HOLY GOD THIS ULTRAMAN MANGA IS FREAKING ME OUT

(this article originally appeared on the website Anime Jump in 2004.)

Nostalgia used to be classified as a mental illness. The wiser heads of the Victorian age rightly determined that any personality so warped as to obsess itself with the past was one seriously in need of the finest counselling that the pre-psychoanalytical age could provide.

Knowing all this makes it all the more difficult to appreciate, much less write about, a show like ULTRAMAN. Is your love of the show truly motivated by the actual quality of the show itself? Or are you using the show as an excuse to wallow in a more innocent age, spent wearing footy pajamas, on one of America's more garish sofas, eyes glued to the Superstation Channel 17 as the weird multicolored swirl of what appeared to be latex house paint formed itself into the show's title, to the accompaniment of a discordant jangle of tortured electric guitar strings? Is ULTRAMAN your gateway drug into nostalgia addiction? Or are we, as I suspect, dealing with the effects of sleep-deprivation on young viewers combined with a unique and frequently bizarre television show?

ULTRAMAN first premiered in 1966 on TBS, the Tokyo Broadcasting System. The brainchild of producer Eiji Tsubaraya, ULTRAMAN was a sequel of sorts to a show called ULTRA Q, a monster-laden suspense show along the lines of our OUTER LIMITS. What set ULTRAMAN apart from ULTRA Q was, naturally, the eponymous Ultraman, a giant silvery spaceman visiting Earth to protect us from monsters. In a nation already dutifully trooping to the theater every year for another GODZILLA film, a television show featuring pretty much the same sort of thrill was a natural success. 

 

 ULTRA SEVEN followed ULTRAMAN, which was in turn followed by RETURN OF ULTRAMAN, ULTRAMAN ACE, ULTRAMAN LEO, ULTRAMAN TARO, ULTRAMAN 80, and after a hiatus of nearly 20 years new ULTRA series like DYNA and TIGA have returned to Japanese (and American) television. Even though ULTRAMAN was a Tsubaraya production, I have only Peter Fernandez to thank for it; without his work dubbing the series into English, for me and most Americans it would only be a curiosity alongside FIREMAN, MIRRORMAN, ZONE FIGHTER, RED BARON, etc.

 

I'm not going to bore you with descriptions of Ultraman or the Science Patrol or of their guns and spaceships and uniforms and what-not. All that stuff is pure window dressing -merely the sugar coating the pill of delicious horror that the UHF antenna brought into your home. Who knew what that Saturday's episode was going to bring? A quivering, gelatinous thing, with antennae bristling from its rubbery orfices, menacing Earth simply by daring to exist? The corpse of a monkey-faced mummy, reanimated by ten million volts, vaporizing Tokyo police? Zebra-striped, fetish-masked aliens who walk through walls and collect shrunken scientists in test tubes? The tortured cry of a gigantic, mutated astronaut echoing through the forest? Or, best of all, the echoing laugh of the silver-hued, lobster-clawed Baltan, whose rotating eye-stalks foretold the doom of the human race?

 

 

Like the British baby-boomer children who fearfully watched Dr. Who’s Daleks from behind the safety of solid middle-class British furniture, American children found that Ultraman’s monsters were not only best viewed from behind the couch, but that most could be dispatched with a quick burst of Spacium energy from Ultraman’s crossed forearms. In fact, ULTRAMAN inspired my first effort at media journalism; a one-page report delivered to my first grade class on blue-lined notebook paper (though the subtextual subtleties of the show escaped my 6-year old view). The calming presence of that giant, bulb-eyed spaceman assured us all that while monsters may howl and cardboard city blocks might be demolished, safety and order would ultimately triumph.

 

 

No, the fact of the matter is that ULTRAMAN is frequently dismissed as a monster-of-the-week show, a GODZILLA imitator starring Clark Kent as a giant silvery wrestling champion defending miniature office buildings. And these dismissals are entirely fair. ULTRAMAN actually is a simplistic, frequently silly show entirely too dependent upon underpaid actors in uncomfortable rubber monster suits. And yet…

And yet, I can’t forget the chill that literally tingles my spine when I recall some of the show’s more effective monsters. The bottom line of this show is – maybe it’s a show intended to frighten (and therefore entertain) children – but if that’s the show’s purpose, than it is a resounding success. 

 

 

Because this is a show that scares children. The constant use of location shooting (this takes place in the real world, not some set) –the parade of incidental characters attacked, possessed, murdered, or otherwise affected by the monsters –the New Wave cinema verite camera techniques –all these add to ULTRAMAN’s fear factor. Produced by a society consumed with a love of the bizarre, ULTRAMAN could hardly expect to be anything else – bizarre is the only word for a show utterly consumed by monsters. Monsters big and small – from gigantic horned beasts that shoot fire and emit blinding flashes, to a subterranean race of what would be ordinary looking people, except they have NO EYES. Or the shiny silver alien who creates his own evil Ultraman. Or another alien who tempts a human boy to betray his planet, like Satan tempting Jesus in the wilderness.

Ultraman himself, a monster. Gigantic, unspeaking, with destructive and vaguely defined powers, looking gnarled and lumpy in the close-up shots. Sure, as the franchise continued we’d get a parade of Ultraman and Ultrawomen and Ultrakids, along with backstory about their home galaxy, et cetera, et cetera, ad nauseaum. Thank God that stuff never made it to the States, at least not while I was a kid. I prefer the original- unencumbered by dogma, paint peeling from his shopworn Ultra suit, dedicated to kicking monster ass, occasionally cutting loose with a few meaningless grunts. The silly or contrived moments of his TV show being counterbalanced by the creepy, the bizarre, the monstrous.

America has produced no children’s television quite so menacingly offbeat; the closest one might come is the Sid & Marty Kroftt production LAND OF THE LOST, or the pre-hero monster comics Marvel produced in the early ‘60s. Horror in America is strictly for adults, or for kids smart enough to dodge parents or babysitters.

 

 

This nostalgia jag was sparked by a fat volume of Sun Special ULTRAMAN manga from the 60s. I wasn’t expecting too much; so much ULTRAMAN stuff is out there, and very little of it really has much to do with the show I enjoyed as a child. In fact I’d had a volume of SHONEN MAGAZINE’s Ultraman comics by Kazumine Daiji for years –simplistic Mitsuteru Yokoyama-style clean-line SF comics without any distinguishing characteristics. Well, this manga –by horror comics auteur Kazuo "Cat Eyed Boy" Umezu, fer Chrissakes - begins with a story where a crazed scientist takes a big swallow from a gasoline pump, and then his skin peels away and he turns into a Baltan. A disgusting, veiny, chitinous Baltan, who lets Ultraman rip one of his claws off, just so he can set fire to the gasoline draining from the wound and fly off, laughing.

THEN things get REALLY weird.

The stories in this volume have a passing resemblance to the television scripts, but only faintly. Umezu's draftsmanship keeps the characters cartoony and simple, except where monsters are concerned. Monsters, the true stars, are delineated with a loving and detailed hand aimed directly at the primary goal; frightening children.

The boys who read this would grow up to read even more outlandish and violent mens’ comics; the girls would have a whole sub-genre of girls’ horror comics, jam-packed with beheadings, defenestrations, and entrails, some drawn by Umezu, for their entertainment.

The question is, do Japanese kids hide behind the sofa when the Baltans appear on the screen? Do they get the same kind of horror-excitement charge that American children got? Or are they culturally so inured to the bizarre nature of their popular entertainment that such things are seen as a matter of course? If so, that’s a shame. Perhaps you have to be raised in the more restrictive atmosphere (at least as far as television is concerned) of mid-70s America to truly appreciate the creepy vibe of ULTRAMAN.

The other question is, what happened to ULTRAMAN? From genuinely disturbing to shiny and genial in one – okay, two seasons? By the time the 70s rolled around, Ultraman was safe and non-threatening; he might as well have worn glasses and worked at the Daily Planet. It’s probably yet another symptom of Nostalgia As Psychological Disturbance for one to prefer that Tsubaraya keep his show scary and threatening rather than safe and comforting; probably more advertising money with the safe angle, I should imagine.

ATTACK OF THE FIFTY-FOOT FUJI!

Perhaps you can’t return to the pre-teen days of being scared out of your wits by a laughing Baltan. Sometimes, however, nostalgia can be induced merely by a few panels of a out-of-print comic serial, and it all comes rushing back. Minus the footy pajamas, of course.

 

 -Dave Merrill

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real fun

Back in 1984 my family went on a vacation trip to Philadelphia, which for me meant visiting comic book stores and watching Starblazers and Force Five on "Philly 57" in the hotel room. It also meant my first look into the world of free urban weekly zines, the mere sight of which impacted my youthful consciousness in ways that have not quite yet finished bouncing around my brain-pan.

REAL FUN was a shock: a cheap newsprint thing full of badly toned photographs, ugly comics, cut and paste typesetting, one or two colors somehow making the whole package look CHEAPER than if it was just black and white. Handwritten columns were next to primitive Macintosh typesetting. Ads for independent punk rock labels, record stores, and head shops coexisted with strips by Peter Bagge, Dennis Worden, Bill Griffith, Spain, the mysterious XENO, Henriette Valium, and other future stars. Fake news articles, anti-McDonalds editorials, and a general contempt for Reagan's America made REAL FUN authentic subversive literature for this suburban kid. What else did REAL FUN have? Japanese cartoons!

This article by D.M. Kister and F. Couch continued across two issues and not only was it filled with amusing typos and blatant editorializing, it was living proof of my firm conviction that Japanese animation was a vital element of America's mass media zeitgeist, that it had a place at the trash-culture table along with comic books, Pez dispensers, the 45 single, and late-night diner food.

As it turns out Mike Kister had a business selling Japanese animation books and magazines so I suppose there was an ulterior motive behind this article.

Remember, this was a time before businessmen even considered the idea of selling Japanese cartoons to America as anything but edited, dubbed syndicated children's television. The thought that there might be something worthwhile in these robot cartoons... that the degree of artistry and design in your Macross or your Nausicaa might be of interest to more than sugar-addled 8-year olds... this was SUBVERSIVE THOUGHT in 1984.

Was Japanese animation as transgressive as the "Ugly Comics" of Atlanta's own "Baby Sue"? Only "Bob" knows for sure. Memorize his predictions for 1985!

And if "Bob" can't heal you through slack, your only hope is Fred Lane And His Hittite Hot Shots.

Remember, the wing tip of destiny casts no shadow.

You doubt the convergence of underground culture and Japanese cartoons? You fool! Perhaps this "Dead Planet" comic strip will convince you with its clip-art Unico.

Also in REAL FUN: this ad for the WCC Animation Comics STAR BLAZERS.

The day of the free ad-zine might be over, but that doesn't mean I don't miss the punk-rock typography or the casual thrown-together design. If I had my way ALL magazines would look like this, which probably explains why I failed Graphic Design. There just wasn't room in the future for this kind of breezy insolence that can't help being REAL FUN.

the wonderful children's book of Honey Honey

HONEY HONEY'S WONDERFUL ADVENTURES children's book published by Eikosha circa 1981. Based on episode #6 of the Kokusei Eigasha HONEY HONEY television series, "Hamelin Is Full Of Cats". Click on smaller images to enlarge, and enjoy!

Special thanks to Rick Zerrano for the translation assistance!

Will Phoenix capture Lily?  Will Herr Gustav catch Phoenix?  Will Princess Flora finally decide to marry somebody? And will these people ever leave Honey Honey alone? Tune in to the next exciting episode of the Wonderful Adventure Of Honey Honey! 

anime and manga bloggers for japan

As I hope you're aware, Japan is reeling in the aftermath of the worst earthquake since they started keeping records on earthquakes. Whether you call it the "Great Tohoku Earthquake" or the "Great Sendai Earthquake", what you need to do is to haul out the cash you fritter away on the sort of goofy junk I usually write about here, and send it to any one of these relief agencies. Hell, send them ALL some money.
Doctors Without Borders You know, Medecins Sans Frontieres, risking life and limb to help people around the world.
The Red Cross is in on this action, of course, as they always are. In America you can text REDCROSS to 90999, which will donate $10 that's added to your cell phone bill (seriously, how easy is that?) or call 1-800 RED CROSS. In Canada you can text REDCROSS to 30333 to donate, or call 1-800-418-1111.
Shelterbox is fascinating, they send premade emergency kits to disasters. "Each box supplies an extended family of up to 10 people with a tent and lifesaving equipment to use while they are displaced or homeless."

You can join the Humanitarian Coalition - that's CARE, Oxfam Quebec, Oxfam Canada, and Save The Children. And there are a dozen, a hundred different other places to donate time & money. Get busy.

This post is thanks to all about manga, whose "Anime & Manga Bloggers For Japan" post inspired me to quit watching disaster footage on TV and actually do something. If you ever enjoyed reading Let's Anime or any other anime & manga blog, or enjoy cartoons or comics from Japan; well, the time to say 'thank you' is now. Right now, this minute, go.

Tomo Book No. 47

Depending on who you ask, the “golden age” of American comics starts somewhere in the late 1930s and ends anywhere from the Korean War to the Kennedy inauguration. Straitjacketed by this America-centric comic book collectors mindset, it’s tough to categorize Japanese comics from the same period. Is there a Golden Age of manga? Is there a Bob Overstreet-san categorizing faded Shonen Magazines and dusty stacks of tankubon, grading each according to condition and scarcity and injury-to-the-eye-motif
covers? God I hope not.

It’s this lack of raw data – raw data in a language I can read, anyways – that makes uncovering this kind of mid-Showa period manga (hah, here I am, categorizing away) so thrilling. What is this? Where did it come from, who was tracing Tezuka characters when they drew it, and what was it doing in an estate sale in Marietta GA in the mid 1980s? That’s where I found it, casually placed on an antique dresser next to a O.E.S. New Testament.

Number 47 in the “Tomo Book” series, this particular volume is titled “THE VANISHING WORLD” (forgive my rough translation) and features 4 stories of rockets, robots, Martian flying saucers, atom bomb tests, jet pilots romancing jungle girls, and general science fictional adventure; the Japanese equivalent of the Tom Swift sci-fi juveniles that American ten year olds were devouring at the time.

The artwork is generally pretty crude. You can get away with faking the cartoony Tezuka style once or twice but eventually the lack of structure or perspective, the weak crosshatching, the general ineptitude of the artwork (inside front cover signed “Yasuhiro Kozako”) shows through. And this is 1955: Tezuka was right in the middle of one of his most productive periods, Ishinomori was just getting into his Shonen Magazine groove, Tatsumi was moving beyond current styles and percolating the ideas that would, in a couple of years, emerge as "gekiga". Our Tomo Book No. 47 is an anachronism, even for 1955. Still, the breakneck pacing manages to brute-force the stories right through the weaknesses of the illustration, and the blue ink gives the entire production a reassuring elementary-school handout atmosphere.

Sometimes you meet robots on Mars;

And then sometimes the robots turn out to be beautiful girls. Life's like that.

Budding manga geniuses aside, most comic books everywhere are pretty much like “The Vanishing World” here – crude lowest-common-denominator distractions for children barely able to read. Impulse purchases for those who are barely old enough to have enough pocket money to learn what an impulse purchase is. Fifty years on, its value as a cultural artifact may outweigh its utility as an adventure story for children. But that’s OK. Rest easy, Tomo Book No. 47.