Mushi-Shi (TV) - Review

I’ll admit that I’m not the biggest otaku nowadays, at least in the anime sense. I used to be an avid anime fanatic for a good amount of my life but grew out of it around my sophomore year of high school, Full Metal Alchemist being the last great series I had loved before going on a three year hiatus. Today I don’t exactly consider myself an anime fan anymore, so I won’t pretend that I am. It was just one of those things that got away from me. However, I have just finished a particular series that I believe deserves discussion. Mushi-Shi is the award-winning series adaptation of the manga of the same name written by Yuki Urashibara. Both the manga and anime depict the supernatural occurrences surrounding creatures called Mushi, ethereal, ubiquitous life forms in touch with the essence of life in its purest form, unseen by most. Ginko (Travis Willingham), a Mushi Master and main character of the series, travels about the world, studying and collecting all forms of Mushi, as well as helping to resolve situations with people who may have come into contact with them.

The series is episodic, each episode dealing with a fresh storyline and the overall span of the show retaining only one recurring character other than Ginko himself. Each episode is separate from the other, and is treated almost as a short film rather than the fraction of a larger narrative, which I can appreciate considering I’ve grown tired of monotonous story arcs and pointless melodrama that the culture is often stereotyped for. What struck me initially about Mushi-Shi was its atmospheric backdrops and relaxed nature and tone throughout most of the episodes, no sexual objectification of female characters, no angst-ridden, homoerotic rivalries, and thankfully no poorly drawn, lazily executed and pandering filler stories.

Some of the stronger episodes include “The Light of the Eyelid” in which a young girl’s contact with Mushi causes her to feel extreme pain when her eyes are exposed to light but in turn grants her otherworldly sight of the Mushi’s river of life when her eyes are closed in the midst of unspoiled dusk, and “One-Eyed Fish”, which reveals how Ginko received his strange white hair and single, functioning green eye. Each new story brings its own characters and conflict for a spectacular short story that can either end in happiness and tragedy, strength of the series as a whole lies within its unpredictability, as every conclusion can end differently. One story can end with a bittersweet close while another can evoke a smile.

Thanks to some of the best animation I’ve seen in recent years (particularly for backdrops and setting), Mushi-Shi is able to use the medium to its full advantage from a storytelling perspective, utilizing designs and spectacle involving the Mushi and particular tale in question which tend to work better than they would for a live-action TV series or feature film. Could a girl being lifted up into the sky by a string hanging from the clouds seem plausible outside this medium? Could Ginko’s peculiar modern clothes blend with Edo/Meiji period wardrobes worn by the other characters add more to the mystery of his character or just seem clashing were it a live-action take? Or, does it only work because of the rich Japanese culture backing it up? Considering that Ginko seems to wear modern clothes in the Japanese live-action film, it could be the lather, or I could be overthinking it altogether.

Bottom line, Mushi-Shi is an always thrilling, always entertaining, and completely immersive piece of fiction. It’s aesthetically brilliant, and comes highly recommended from me, especially for someone like myself who has grown tired of the abundant tropes often associated to this kind of animation. I wouldn’t say this has brought me back into the culture, but I have come out of this 26 episode masterpiece with a new sense of optimism towards it. Who knows, maybe things will change down the road. I don't generally give ratings outside of movies and video games simply because it's just my own preference, but I'm sure I've illustrated my point well enough.

The Silence of the Lambs - Review

Anyone who knows me well enough knows that The Silence of the Lambs is actually my favorite film. I personally find that anyone can narrow down a favorite film if they sat down and gave it enough thought. However, that’s not to say I think that film should remain your favorite for all time, as I know that a favorite can change on a whim. Hell, I know there’s a genuine possibility I could watch film in five years or maybe even tomorrow that may kick mine off its throne. But, as it stands, this has been my favorite film for a long time. Now, the trouble lies within whether you think I’ll have a bias position from the start when I get into my review. And so I illustrate the point that while this may be my personal favorite, I don’t believe it to be the greatest film ever made nor do I choose it as the standard by which I compare all other films to. With that in mind, I begin.

The Silence of the Lambs is the 1991 psychological crime thriller (also considered horror by many) directed by Jonathan Demme and based on the novel of the same name by Thomas Harris. The film follows FBI Agent-in-Training Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster) on her hunt for “Buffalo Bill” (Ted Levine), a wanted murder of a number of women, taking advice from the infamous and intelligent former psychiatrist Dr. Hannibal “the Cannibal” Lecter (Anthony Hopkins). Clarice is inexperienced but ambitious and determined, Lecter to the surprise of audiences unfamiliar to the novel or film is calculative, polite, and well-spoken. Lecter, sporting only roughly 16 minutes of overall screen time, is often the most well remembered aspect of the film, rightly so, as Anthony Hopkins’s performance has gone down in history as one of the most iconic film antagonists.

However, while I of course support the unanimous praise Lecter often receives as a character, I feel that there are other aspects of the production that help exemplify the film than Lecter on his own, after all, he is but a secondary antagonist. Jonathan Demme’s use of multiple extreme close-ups on Lecter and Clarice as well as many minor characters exhibit a sense of discomfort and judgmental leer upon the character’s psyches as well as the idea of an audience’s sense of personal space much like the opening dolly shot of A Clockwork Orange twenty years prior. Set design also plays a major part in the aesthetic, in very subtle manners. Upon our first meeting of Lecter, he is incased in glass like an animal or a museum item put on display, he follows Clarice as her point-of-view pans over his cell, prepared, ready, quite possibly smelling her as she traveled down the bleak hallway from hell. By the time we reach the climax, Clarice delves into the labyrinth that is Jame Gumb’s basement, each section containing an essential theme or purpose to itself, doors open about to travel to any of them, all connected to the center, the well in which Catherine Martin has resided, the essential motivation, the drive. We have been figuratively following Clarice’s trek through the many paths of Gumb’s mind as she unraveled his identity, and so at the climax she is now trapped within a physical manifestation of his consciousness.

Ted Levine plays a man who had been made a monster, not born one. His attacks are coordinated, planned, and handled with care. His obsession and desire is a drastic one, and therefore he exhibits the intelligence he needs to carry it out, no matter what he has to do to fulfill it. While Lecter may be the more intriguing of the two, Gumb is by all definition the central focus of the narrative and the most tragic of the pair. Not even Clarice herself, our guide, our heroine is perfect, try as she may, her sessions with Lecter begin to weigh on her as he learns more and more about her, finally embedding himself into her mind when she confesses her darkest memory, the scene playing out in beautiful ECUs that only become tighter and tighter as the conversation builds. When I hear criticism toward Clarice Starling as a character or Jodie Foster’s portrayal of said protagonist, it usually harkens back to her intimidation from Lecter, as she often stands shocked and wide-eyed in the few instances the claws come out from him. To Clarice’s defense, she isn’t a full-fledged agent throughout the case and wouldn’t have the stonewall reserve of a seasoned agent like Will Graham from Red Dragon, who has dealt with Lecter before and knows how to keep him out (for the most part).

Howard Shore’s score is elevates the drama but is used appropriately, never does it overshadow the actors nor create tension that would be lost were it not implemented. Combined with a strong script and consistent through progressively chilling tone, as well as some notable design and editing, The Silence of the Lambs deservedly remains one of most renowned titles in the thriller and horror genres. I personally prefer it considered a thriller, but it’s inconsequential either way. 9.5 out of 10.