Anime Impact. Chris Stuckmann
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the space epic melodramas (hello, Star Blazers and Robotech); and the titillating “super sexies save the world” fare (I’m looking at you, Project A-ko and Devil Hunter Yohko).
But Cagliostro was different from any of these. It wasn’t science fiction, for one thing, and that alone came as a shock: I don’t think I’d ever watched anime to this point in my life that wasn’t sci-fi. Its characters were also engaging in a way that characters from other anime I’d seen weren’t. Maybe it’s how they were written or maybe it was just an artifact of stripping away the laser swords and mobile Gundam suits, but I genuinely liked Lupin and his pals, genuinely cared if Princess Clarisse would escape Count Cagliostro’s clutches. Akira taught me that anime could be intellectually stimulating. The Castle of Cagliostro taught me that anime could be emotionally affecting.
There was something else, too: Cagliostro was beautiful. Not beautiful in the same way as Don Bluth’s work, but distinctive like that, the kind of look that sticks with you. Indeed, there are details from that very first full viewing of Cagliostro that stick with me to this day.
One of those details comes during the midst of an early car chase scene (and if you haven’t seen that scene, brother, put this book down now and go check it out … it’s fabulous). With a sheer drop on their left, a cliff wall on their right, and the lead car in the chase tossing grenades out the back window, Lupin decides to drive up the cliff wall (!) and into a densely wooded area. As we watch the car hurtle through trees from a backseat perspective, this colorful bird suddenly flies through the car’s shattered windshield. It hovers there a moment with this “what in the hell?” look on its face before fluttering indignantly off. Did that little detail need to be included in this chase? Of course not. But it was, and it’s stuck with me for years since.
After reconnecting with The Castle of Cagliostro, I began seeking out more tales of Lupin III’s derring-do. First up was The Mystery of Mamo, the first Lupin III feature film (and the source of the only Cliff Hanger arcade sequence not lifted from Cagliostro). The Gold of Babylon and The Fuma Conspiracy followed. Each of these was fun in their own way, yet none quite resonated with me the way Cagliostro had. Something was missing.
In many ways, my true follow-up to The Castle of Cagliostro came months later when I discovered Hayao Miyazaki’s My Neighbor Totoro. Miyazaki had by this time cemented his reputation with classics like Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind and Kiki’s Delivery Service, but I knew nothing of that. I didn’t even know that Cagliostro and Totoro shared a director … not, that is, until Totoro began to play. Then, the similarities struck me at once.
That might seem an odd statement to anyone who’s watched these two wildly different films, but it goes back to something I mentioned earlier. Cagliostro was the only Lupin film that made me care for Lupin as a person. It had “heart,” as they say, and “heart” is the common thread that ties Miyazaki’s works together. You can douse us in whimsy. You can drown us in bullets. But if you don’t make us love your characters as people, you’ve got nothing. Miyazaki instinctively understands that, and it’s the way he’s imbued his films—Cagliostro included—with such love that makes them such timeless classics.
Maybe you’re a Studio Ghibli fan. Maybe you know Miyazaki’s classics up and down. But maybe, just maybe, you missed the film that kicked off his career. Filling that gap in your knowledge has never been easier. You can pick up The Castle of Cagliostro on Netflix, iTunes, or even on Blu-ray. But if you’re planning a visit to your local arcade in search of a functioning Cliff Hanger cabinet, take my advice and save your quarters. Cagliostro deserves better.
John Rodriguez is a personal trainer whose devotion to physical fitness is exceeded only by his fervor for all things film and literature. John is currently finishing his first novel—a fantasy that’s sparked fantasies of a challenging new career.
Ginga Tetsudō Surī Nain
— Emma Fyffe —
In the pre-Internet era—well not exactly pre-Internet, but in the era of “all my friends had AOL and just talked to each other on AIM all day” while I, the child of two programmers, explored the far reaches of burgeoning fan pages via Netscape—the manner in which we were introduced to new media, particularly that which at the time was considered “niche” or “alternative,” often came in the form of actual printed publications. And for a fledgling otaku (a fandom-obsessed person) like myself circa 1999, one such publication reigned supreme: Viz Media’s monthly magazine Animerica.
At the Borders in that area of Southwestern Connecticut, up the street from what is now an AMC Theater (that I was never entirely sure whether it was Brookfield or Danbury), I first discovered Animerica amongst the other nerd magazines I’d seek out in that far corner of the wooden magazine stands: GamePro, Electronic Gaming Monthly, Wizard, etc. I recall browsing its pages, eagerly taking in the artwork, and searching for reviews and recommendations of anime series beyond what was currently airing on Toonami. Series I would go home and immediately search for on our recently purchased TiVo to see if there was any chance of me catching them without having to ask my parents to drive me to Blockbuster on the off-chance I could rent them.
I’m not certain if it was the first issue of the magazine that I actually decided to purchase—in fact, I know I owned Volume 7, Issue 9, which featured interviews with the staff of Serial Experiments Lain—but one of my earliest memories of owning and thoroughly devouring a copy of Animerica was June of 2000, Volume 8, Issue 5, which coincided with the limited US theatrical release of director Rintaro’s adaptation of CLAMP’s X, localized as X/1999, at the time. What I didn’t realize then was that Rintaro was previously responsible for the film adaptation of another piece of media that appeared in every issue of Animerica I ever owned: Leiji Matsumoto’s elegant space opera, Galaxy Express 999 (pronounced “three nine” not “nine nine nine”).
As previously mentioned, Animerica was published by Viz Media, who remain a major player in the world of US licensing & distribution to this day. So, Viz would publish single chapters of manga they currently had the license to, and during my prime Animerica reading days, that manga was Galaxy Express 999. Though, as an adult, I’m realizing this might not have been the original 1970s series, but the sequel which began publication in Japan in 1996. It’s difficult to tell, thanks to Matsumoto’s unique and consistent art style (to this day, I must admit, I blame him for my addiction to eyelash extensions), but my research tells me that the original manga series has never been released in the US in any official capacity.
Which is definitely not the case with Rintaro’s 1979 film. Thanks to its massive success in Japan, and the steadily expanding anime fandom overseas, Galaxy Express 999 was the first anime film ever to receive a US theatrical release, albeit in a heavily modified format, produced by Roger Corman of all people, in August of 1981. The 130 minute film was shaved down to 90 minutes, the title was shortened to simply Galaxy Express and several name changes, including Captain Harlock being changed to “Captain Warlock” and Tetsuro Hoshino to “Joey Smith.” I wish I could say this was the manner in which I first experienced this series on screen, but I am 99 percent sure I just saw bits and pieces of the still edited 1996 Viz dub on the Sci-Fi channel, where I recognized it as “that thing I thought was kind of weird in the middle of every issue of that magazine I liked.”
Because, let me be clear, I was not instantly in love with Matsumoto’s work. I didn’t dislike it, and I will say I was definitely intrigued by how bizarre his character designs were. Tetsuro looked like a chicken nugget wrapped in a blanket, wearing a hat. Maetel was too tall and skinny, even by anime standards, and I was extremely confused by her furry Russian Cossack hat. Also, most of the chapters I read in Animerica seemed to just be Maetel & Tetsuro floating around space on an old-timey looking train—remember, Viz was only publishing single chapters and we weren’t getting a whole lot of story—so the action paled in comparison to other space series I was watching at the time, Gundam Wing. Still, something about this series intrigued me and despite not really being sure if I liked it, I did keep reading.
That