage Minutes, Explaining Anime To Your Mom, Greatest Anime Deaths, and Fire Emblem War Crimes. 

 

But wait, you ask. Dave, what are YOU doing this year at Anime North? Well, I'll tell you. What I'm doing on Friday is hitting the Nominoichi. And then I'll be in the ballroom at TCC North for another edition of Anime Hell. 

 

It's roughly two hours of roughly edited shorts, clips, trailers, commercials, educational films, and unidentified and unidentifiable audio-visual materials pursuant to our interests in Japan, animation, Hell, or all three. 

And on Saturday noon I'll be looking at three very specific years and extrapolating  entire decades worth of artistic development out of them. Maybe this one's a stretch but it gives us a chance to look at a lot of different, sometimes rarely seen anime, as we speed through 1965/1975/1985: Decades That Shaped Anime.

Later Saturday it's time to explore one of Japan's most notorious anime studios and find out how they turned clunky ineptitude into viral marketing success!

Sue Cat, Ultra Granny, all the stars you know and love will be there to celebrate the unique style of Knack.  All of which may in some way prepare you for what's happening 8pm Saturday night, which is of course Totally Lame. 

Host Neil Nadelman will take you on a two hour tour through the lost worlds of really lousy Japanese cartoons! Worth the price of your Anime North admission alone. 

Sunday noon, myself and a panel of other middle-aged white guys will do what middle-aged white guys can't stop themselves from doing, which is talking about World War Two, specifically the battleship Yamato and how the real thing differs from the cartoon that blows up entire planets. 

And if that isn't cataclysmic enough for you, stick around and see Neil and myself provide live commentary to a newly restored version of the long-suppressed Toho masterpiece of apocalyptic cinema, Prophecies Of Nostradamus.

Ending the convention with the end of the world? Well, if there's a better way to wrap up a fun weekend, well, I'd like to see it. And we probably will. In the meantime, start packing your bags and putting the finishing touches on your cosplay, and we'll see you at Anime North!

-Dave M
 

Revenge Of The Kickstarter Of The Dagger Of Kamui

It was the 1980s. There was no way this movie wasn't going to be treated like exploitation trash, have half an hour hacked out of it and wind up in video stores with a dopey new title. This is how the world worked back then, Asia was a sweatshop cranking out cheap movies, cheap cars, cheap electronics, cheap cartoons, it was all fodder for the K-Marts, the Zayres, the Richways. They all needed discount junk for the ninja-obsessed kids and the developmentally-disabled adults who'd traded the sticky seats of the downtown grindhouse theater for the sticky buttons of their VCRs. After all, there were shipping deadlines to make and shelves to fill, everything was raw material for this machine, even big-budgeted Madhouse-animated Japanese films directed by Rintaro, which is what we're talking about today, the movie about the orphan with nothing but a sword and a secret and a destiny that would shake nations, we're talking about Dagger Of Kamui, a film that came and went and whose Blu-Ray revival is about to once again reveal its hidden treasures to a North America that might pay attention this time.

I've mentioned already how teenage me first saw this film, as a copy of a copy of a copy on a hotel TV during an Atlanta Fantasy Fair, sitting on the hard floor, ignoring the heat and whatever else I was missing at the convention, mesmerized in spite of the film’s punishing length and lack of English subtitles or dialogue. For those 132 minutes Dagger Of Kamui became our entire universe, our perception focused on the sweeping vistas of Bering Sea ice, mystical Hokkaido mountains, the American West, the neon slashes of ninja blades shattering the night with glowing crimson, and the surprising introduction of what we’d soon call Ninja Dog, all set to a pulsating rock soundtrack. When the film was over, returning to the beige suburban reality of the mid 1980s was hard.

Anime fandom wrote this film off in the 90s. Lumped in with other mid-list Just For Kids releases like Technopolice 21C and Dallos, Kamui wasn't lurid or extreme enough for the Ninja Scroll crowd, didn’t star outer space bikini teens or combination robots, was too long to fit on the tape-traders’ standard T-120, and even when AnimEigo released it on VHS (1993) and DVD (2003) the only reaction was to give Rintaro doubters something besides Harmagedon to poke unwarranted fun at.

Tetsu Yano's Kamui novels

How did Japan react to this boom-era epic from Haruki Kadokawa’s media-mix hit factory? Middling box office and a PC-88 game, that’s how. Kadokawa's third animated film after the groundbreaking Harmagedon and the mystifying atavism of Shonen Kenya, Dagger Of Kamui would come from author Tetsu Yano, whose path to fiction began by collecting garbage on US military bases. Intrigued by the lurid covers of discarded American SF pulps, Yano would go on to translate writers like Heinlein, Herbert, and Pohl into Japanese, as well as write SF himself, becoming the first Japanese SF author to visit the US. First novelized in 1970, Yano would continue Dagger of Kamui for Kadokawa Shoten in 1984 and 1985. The 80s editions of Yano's Kamui novels were illustrated by Moribi Murano, who would design characters for this Kamui film, and who also did character designs and manga for Toho's 1984 feature Lensman, bringing us full circle to the pulps.

Pulp is indeed what we're talking about here, mass-market historical pulp fiction. If Dagger Of Kamui was an American novel, it'd be 500 pages wedged into a drugstore rack, a bare-chested pioneer on the cover struggling for survival and glory while manhandling a busty wench against the backdrop of a savage frontier, a promise of sweeping melodrama built partly out of history and partly on the need to have something exciting happen every fifteen pages.

Of course, to fully enjoy historical fiction it helps to know the history, but where this film is concerned, well, they aren’t teaching the Meiji Restoration in American high schools, so pay attention. In the tail end of the Edo period, the Tokugawa Shogunate was losing its grasp on power. Desperation leads to extreme measures, which is why one day in the northwest Shimokita peninsula, way up there near Hokkaido, our hero Jiro returns home and finds his adoptive mother and sister dead in the darkness, mother fallen over a short sword wrapped in Ainu cloth, the same short sword and cloth that were found with infant Jiro 14 years before. Jiro unsheathes the flashing blade, the soundtrack kicks in with hypnotic drums, jangling guitar, and unearthly chants, and ladies and gentlemen, we have Dagger Of Kamui. Chased out of town during the opening credits, Jiro runs straight into the care of Tenkai, head monk of Tengen temple, and incidentally also the leader of the Shogun's secret shinobi squad, who takes Jiro and trains him in the ways of the shadow warriors, which this film is careful to never call “ninja.”

A hidden treasure, a secret warrior caste, an orphan destined for glory raised as a warrior, Japan itself at stake in a struggle that spans the Pacific, it doesn’t get pulpier than this. The story moves across what was then called Ezo and is now Hokkaido, as Jiro rescues an Ainu kid, reunites with his own Ainu mother, finds a treasure code in his father’s empty grave, realizes he’s a pawn in Tenkai’s game, and learns his own short sword is the titular Dagger, the Of Kamui one. Kamui in this case doesn’t mean the Sanpei Shirato manga, but the divine spirits of the Ainu, embodied in Hokkaido’s holy mountain Kamuinupuri, which we’ll see a few times in this film. The idea of a vast treasure connected with the Ainu should come as no surprise to viewers of what might be the Hokkaido indigenous people’s most comprehensive representation in anime, 2018’s Golden Kamuy, but in 1985 Dagger Of Kamui might have been one of the earliest, most realized representations of Ainu culture we’d see in the anime and manga field, apart from the Tetsuya Chiba manga (and Hayao Miyazaki TMS pilot) Yuki’s Sun and the Osamu Tezuka manga Brave Dan. Of course, later series like Samurai Champloo and Shaman King would feature characters of Ainu ancestry.

For Dagger’s Jiro, defying Tenkai means battling every one of Tenkai’s henchmen and henchwomen, from Shingo’s mind bending paralysis poison to the beautiful Oyuki and her duplication jutsu, their fight turning the Ezo hot springs landscape blood red in a flashing, possibly seizure-triggering hurricane of colors while cranking the soundtrack electric guitar up to eleven.

Samurai dropout Ando Shouzan shows Jiro a globe of the world and Japan's small place in it, and together they find the Dagger’s secret pointing to America and Santa Catalina Island, later famous as the shooting location for a bad Tommy Kirk beach movie. But before Jiro can embark on his own Catalina Caper, he must battle Tenkai's next killers, the Matsumae Trio, aptly named after a northern Japanese clan who ruled the northernmost approaches to Hokkaido and the Ainu. This trio of Toad Guy, Blowgun Hippy and Boomerang Samurai battle Jiro in a psychedelic nightmare showdown of eerie pastel fire accompanied by a soundtrack of ominous groaning and ethereal bells.

At a Kunashir Island port, Jiro saves the black American sailor Sam and defeats Oyuki in a struggle onboard Sam’s whaling ship and we’re halfway through the film. Jiro and Oyuki are on their way to America, until suddenly they’re ditched in Kamkatcha, to share backstories of being raised as assassins by Tenkai. In the snow they find both a puppy and maybe puppy love, but whoops, there's Tenkai who gives Oyuki a six-gun and tells her to get the job done. What Tenkai fails to realize is "the job" means "causing an avalanche that allows everyone to escape."

Smash cut to Nevada – yes, this is a film that handwaves 3500 miles of ocean - where a raggedy Jiro once again arrives to rescue a total stranger, saving the blue-eyed Indian maiden Chico from being assaulted by two outlaws. Reminiscent of Natalie Wood in The Searchers, Chico turns out to be not Navajo but actually French, orphaned and raised by the tribe, whose chief is, of course, Geronimo. In Carson City, Jiro inquires after Santa Catalina Island, has a Wild West high-noon shootout with the two outlaws, and gets directions from celebrated author Mark Twain, who tells him of the legend of Captain Kidd's gold.

Fun fact, the real Captain Kidd actually did leave a prize ship at a Santa Catalina Island in 1699, while he travelled to New York City and later London to defend himself unsuccessfully against charges of piracy. However, that ship didn't have any treasure on it, and Kidd's Santa Catalina was/is a completely different Santa Catalina Island, offshore from the Dominican Republic instead of Los Angeles.

If you want to put a message in your movie, maybe the best way to get it across is to have a world famous author deliver it. That’s what happens here when Mark Twain looks right at the camera and tells us all how he saw something wild and vital in Jiro, something that humanity might be in danger of losing in our fast-paced modern world of telegraphs, steam locomotives and ninja movies.

On California's Santa Catalina, Rintaro's cinematic skill reveals the treasure’s secret in a signature spectacle of light bursting out of darkness, a shining cross marking the crumbling cave in which there is only a throne and one solitary chest of coins - and Tenkai, sending Oyuki against Jiro in a final showdown interrupted by sudden betrayal and faithful Ninja Dog attack. Hidden behind a secret wall, the full treasure hoard is inadvertently revealed by Tenkai’s corpse – if it IS Tenkai’s corpse, because in true pulp fiction fashion it turns out secret shinobi bosses always have two or three body doubles, just in case.

Chico And The Man

Meanwhile in Japan, the real Tenkai's master the Tokugawa Shogunate is challenged by the Satsuma-Chōshū army, in what will be known later as the Boshin War. As the film says, "the 300 year reign of the Tokugawa Shogunate is crashing down!" But Tenkai meets with Lord Sadonokami (a real person) and Lord Kozukenosuke (another real person) and in spite of the Kidd treasure not working out for them, another plan is proposed, to mortgage Hokkaido to foreign powers in exchange for money to continue the war. Is their no end to their perfidy?

But Jiro, enriched by the treasure, hires his own band of Iga shinobi to carry on his own personal war with Tenkai. We see the down payment travel from woodblock-print Osaka to Nara, back to Iga, and into a ninja double cross that turns into a ninja triple cross! Soon Tenkai’s temple is in flames and he’s left to linger in defeat, just as in real life the Tokugawa government retreated to Hokkaido to set up the Republic Of Ezo with the military help of defecting French advisors. This was the first democratic government in Asia (well, okay, only samurai could vote) and it lasted almost a year before it fell in the Battle of Hakodate, the setting for Jiro’s final battle with Tenkai, set among artillery duels between the Imperial Navy and the star fortress of Goryōkaku.

Shellfire and explosions punctuate the percussive soundtrack as Tenkai, throughout the film thwarted by the infants he himself trained, defeated by his own intricate plans, halted even by the sacrifice of children and the elderly, is finally defeated both by Jiro and by historical forces no amount of ninjutsu can conquer. In the aftermath of the battle Jiro sees Tenkai for what he was, one more power-hungry monster in the service of any number of governments far removed from the people they supposedly govern.

And that’s Dagger Of Kamui, a movie where Jiro either saves or fights pretty much everyone he meets, sometimes both at the same time, in which randomly appearing characters turn out to be vital narrative anchors, a film that inserts real life famous personalities into the narrative to tell us how amazing the hero is, where we’re given not one but two body-double fakeouts and two - wait, three completely different sets of murdered relatives, and an intricate scheme that involves raising a ninja from birth and turning him loose to...let’s see, he’ll kill all your other ninja, how did that work out for you, Tenkai? In lesser hands, the bare-faced ridiculousness of Dagger’s melodrama would devolve into campy parody or get bogged down, like this review, in historical details.

But this is Rintaro we’re talking about here. He puts Madhouse and Project Team Argos to work delivering the shining sparks and neon traces of shuriken and kunai zipping through the darkness, animating bakufu armies and Old West steam locomotives and shifting Kuril ice floes, depicting shinobi bouncing across the landscape like Adieu 999 Mechanized Empire stormtroopers, artillery barrages and Ainu villages alike with consummate skill, all set against the beautiful landscapes of art director Mukuo Takamura, fresh from his location scouting trip to Hokkaido. Dagger screenwriter Masaki Mori and character designer Murano Moribi worked on the Madhouse adaptation of the similarly set late-Edo period Haguregumo together, and Murano also contributed to Madhouse's mid-80s animation domination with his work on child-frightener Unico In The Island Of Magic. Dagger Of Kamui’s visuals are by a top-tier list of talent, every minute driven forward by the amazing soundtrack largely the work of Ryudo Uzaki and his Ryudo Group, a whirling mix of traditional and modern, intense and propulsive, the perfect companion to the mind-bendingly hallucinatory visuals of shinobi vs shinobi combat that are the film’s highlights.

These animated psychedelic showdowns would have been lost had Kadokawa gone with their first choice and shot Dagger Of Kamui as a live-action film. Thankfully for anime fans, budget challenges dictated a move to animation. Sonny Chiba protege Hiroyuki “Burning Fire” Sanada, featured in Kadokawa's GI Samurai, Ninja Wars, and Legend Of The Eight Samurai, would voice the role of Jiro. Seen recently in the FX on Hulu remake of the historical miniseries Shogun, Sanada was no stranger to ninja danger, having done voice work in the anime series Igano Kabamaru, as well as starring in its live-action adaptation. You might recognize Tenkai’s voice actor Tarō Ishida as the voice of Count Cagliostro in Lupin III Castle Of Cagliostro – or he might have been your local Kyoto Buddhist priest, because he was one! Oyuki was voiced by Mami Oyama, whose career runs the gamut from Candy Candy’s Annie Brighton to X-Bomber’s Lamia to Arale in Dr. Slump. Mark Twain’s voice actor, Iemasa Kayumi, was the go-to actor for Frank Sinatra and Donald Sutherland’s Japanese voices, as well as the evil Lepka in Future Boy Conan. 

Distributed by Toei and released in March of 1985 on a double bill with the modern-day surfer romance Bobby’s In Deep, Dagger would make 210 million yen at the Japanese box office, a mediocre showing in a year when both The Burmese Harp and Be-Bop High School would break the one billion yen mark. Dagger Of Kamui merch would include a four volume film comic by Fujimi Shobo, a FM-7 cassette tape-loading PC-88 computer adventure game that required several minutes of load time with every move, and of course the motion picture soundtrack by Ryudo Uzaki and the Ryudo Group, featuring Noriko Watanabe singing the insert song "Kamui's Lullaby.”

Only a few years later the movie would find itself on VHS in North America, retitled “Revenge Of The Ninja Warrior,” cut to 96 minutes and released along with other anime titles in Celebrity Home Video’s “Just For Kids” package. Pioneering anime localizer AnimEigo would release an uncut, subtitled Dagger Of Kamui on VHS and Laserdisc in the 90s and later on DVD, the sleeve of which even highlights Rintaro's direction and namechecks his "Space Galaxy 999," whatever that is. North American anime fandom of the 90s and beyond sometimes dismissed Dagger as overlong, nonsensical, pompous and boring – and hey, I’ll give you those first three. For non-Japanese audiences the film definitely needs subtitles, and most of us wouldn’t be seeing it with English subs until that AnimEigo release, which failed to change the fortunes of a film that never really found an audience on either side of the Pacific. Who knows, perhaps the film was too historical for the ninja movie crowd and too weird for the historical fiction fans. Maybe the thing was twenty or twenty five minutes too long for moviegoers who had spent the past five years grinding through Be Forevers and Super Galaxys,  Cosmozones Of Love and other animated endurance contests.

However, don’t bury this treasure yet. In August of 2024 AnimEigo founder Robert Woodhead announced the Kickstarter for The Dagger of Kamui Treasure Trove Edition, a deluxe limited edition Blu-Ray featuring an HD transfer of the original film with English subtitles, art galleries, a digital archive of production materials from Kadokawa, and a new commentary track featuring Rintaro. The successful funding campaign is over, and discs should ship sometime around June 2025, but don't worry, you can still get one of these limited edition Blu-Rays for yourself.

It’s been a forty year journey of 7000 miles from Hokkaido to California and back, but if the gods of Kamuinupuri are with us and the Kamui wind is at our backs, maybe this time Dagger Of Kamui can finally find the audience it deserves, an audience of viewers able to enjoy both preposterous historical yarns and high-definition hallucinogenic hypno-shinobi, all in the same movie. I can’t be the only one!

-Dave Merrill

Let's Flashback 1993

 

By popular demand, another long-suppressed issue of the print Let's Anime is up at the Otaku Archive portion of the Internet Archive, complete with all the attitude, factual errors and translation mistakes you've come to expect from 90s zines! It's sure to be a fascinating look at what it took to put a fanzine out back in the days when Japanese translation was difficult, reliable raw information was hard to come by, and desktop publishing meant putting actual pieces of paper onto the top of a desk, trimming images and text by hand using scissors or an X-Acto blade, and pasting everything down with the old reliable UHU Glue Stick. 

You can easily see exactly where I pasted things into the layout thanks to those harsh shadows. I still have the original pasteups for this issue, which is not a thing I can say about several other issues of the print Let's Anime. The process of putting together an issue was labor-intensive. For this particular issue I found myself blessed with a variety of submissions - Wilfredo Segarra sent me a terrific long-form Mazinger Z piece, Darius Washington wrote about Macross II, and Matt and CB delivered a rant about both the depressing state of then-current anime and the dismissive attitude the American fan sphere held towards the classics. Lloyd Carter gave me an installment of his long-running anime column "Beer Can Missiles," fake advice columnist The Beast offered yet more fake advice to fake correspondents, and I managed to throw in pieces about Giant Robo, a top ten robot anime list, scene reports, fanzine reviews, and because it's the 1990s, an article about Shonen Knife. The Nausicaa drone article came from an aviation magazine, the title of which has vanished into obscurity. Rounding out the issue were flyers for Project A-Kon 4, Anime America's Dojinshi contest, and I-Con's anime experiment "Chibi-Con"

 

All this text was keyboarded into a desktop publishing program, the name of which I cannot remember; all I know is it worked on our Windows 3.0 box. All the headlines, page numbers, and text blocks were printed out on our home inkjet printer. Illustrations were provided by hauling a load of manga, magazines, and books up to the Kinko's Copy at Windy Hill & 41, which was open all night and had free coffee, and I'd photocopy whatever I thought I was going to need for that particular issue.

Raw materials in hand, the next step was putting it all together and pasting it all up, one page at a time, trimming illustrations to fit and building collages of different images as necessary. This is kind of the fun part, as long as you keep a supply of sharp X-Acto blades handy. The pasted-up 8.5x11 pages would then be assembled into 11x17 signatures - a 28 page zine would require 7 signatures - and then that 11x17 mockup would be brought back to the Kinkos, or maybe the self-service copiers at Office Depot. That's where the actual printing of the book would be done. Then I'd take the pages home, assemble the books, staple the books with my long booklet stapler, and fold them. All by hand.  

 

This stack of finished Let's Anime zines would be sold to the general public at anime club meetings, at anime fan tables at local conventions, and at the artist alley/promotional tables at Project A-Kon, which at the time was the only anime convention we were making it out to. And of course I sold issues through the mail via the PO box; anime zine publishers would swap zines and promote each other's publications, and there was a slow but steady amount of letters coming into that PO box from people who'd read about Let's Anime in another fanzine, picked up a flyer at a convention, or heard about us at a club meeting somewhere. 

Did an issue of Let's Anime ever get a print run of more than 100 copies? I don't think so. I quit doing print issues of Let's Anime in 1999 for a multitude of reasons, mostly because on top of all the actual zine writing and layout work is all the extra work of simply getting that zine into the hands of readers. Distribution is the key word here, it's a job in and of itself, and one that I simply did not have time for.  I enjoy making fanzines, I enjoy creating physical printed books, and as we sometimes see decades of internet work vanish in an instant, the permanence of ink on paper has become surprisingly valuable. But self-distribution requires a self dedicated to that and only that, and, well, I have other things to do. In the meantime, my writing about classic Japanese animation can reach an audience tens, hundreds, thousands of times wider than it ever could when it was limited to whatever I could print, staple, and fold one at a time.  

-Dave Merrill

 

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write 'em, cowboy

I was there in the 90s and let me tell you, things were pretty grim. For us anime nerds, I mean. There we were, sitting around our anime clubs and cons, looking at the fandom we’d built around the science-fiction anime-boom giants of the late 70s and the 80s, realizing that those shows were gone. The Macrosses and Yamatos and Dirty Pairs had vanished, the Cobras and Captain Harlocks and Bubblegum Crisises had all popped along with the bubble economy, and as much as the retailers wished it wasn’t so, there was only one Akira. Sure, there was still plenty of anime to watch, but Japan had moved on from space opera; now everything was either high-school this or fantasy sorcerer-elf that, or somebody cooking something tasty in the middle of a forest in the middle of a Ghibli film, which, it’s fine, but there’s a specific itch that wasn’t getting scratched. 

 

That is, not until Cowboy Bebop showed up. Crashing into our eyeballs like, yeah, like a tank, this Sunrise show absolutely changed the game, flipped the table, set the rule book on fire and ignited a series of demolition charges around the perimeter of the stadium in which the game had been played. There it was, there was the rocket sock-’em space adventure we’d been missing, built around a framework of Tarantino and John Woo, with characters that looked like human beings instead of candy packaging mascots, backed by a soundtrack of… is that jazz? Is this music for grownups? Is this that rare, almost mythical beast, a Japanese animated TV show that isn’t childish or embarrassing or pandering, a show you can show your parents? Your roommates? Your girlfriend?

 

It's no surprise that a stylish, action-packed anime series wearing its global pop cultural influences on its sleeve would fit perfectly into a media landscape filled with maturing cartoon fans ready for the next big thing, primed by decades of TV syndication culminating in an American cable network seemingly built just for this show. At least that's what it felt like when Cowboy Bebop premiered here in North America; like the show had been custom-built for kids who four or five years back had been hypnotized by Sailor Moon, Teknoman and Ronin Warriors, who might be growing up and away from primary-colored justice fighters, who were ready for something starring grownups with jobs and nicotine habits, ready for a Japanese animated TV series that, for once, was going to impress the hell out of their friends and relatives who might still be mocking the concept of "animation for adults." 

Telos Publishing’s release of Satoru Stevenson’s Three, Two, One: Let’s Jam! The Unofficial And Unauthorised Guide To The Original Cowboy Bebop is also not a surprise, it’s more a case of the series finally getting the kind of exhaustively comprehensive guide it’s always deserved. And let me just say when I use the terms “exhaustive” and “comprehensive” I am not kidding, this book is more than six hundred pages long and it is all meat, no filler, filled with details about the creative staff, animation production, musical composition, the live action shows Bebop creator Shinichiro Watanabe used as creative signposts, the Buddhist parables that inspired storylines, the episodes that came a little too close to current (1990s) events for the Japanese TV networks, and facts about every episode, the world of 2071, the PS1 game, the Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door film, the PS2 game… in short, if it’s not in this book then you don’t need to know it, at least when it comes to Spike, Faye, Jet, Edward, and Ein The Wonder Dog. 

 
What is kinda surprising is that a Bebop book like this hasn’t appeared sooner, and that other series haven’t had similar treatments. I'd love to see a comprehensive English-language book about, say, Astro Boy or Mazinger Z, or Gatchaman, Space Battleship Yamato, Mobile Suit Gundam, or Macross, you name it, there's a cherished cultural icon deserving of a long-form print edition overview. Somebody get busy, because Three, Two, One: Let’s Jam! is more than a book, it’s a call to action for everyone who’s filled hours, shelf space and valuable mental real estate obsessing over their favorite anime shows, a challenge to start working on your own resource guide for your own icons.

If you're hoping Three, Two, One: Let’s Jam! dissects the live-action Netflix Cowboy Bebop, well, keep hoping. While the streamer's perhaps ill-advised remake did bring the original to Netflix for the first time, Stevenson’s book deflects with the deft sidestep "coverage of such an adaptation is beyond this book's remit," a sensible position, and anyway, the book’s already six hundred and thirty nine pages long, spending more pages to discuss a Netflix version nobody liked is probably foolish.

Fans of Movie International's 80s cult super robot drama Galactic Gale Baxinger and it's ending credits song "Asteroid Blues" will be fascinated to learn, as we do in Stevenson's book, that Bebop creator Watanabe denies any connection between the Baxinger tune and the title of Bebop's first episode, a claim I simply don’t buy. Look buddy, you made an anime about outer space bounty hunters, Baxinger is an anime about outer space bounty hunters, part of a series of anime shows about outer space bounty hunters known collectively as the J9 series, which was a reference to the Sony SL-J9 Betamax... a Betamax that itself shows up in an episode of Cowboy Bebop. You say you weren’t thinking about J9 at all, huh? Sure you weren’t.

But enough about merciless J9. The fact is that Three, Two, One: Let’s Jam! is an awe-inspiring chunk of scholarship that is unique in the annals of English-language anime research, a singular achievement that is a worthy addition to any library on Earth, Mars, the asteroid belt, anywhere in the Solar System, really. Cowboy Bebop fans will be consulting this book for the details on whichever episode Adult Swim’s airing tonight, up until 2071 and beyond.

Thanks to Satoru and Telos!

-Dave Merrill

Thanks for reading Let's Anime! If you enjoyed it and want to show your appreciation for what we do here as part of the Mister Kitty Dot Net world, please consider joining our Patreon!