To echo Perfect Answer’s opening recap, childhood friends Kei Kurono (Kazunari Ninomiya) and Masaru Kato (Kenichi Matsuyama) meet by chance, die in an accident and are resurrected by a mysterious black sphere known as Gantz to fight in a secret war against aliens hiding on Earth. Gantz awards its unwilling recruits points based on performance and those that survive to make 100 points can choose to be set free with their memories erased or to resurrect a deceased comrade. Thus when Kato dies in battle, Kurono vows to to bring him back.
Five months on and Kurono has become an alien killing machine close to reaching that 100 point score. He’s had to lie to both his girlfriend Tae Kojima (Yuriko Yoshitaka), and Kato’s younger brother Ayumu (Kensuke Chisaka), but that’s all going to change. For the worse. Former star Eriko Ayukawa (Ayumi Ito) is murdering human targets on the orders of a miniature Gantz ball, whilst a group of black-suited individuals are after that miniature ball as a means to get to Gantz itself. Meanwhile an unnamed detective (Yamada Takayuki) is investigating the scores of dead people whose bodies keep on vanishing and occasionally reappearing as if nothing had happened. All of these groups are on a collision course with Kurono and his buddies, with the fates of Kojima and Gantz hanging in the balance.
Perfect Answer is a prime example of the slow motion car crash that frequently occurs when a film attempts to adapt a manga that has either not yet concluded or one that is too complex to summarise easily. The filmmakers are forced to make things up to fill in the gap, often with appalling results. In this case, director Shinsuke Sato decides on a middle path that adds some new elements to the fray with a seemingly random mash-up of plot from the manga and the anime. What ensues can only be described as balls.
After a slow burn start that sets the principals in motion, the film peaks during an action set-piece in which all parties converge on an unsuspecting Kojima in a crowded subway train. The black-suited aliens gun down hapless civilian commuters before materialising swords from their hands and duelling with Kurono and company in the narrow confines of the train carriages. It’s a superbly handled scene that only serves to make the events that follow look weak by comparison.
The film’s one new contribution, the premise that Gantz is re-recruiting its most successful participants (those who reached 100 points and chose to be set free) by having them murdered is a sublime touch that is cast aside in favour of the black-suited alien revenge plot. Well, there’s also the sub-plot about Kato’s evil twin but that’s not worthy of discussion, since it’s painfully obvious to the audience that it’s not the real Kato and furthermore no attempt is made to explain why the alien leader takes his form nor why any of the other aliens don’t do the same. It’s as if the very thought of having a star of Matsuyama’s stature absent from the bulk of the film was inconceivable to its producers; casting taking precedence over story.
Perhaps the film’s greatest crime is that it lacks a suitable level of emotional depth. With the earlier film having done the dirty work of character building (it tried to at any rate), we come to care about Kurono and Kojima but everyone else gets short shrift, especially the new members of the team who are introduced briefly, thrown into the mix and then are killed off one by one. The intra-team disputes and self-sacrifices thus become meaningless in the face of banging out a protracted chase scene, a less well executed sword-fight and a senseless point-blank range shoot-out finale.
Scratch that. What is worse is that the film suffers from catastrophic imagination failure. Considering the first film ended with Kurono taking down a giant Buddha statue and the manga has featured everything from rampaging dinosaurs and a full-scale alien invasion to a character blacking up and going on a shooting spree in downtown Tokyo to rejoin the ranks of Gantz’s unwilling army, the lack of creativity in Perfect Answer is painful to behold.
There’s some dodgy CGI in the mix too, which is a shame when the first film did it so well, but by this point I was gaping more at how internal consistency goes flying out of the window leading up to and including the sickly sweet epilogue in which everyone but Kurono comes back to life, and Kurono’s reward is to wind up inside Gantz, leaving the stage open for further films.
In conclusion, both Gantz films have combined forces to form yet another manga adaptation that fails to pass muster. The source material may well be a sex-obsessed, long-winded (and as yet unfinished) gore-filled epic, but it’s still a damn sight better than both its anime and film versions.
“Since August, I’ve fought zombie therapists, killed my own sister-in-law, matched wits with both a mad scientist and his annoying child, and trekked across the zombie wasteland that is the South and Midwest. And I’ve done all this to keep my marriage together.” (p185)
Having survived the zombie apocalypse, saved their marriage and worked as zombie exterminators, Sarah and Dave find themselves on a quest to save the world. The pair have a cure for the zombie plague in their hands, one that they know works because Sarah had to use it on Dave at the end of Flip This Zombie. He’s remained human so far but that hasn’t stopped Sarah from having nightmares about being chased by zombies led by Dave.
Every time I look back over my shoulder, it seems like they’re right there. Their feet pound on the pavements, their clawing fingers (complete with long, dirty, dead-person fingernails – um, manicure people!!) reach for me, trying to give me one scratch, one bite, one nick that spells certain death… er, living death… for me.(p2)1
Rumours persist about a Midwest Wall that splits the uninfected USA from the Badlands and the pair have decided to take the cure to the people who could potentially synthesise it and distribute it more widely. En route they stumble upon former “stalkerazzi” Nicole Nessing and then promptly get captured by yet another bunch of nutjobs. The leader of said nutjobs decides to throw Dave in a pit of zombies and let the women go to spread the word about not messing with Bumfuck-Nowhere, Oklahoma. Petersen shows off her geek credentials here albeit with each and every reference explained which negates the effect somewhat.
“I love you,” I shouted.
He looked at me evenly and then he smiled. “I know.”
I blinked, and for a moment the tension faded. “Are you quoting Empire Strikes Back? At a time like this you’re geeking out on me! Seriously?” (p56)
Dave survives because
carbon-freezing isn’t fatal it turns out that he’s developed zombie-like powers after being cured, like being invisible to zombies. He breaks out of the pit, along with the zombies, and in the ensuing chaos our heroes flee to the nearby town of Plainspark to hunt for supplies. Instead they find drug-addled British rocker Colin McCray (note to authors: Google your character names to avoid embarrassing phonetic clashes with actual celebrities) in the hospital where he and his band checked in for rehab. Eventually they all make it to the Wall, or rather an electrified, barbed-wire topped fence complete with armed guards who are there to shoot any uninfected who get too close. There’s been a cover-up and the official story is that no one west of the Wall survived the initial outbreak. It’s going to make getting the cure over the Wall hard but rest assured that the dynamic duo prevail.
After reading the previous books in the Living with the Dead series and concluding that they were lacking both romance and comedy in a purported zom-rom-com2, along with any hint of characterisation, here I am with the third installment. I am clearly a masochist. Perhaps I should have “Will read shit books for your entertainment” tattooed on my forehead for future reference.
As before the writing is light and not particularly offensive, but with this book’s extended length the lack of any substance becomes more significant. Aside from the ongoing fashion-related humour that is completely wasted on me, it feels like a lot of the supposedly comical banter between Sarah and Dave is based on Petersen’s own married life and thus completely wasted on everyone else. I for one play a fuck-tonne of games, including the oft-mentioned Halo, and I don’t find any of the gaming references remotely amusing3, let alone the overly-explicit film references.
When considering the romance angle again, it struck me that this aspect has generally been underplayed and indeed quite sanitised4. The series is clearly not aimed at a YA audience (unless marital bickering is the new big thing) and yet it is all very chaste, consisting of warm, fuzzy feelings from Sarah when Dave gets all protective and Sarah getting petrified whenever Dave is in trouble. Whenever they are separated and reunited, there’s some kissing but that’s about it. I think sex is hinted at once in Flip This Zombie but that’s about it. I’m not expecting Richard Morgan levels of detail but a little could have gone a long way.
This prudishness also extends to how the pair react to other characters. Earlier in the book, Nicole explains how she used her “feminine wiles” to get across the Mexican border to which Sarah expresses horror (but inwardly sees how it might have been necessary) whilst Dave is silently disillusioned by his gossip reporting heroine having to trade sex for favours. Sympathy might have been more appropriate for a woman on her own without a gun or a husband to provide alternative choices of action, but it’s not the first time Sarah has come across as an utter bitch (although it is for Dave). Nicole employs a similar tactic to retrieve her camcorder after the group are captured and once again, we get shitty responses from both Sarah (“Standards, Nicole!”) and Dave (“Ew!!!”). To top off her judgemental stance, Sarah asks whether Nicole filmed what she did with the guard. Amazing.
At this point I decided that I really didn’t want to know any more about such a pair of arseholes, and it seems as though the author was willing to accomodate me. After three books it’s clear that Petersen has no intention of delving deeper into Sarah and Dave’s relationship and its history, which is sensible given that she’s defined Sarah and David’s pre-apocalypse relationship as arguments spawned by Dave being an unemployed bum who plays games until 3am (I can relate to this) and Sarah having to work a shitty job for the two of them, whilst their post-apocalypse relationship consists of Dave always being right and Sarah getting turned on by Dave acting like a caveman. Some depth here would be nice but when you’ve got one-dimensional characters there’s not much left to explore.
In short, there’s a clear divide between what I want these books to be and what they are, so I’m going to call a stop here and not bother with any future installments. I think I’ve used up my shit books quota for the year (eight at last count, and reviewing those last few is going to be painful) and it’s not like I haven’t got other (better) books to read and review. Unsurprisingly I’ve developed a backlog of books I want to review for the site, including some books I actually liked! Shocking I know.
1That quote is a pretty good test of whether you’re going to like this or any of the other Living with the Dead books. Evidently I’m not in the target demographic as I found it a terrible joke, but if you did then knock yourself out, although you might want to start with the first book Married with Zombies. I’d just like to note that Never Slow Dance with a Zombie is much better and in the absence of a review from me (I’m working on it), go and read Hannah Strom-Martin’s review for Strange Horizons or better yet just buy the book.
2 I appreciate that this is about as likely to stick as “sexy zombie” as a substitute for “zombie romantic comedies”, but with zombies currently the big thing in YA novels a short name for the sub-genre would be useful.
3 Incidentally, the idea that playing a FPS game gives you the ability to operate a real-life rocket launcher is ludicrous. The Gantz manga/anime/film shows a more realistic view of what would happen when the untrained are presented with the unfamiliar.
4 “White-wash” may be a better, more general term for the series when one considers the complete lack of POC characters. Or indeed a complete lack of GLBT characters too5.
5 Let’s just pretend the Bechdel Test doesn’t exist6.
6 I know. Footnotes for my footnotes is a bit too Pterry.
Eschewing rampaging mechanoids and ninja assassins, writer/director Greg Pak’s debut feature length is a delightful film that uses robots to explore aspects of the human condition. Ranging across the four ages of man, Robot Stories delves into deep waters but ultimately it is all about love.
The opening credits are conveyed by a short and quirky animation which sets the tone for the rest of the film, and then Robot Stories launches straight into the first of its four tales: “My Robot Baby”. A young couple, Marsha and Roy, plan to adopt a child and are given an egg-shaped robot to care for in order to judge their suitability. When Roy is called away on a business trip, Marsha tries to cheat her responsibilities and finds out that parenthood isnt as easy as she had expected.
“The Robot Fixer” tells of a mothers attempt to reconcile herself with her wayward son after a car accident leaves him in a coma. The only link to his past is his childhood collection of robot toys, and so she embarks on a quest to fix all of his robot toys in the hope that they will bring him back to her.
In “Machine Love”, the year is 2007 and intelligent androids are available for purchase as skilled workers. Archie is one such android, a Sprout G9 iPerson, and he can learn how to integrate himself into the workplace by observing the behaviour of his human colleagues. When his supervisor forgets to turn Archie off one evening, Archie explores the office and begins to question his purpose in life.
“Clay” is the final piece, and is set in 2027 when technological advances have led to the digitisation of human consciousness. When an elderly man is diagnosed with a terminal illness, an appointment is made for him to have his mind scanned and then uploaded into a virtual reality. However, despite the prospect of being reunited with his deceased wife, he is plagued with doubts about spending eternity in a state that he does not consider to be real.
Robot Stories stands out from the majority of its SF contemporaries because it doesn’t leave characterisation by the wayside in favour of jaw-dropping CGI or a complex plot. All of the lead actors give excellent performances, and this is complimented by a good balance between serious drama and moments of absolute hilarity.
“The Robot Fixer” is the most accomplished of the set; a poignant tragedy with a spot-on depiction of the dynamic between the first and second generations of Asian-Americans; closely followed by the touching “My Robot Baby”. Unfortunately, the second half of Robot Stories is noticeably weaker than the first, though for two different reasons: “Machine Love” is let down by a hollow execution, and “Clay” is over-ambitious. There is simply not enough time to convey a sense of the repercussions that would result from such a profound concept as digitised consciousness. When questioned about Robot Stories, Greg Pak has said that “Clay” is the one story that he would choose to expand into a full length film, as there were many ideas that he could not explore in the time available.
Despite these flaws, the format in which Robot Stories is presented creates a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts, and it is a whole that richly deserves attention.
Nominally set in the Culture universe, Inversions is seemingly bereft of of the technologically-advanced and galaxy-spanning utopia that looms large within Banks’s preceeding novels. Instead the focus is on the effect of two undercover Culture agents on a backward planet, as narrated by two of its inhabitants. The result is a completely different perspective of the Culture and its methods of intervention with other civilisations.
The coupled narratives are interwoven via alternating chapters, telling of the Culture agents Vosill and DeWar. DeWar and Vosill are both advisors to the leaders of their respective countries, Vosill as the Royal Physician of the King of Haspide and DeWar as the chief bodyguard of Urleyn, Protector of Tassesen. Both seek to influence their respective leaders towards the creation of a more equal society, but have to contend with courtly intrigue and treacherous conspiracies that may prove to have fatal consequences.
The inversions of the title are everywhere, from the opposing methods used by the Culture agents, to the contrast in style between the objectivity of DeWar’s unknown narrator and the subjective viewpoint of the Doctor’s assistant, Oelph. More inversions become apparent when the link between DeWar and Vosill is revealed, along with a possible explanation for their presence on the same planet but on opposite sides.
Prior knowledge of the Culture is not an absolute requirement but those who choose to read Inversions without this benefit will miss out on the numerous references to the Culture that are strewn throughout the book. The knowledge of an alien superpower that exists beyond the scope of the human civilizations on the planet subtly informs all of the book’s preceedings and explains the ‘magical’ events that one narrator finds perplexing, and also allows the reader to draw their own conclusions about the nature of the two protagonists as suggested in the book’s prologue.
Inversions is a book that rewards re-reading for many reasons, not least of which are finding subleties that were missed on first reading, and enjoying the excellence of Banks’s stylish prose. This is not a typical Culture novel by any means, yet one whose intricate nature must rank it highly amongst its fellows.
In the 1940s, the Nazis attempt a last-ditch attempt to change the course of WW2 by releasing the Seven Gods of Chaos from their ancient prison. The ritual is thwarted but not before something slips through the opened portal, a red baby demon that is nicknamed Hellboy. Sixty years later, Hellboy is a six and a half foot tall, virtually indestructible giant who works as an agent in the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. When an old enemy returns to bring about the Apocalypse, Hellboy and his fellow agents in the BPRD must defeat the demons of the past, and the demons within.
Another month, another comic book adaptation, but this is one that is a little out of the ordinary. The original Hellboy comic was the brainchild of one Mike Mignola, a distinctive artist who mixed Nazi occultism, the mythos of HP Lovecraft, and folk myths and legends into his stories of the paranormal investigator with the giant stone right hand. The big-screen version comes courtesy of long-time fan Guillermo Del Toro, and is a dream come true for him; Del Toro has wanted to direct a Hellboy film for years, and passed on both Blade: Trinity (probably a good move in hindsight) and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban in order to do so.
Recent superhero films from the likes of Bryan Singer and Sam Raimi have reminded audiences that a superhero film doesn’t have to be of the completely brainless action variety, like the Joel Schumacher Batman films. Hellboy exists somewhere between the two, bereft of a big enough budget to effect any eye-popping action sequences, and lacking sufficiently developed characters to carry the film as a drama. The budgetary handicap was self-imposed by Del Toro, who had always wanted to cast Ron Perlman rather than an unknown and so made the necessary sacrifice. Mike Mignola had also advocated Perlman from the very start, and they made the right choice. Hellboy hinges on its central performance, and Perlman brings the character to life with a cocky attitude and irascible wit.
As is par for the course, character development elsewhere is rather patchy and only Hellboy and the pyrokinetic Liz Sherman are well-rounded enough to deserve any sympathy from the audience. The new boy, John Myers, is used as an effective means of introducing the various members of the BRPD, but Myers is a fairly limp character and does very little for the rest of the film other than to form part of an unconvincing love triangle between himself, Liz and Hellboy. Other notable contributions are those of David Hyde Pierce, who provides an excellent voice for (the mainly CG) Abe Sapien, and the perenially excellent John Hurt, who lends some gravitas to the affair as the head of the BRPD and Hellboy’s adoptive father, Professor Brumenholm. Sadly neither of them get as much screen-time as they deserved, and the film suffers as a result. On the side of evil, only the Nazi assassin Kroenen is worth mentioning, as both of his companions are as devoid of menace as the Seven Squids of Chaos.
So, on the Right Hand of Doom Hellboy has sharp dialogue, wry humour and an eclectic group of personalities. On the merely human left hand, it has a series of repetitive set-pieces, thin characters, a plot with a number of gaping holes, and an anti-climatic end. It’s probably just me, but the finale could have done with Hellboy taking on an army of Nazi zombies rather than another CG monster. Saying that, it beats its Resident Evil equivalent tentacles, ahem, hands down.
Though it doesn’t reach the heights of, say, Spiderman 2, Hellboy is a decent enough effort that entertains in a fairly mindless way. Hellboy 2 is already in pre-production, with Del Toro at the helm again, and with previously established characters and a bigger budget, the sequel has the potential to be the awesome film that Hellboy could have been.
Kotaro Azuma (Akira Terao) is a scientist investigating the use of stem cells to grow replacement limbs and organs. Ostensibly he is searching for a way for humans to cope with the Earth’s poisonous level of industrial pollution, but in truth he is spurred on by his sick wife. No matter what he tries, Kotaro just can’t achieve the breakthrough he needs, but then a miraculous event occurs that combines his experimental organs and limbs into living, humanoid bodies. Most of these humanoids are subsequently slaughtered, but a trio manage to escape and vow to destroy humanity in revenge. The only man who can stop them is Azuma’s son, Tetsuya (Yusuke Iseya), reborn as the white-armoured, super-powered Casshern.
Based on a 1973 anime, “Shinzou Ningen Casshan” (“Newly Made Human Casshan”), the film’s setting is supposedly familiar to Japanese people; Japan is under totalitarian rule, leading the Eastern Federation in a near-constant war with the forces of Europa. It’s an interesting background, but one that is sidelined in a film that is the epitome of the big-budget, special effects blockbuster. It has style written all over it, but it’s over-ambitious to a fault. Casshern is Kazuaki Kiriya’s first film and frankly it shows.
Full of almost hallucinogenic imagery and a prodigious amount of CGI, the visual aspect of the film overwhelms to the point where all other elements become superfluous. The level of incidental detail is incredible and may well set a new standard for SF films; it’s simply impossible to absorb all that is on display in a single viewing. Casshern is on a par with Spirited Away and the Metropolis anime in terms of the intricate work behind its densely layered backgrounds, steampunk mecha and retro styling. The sensation of watching an anime is emphasised by the choppy, kinetic action sequences, which employ all manner of anime and manga tricks, such as speed lines, and moving surrounding objects around a stationary character.
The acting is decent enough, and it’s good to see some moral ambiguity in the mix, but the inter-personal relationships are weak and the characters never really grow. Any moments of contemplation or drama are submerged by the constant optical barrage, and partly by the intrusive and annoyingly grandiose soundtrack. For all its emphasis on the visual, the slightly odd thing about Casshern is that its plot cannot be accused of being vacuous. With ruminations on environmentalism, scientific ethics, the atrocity of war and the nature of human existence, the film considers some heavy-weight topics, but unfortunately a few too many for a single film, and the subsequent lack of coherency is crippling. But nevermind all that. Just switch off and gorge on the pretty eye-candy.
In spite of its narrative flaws, Casshern is an audacious feast for the eyes that has to be experienced in a proper cinema. This is the real deal, a live-action anime that is capable of competing with the visual splendour of a Miyazaki, Otomo or Oshii film, and one that suggests that the forthcoming live-action version of Neon Genesis Evangelion won’t be an unmitigated disaster. If Kiriya tones it down a little for his next film then he could have an absolute cracker on his hands, but for now, just go and watch Casshern, a film that really does have to be seen to be believed.
Glasgow in the near future: five gangs have effective rule over the city, and each one protects the inhabitants within their own territory whilst punishing those who invade from outside. When Moses, the leader of the most powerful gang, calls a meeting to suggest a truce between the warring gangs, not all of them agree with his plan to take full control of the city. However, in spurning his offer, the Purifiers find themselves at odds with the other gangs and have to fight them all in order to return home.
The concept of The Purifiers is more than a little dubious, but if the Germans can manage a comedy (Goodbye Lenin!), then perhaps the Scots can make a martial arts film. Or perhaps not. Having seen the film, I can say that at least I was only misguided in my optimism. The Sci-Fi London website’s statement that this is “…a rapid-fire, action-packed thriller that reclaims the visual flair and kinetic thrills of Hong Kong chop-socky flicks, for these sceptr’d isles” seems to display a remarkably weak grasp on reality.
With this film, it’s not so much a case of picking holes in it as finding a way across the gaping abyss that looms at its heart. If you can get past the idea that five gangs, comprised of about five members each, can run riot over an entire city, without guns, then you’ll probably have no issues with the rather feeble attempts to make Glasgow look futuristic by giving underground stations such great names as BLUE ZONE 2, and by making the lead character’s car sound like it is powered by a jet engine. In fact, if this is the case, then you’ll be able to forgive the blatant
theft homage to Walter Hill’s The Warriors, the abject lack of Scottish accents, and perhaps even the use of London’s Chinatown for a scene that had more in common with a slapstick food fight than choreographed action between proper martial artists.
That’s right. The Purifiers features a cast almost exclusively comprised of trained martial artists (the exceptions evidently being Kevin McKidd, Dominic Monaghan and Rachel Grant) and a fight choreographer with less talent than Yuen Woo Ping’s left thumb. The result is a series of boring and occasionally ridiculous fights, not helped in the slightest by excessive slo-mo and sound effects that are more akin to a bitch-slap than a solid punch to the head. The silliness peaks with the scrap between the hero and two of the villain’s minions, involving blue glow-in-the-dark sticks and no lighting.
Perhaps I’m being overly critical. After all, it is a low-budget flick and may even be destined for the kind of cult status reserved for awe-inspiringly dreadful films. In the end, I suspect that the only people that will watch this film are those who are fans of Kevin McKidd and/or Dominic Monaghan, and those with more curiousity than sense. You have been warned.
This review was originally published in Matrix #152 (March/April 2005)