Saturday, February 5, 2011

THE BEST OF KIMBA: Episode 1, "Go, White Lion!"

UPDATE (4/19/13):  Scratch the YouTube worries.  Kimba is now available for free on Hulu and I will be redoing all of my links to direct readers to Hulu to watch episodes.

Time to get this puppy (or white lion cub) underway. I would be interested in feedback regarding how I have arranged this first entry.  The YouTube videos of the episodes of Kimba have the embedding feature disabled, so I'll have to break my comments into parts linked to the appropriate vids on YouTube itself. Or should I provide one single link to the start of each episode, let you watch it on YouTube, and then comment on the ep as a whole? I'll start with the former method, but please let me know which you would prefer, if you happen to have a preference.


The impressive opening and closing credits of the Japanese series (with music performed by the Japan Philharmonic Orchestra, no less) reflect a certain amount of "low-level tension" that existed between Osamu Tezuka's Mushi Studios and NBC Films, Tezuka's American distributor, regarding how this new project was to be developed. Mushi and NBC had worked smoothly together during the earlier production of Tetsuwan Atom (Astro Boy), with NBC providing funds to allow Mushi to improve its production quality as the series went on. Tezuka's original print version of Astro Boy, however, was a lengthy series of adventures that were only loosely connected, if at all. Jungle Emperor was something else again: a graphic novel that ran to over 500 pages and told a continuing story, namely, the life story of the white lion Leo and his family. Tezuka's original proposal to NBC included the entire story, but NBC didn't want to touch a property in which the hero dies (and is literally eaten) in the end. The two sides ultimately reached a compromise: Mushi would produce a 52-episode series starring young Leo, and, if the series was a success, NBC would consider buying a follow-up series in which Leo would be allowed to grow up. In the back of his mind, however, Tezuka was already thinking of the adult-Leo series as a done deal, and he wound up springing the 26-episode sequel on NBC by surprise after the renamed Kimba the White Lion had already become a syndicated hit. This 26-episode follow-up was much more in the somewhat grimmer spirit of the manga, though, and NBC passed on it. It wouldn't be broadcast in the U.S. until 1984, and it made next to no impression then.

As the opening credits indicate, Tezuka's real interest was always in getting to the era of the adult Leo, who, inspired by his experiences in the human world, has painstakingly built a jungle kingdom in the face of obstacles "foreign and domestic." In their article on Kimba, Fred Patten and Robin Leyden remark on the "ponderous awesomeness" of Tezuka's original concept, with its deep ruminations on the nature of civilization, the conflict between the forward-thinking and the backward-looking, and so forth. While they may have overstated things just a tad -- the manga has plenty of slapstick humor to leaven the tension -- the opening bit does give you some of the flavor of what Tezuka would have done if he had had complete creative control of the series. The adolescent prince Leo's "arrival" in the closing sequence is accompanied by a quickened tempo and a somewhat lighter "feel," reflecting NBC's wishes. (Unsurprisingly, NBC chose to use this as the opening of Kimba, complete with a peppy new theme song.)

NBC's caution over what the American audience would "accept" aside, there was no getting around the deadly seriousness of "Go, White Lion!", the series pilot. We've seen many superb curtain-raisers in TV animation since, but, within the limits of a half-hour broadcast, you'd be hard-pressed to name a modern series with a stronger pilot than this. The original version was so powerful, in fact, that NBC asked Fred Ladd's Titan Productions writing and dubbing crew to tone things down a little. The version available on Hulu is the "revised" version, completed just four days before Kimba debuted in many national syndicated markets on September 2, 1966. A few copies of the original version, recorded in November 1965, did slip through the cracks, and it is available... but I don't own it. (I know some of you are shocked. What can I say, I lead a busy life.) If/when I get a copy, I'll discuss it here. You can, however, see a brief clip of a relevant portion below.


So where does Kimba take place, anyway? Yes, I know we're in Africa -- the Omniscient yet Unseen Narrator (Ray Owens -- and thanks, Joe) helpfully provided that info -- but where in Africa, exactly? The original "plan" of the animated Jungle Emperor posited Central Africa, but, by the looks of things, we must be in South Africa. You see broad veldts, busy ports, large European-style cities, and, above all, plenty of white people like the ruthless hunter Viper Snakely (Owens) and his omnivorous sidekick Tubby (Gilbert Mack). You even hear a sort of an Afrikaner inflection in the voice of the "game warden" (Mack) who criticizes Snakely for failing to snare Kimba's father Caesar. The somewhat "denatured" version of Africa that we're presented with here probably exists because the manga's depiction of black Africans as the dreaded "ooga-booga," living-in-huts natives of stereotypical lore was "no sale" even in 1966. You can see a remnant of this in the sight of the native huts near the warden's office. Black characters -- and even an actual native or two -- do appear on screen later in the series, but Kimba generally treaded very cautiously when it was obliged to display scenes of human civilization. (Needless to say, the series ultimately caught flak from blacks who criticized the show's lack of modernized black Africans -- one of the reasons why Kimba disappeared from general circulation in the late 1970s.)

Caesar (Owens) is depicted reasonably accurately -- if anything, his actions are toned down. Tezuka's Caesar (Panja, originally) thought nothing of torching native villages to make his liberate-the-animals point. Unlike Kimba, there's no evidence whatsoever that Caesar would have taken a cue from human civilization at any point, his line about "someday they'll learn" notwithstanding. Kimba defended the rights of animals to live in peace with one another but would never have gone so far as to "unchain" livestock. Those father-son "conversations" might have been interesting to listen to...

Caesar's reaction to Snowene's (Billie Lou Watt) baby announcement would probably cheese off Kimba's OLDER SISTER Leona, who'll appear twice in future eps. Still, the all-important status of the "alpha male" was certainly believable in an animal-kingdom context. BTW, though Snowene is tan-colored, she is officially supposed to be a "white lion."

The conning/trapping of Snowene and dispatch of Caesar are drawn straight from the manga, with an extra element of drama added in that the showdown takes place in a ravine. In the manga, Caesar was slain in a native stockade (and only after he had nearly destroyed the place). The relative ease with which Snakely does the deed only serves to emphasize how vulnerable the animals are in the face of human civilization. There seems to be a flash of a Christian theme as well when Caesar speaks his dying words to Snowene. It sounds almost like an "Annunciation" moment to me, especially in the way in which Caesar essentially "prearranges" for Kimba to get his name. I don't know whether this explicit intention was in the Titan crew's mind, but the gang reassembled some 15 years later to dub the Bible-based series Superbook and The Flying House, so it's certainly possible.

The deaths of Caesar and Snowene bring to mind one of the supreme ironies concerning the Americanized Kimba. As we'll see, the series had the notorious habit of frequently camouflaging obvious character deaths with phrases like "I'll just lie down here and rest a while..." Yet the series BEGINS with the cub Kimba losing both of his parents, so why wasn't it considered acceptable to admit to the deaths of future one-shot characters? Certainly, the "deaths-that-weren't-really-deaths" in Kimba were nowhere near as gratuitous as the accidental deaths that many a character suffered in, say, Speed Racer. Most every death in Kimba carried some meaning, up to and including redemption of the dying character. Why play it safe to such a ludicrous extent?

The mice who befriend Kimba on board the ship are taken from the manga -- if not from the exact same place in the manga. In Tezuka's original, after the ship carrying Snowene went down, Kimba drifted for a bit before being picked up by another ship, which had the mice on board. The little fella with the tie (Watt) even ultimately accompanied Kimba on his first adventure in human society. It's easy to see why the animated retelling of the story "telescoped" this sequence into a more compact form.

Kimba's leap from the porthole is almost an exact copy of Tezuka's version, right down to the dramatic back-shot of Kimba poised with his paws on the hole looking down at the sea. Snowene's "info dump" MUST have been far more extensive than the one depicted on screen, however. It's tough to buy Kimba progressing from a baby who can barely speak to a young lion who is capable of striking out on his own in just one scene. Also, in episode 2, "The Wind in the Desert," Kimba evinces some knowledge that he wouldn't have had if this were the only backstory that Snowene had provided concerning Caesar and his jungle kingdom.

The dramatic storm sequence is still mightily effective even after 45 years of progress in the quality of TV animation. The music box adds a mournful motif that was not present in the manga.

Kimba first displays his distinctive qualities during the magnificent swimming sequence, which takes a handful of panels from the manga and expands upon it in visually spectacular fashion. Here is where Kimba, in my view, differs most dramatically from his heroic predecessor, Astro Boy. It's not much of an exaggeration to say that, while Astro Boy was a character to whom things happened, Kimba was a character who made things happen. (I, meanwhile, am currently filling the "wondering what happened" role.) Astro Boy was built to be a boy robot and remained one, despite acquiring increasingly human qualities as time went on; Kimba matured. Astro Boy was forever being sent off on "missions"; Kimba was the ultimate proactive protagonist who set larger movements in motion. At the end of "Go, White Lion," Kimba -- with a little friendly encouragement from the fish and the Richard Haydn-voiced stork (Owens) -- takes matters into his own paws and begins paddling his way towards his destiny.

Snowene's starry soliloquy was somewhat more dramatic (and lengthier) in the 1965 dubbed version, as can be seen below. Watt's slightly different voice for Kimba is also noteworthy. (True story: the Titan crew's original attempt to dub this ep was cut short by the famous Northeastern blackout of November 9, 1965.)


It would be mere carping to point out that Kimba really shouldn't know what butterflies are. That trip back to the jungle would have to wait a while, anyway -- Kimba's sojourn in the human world would intervene. More anon.

I'll close with a few words regarding that eternal controversy: Did Disney's The Lion King (1994) crib from Kimba? Visual evidence abounds that it did. My own interpretation of the evidence has remained pretty consistent: one or two parallels might have been mere coincidence, but there are simply too many similarities to refute the "copycat" theory. In statistical parlance, the P-value is too small for all of these similarities to have arisen by chance alone. Nearly two decades after the original controversy, however, I realize that, even if The Lion King didn't rip off Kimba in any way, shape, or form, it couldn't have done Kimba a bigger favor. Recent attempts to do semi-"straight" live-action adaptations of Speed Racer and Astro Boy served mainly to (in the case of Speed) make many folks wonder what they'd seen in the original anime or (in the case of Astro Boy) barely joggle the status quo of a character that hadn't been seen on American TV in years. The Lion King controversy, by contrast, practically invited those "in the know" to carefully examine the strengths and weaknesses of the supposed "source material" and actively encouraged those who'd never seen Kimba to give it a try, especially after the 2000 VHS collections and the 2005 Ultimate DVD Set became available.

Up next: Episode 2, "The Wind in the Desert."

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Gridiron Gear-Up

The schedule for Stevenson's first season of football next fall has been released. The Mustangs are in a challenging, Pennsylvania-based league, and their first home game on Sept. 10 is against a team that made the NCAA Division III Tournament last year. We're getting all sorts of happy talk at the SU Web site about the brave new world of football competition, but my Mom's alma mater, which is about as old as Stevenson, introduced football just two years ago, and its record speaks for itself. If we can "break our duck" during the 2011 season, I'll be more than happy with that, even if we do little else.

The basketball teams are slogging through another poor season. The guys are presently 6-14, the girls 2-18. At least the new digs at Owings Mills are getting good reviews.

Only at Stevenson would you hear: "When does lacrosse season start?" Maybe football can do something about that starting later in 2011.

Monday, January 31, 2011

DVD Review: PEANUTS 1970s COLLECTION, VOLUME 2 (Warner Home Video, 2010)

I'll gamely resist the obvious temptation to link the out-of-left-field "Motocross" theme of You're a Good Sport, Charlie Brown (1975) to Fonzie's infamous flight and state uncategorically, definitively, and absotively that It's Your First Kiss, Charlie Brown (1977), the fifth (though actually fourth in chronological order) of the six episodes in this back-end-of-the-70s collection, stands as THE moment when the PEANUTS TV franchise officially "jumped the shark." The infamous episode that brought the Little Red-Haired Girl "on stage" for what Charles Schulz himself later admitted was the "cheap thrill" of having Charlie Brown get to meet and kiss his "dream girl" also marked the first PEANUTS special without the invaluable musical contributions of Vince Guaraldi. Guaraldi's distinctive scores made even the lesser efforts of the TV franchise's first decade enjoyable. With First Kiss, we suddenly switch to something that the Schulz of ten years before would have dismissed out of hand as "generic cartoon music." To make matters worse, we start hearing the notorious wokka-chih-wokka! undertones of the disco era. It was only a short slide-step from there to Flashbeagle and all that that implied. Tack on the sheer unfairness of Charlie Brown getting blamed for his football team losing the "big game" when it was Lucy (doing the football-pulling-away routine on a "real" stage, this time) who was the real culprit, and First Kiss has a lot to answer for. What a Nightmare, Charlie Brown (1978) provided a welcome return to something like form -- albeit in an extremely unusual format and venue -- but I can't honestly say that I loved, or even overly liked, any PEANUTS special after that one, and even Nightmare originally struck me as more "weird" than anything else, only to grow on me later. So this package truly does represent the last of the "vintage" PEANUTS TV output.

The three Guaraldi eps in this set all have their good points, though Good Sport, with its patchy plot (which, like those of some of the weaker early shows, takes a good long while to get moving) and forced attempt to "sell Motocross," has fewer than either Be My Valentine, Charlie Brown (1975) or It's Arbor Day, Charlie Brown (1976). Valentine is unspectacular but gets the job done; why else would Charlie Brown have been sent a flood of valentines after its original showing, just as people sent him candy to make up for getting all those rocks at Halloween? The show also cleverly updates the evergreen theme of Linus' crush on Miss Othmar by giving Miss O. a hot car and a boyfriend (and, presumably, a Women's Lib membership card). Arbor Day is often patronized because of the "sense of holiday desperation" suggested by the title, and it is rather strange that the obscure fete was chosen over, say, New Year's Day, which PEANUTS didn't get to until much later, or July 4th. A fresh viewing, however, reveals a clever juxtaposition of tree-talk with the opening of the gang's baseball season, and the scene of Charlie and Peppermint Patty's teams attempting to play ball in what has now been converted into an orchard is one of the most imaginative that Schulz, Melendez, & co. ever devised. Good Sport has one or two funny bits (e.g. the injured Charlie and "Masked Marvel" Snoopy getting brought to the vet and the hospital -- and that's the correct order), but I detect the start of a somewhat cynical attitude here. "Motocross" was never anything close to a big deal in the comic strip; tennis (which Snoopy plays vs. a ball-chucking machine and Woodstock in a l-o-o-o-o-o-o-n-g sequence at the start) was much more relevant to the gang at this time, reflecting as it did Schulz' contemporary athletic interests. Was Schulz trying to sneak a new strip concept in through the back door, essaying a "TV test balloon" of some sort? If so, then the gambit obviously didn't work.

As noted above, What a Nightmare, Charlie Brown looks a lot better in retrospect. Such a radical departure -- Snoopy essentially soloing (with, of course, no dialogue as a result) and being forced to undergo a stern (albeit imaginary) trial as a sled dog in a quasi-realistic Frozen North where Scrooge McDuck and Glittering Goldie might not have seemed out of place -- needed complete conviction from all involved in order to work, and Melendez' animators rise to the challenge. Snoopy's facial expressions during his agonizing ordeal are priceless, as is the scene in the saloon (honky-tonk?!) where ol' Snoop tries without success to be a can-can dancer and clean up at the poker table. Then, of course, just when he's discovered that he needs to be a real dog in order to survive, he wakes up and it's back to normal (or what passes as such for Snoopy). Even the music in this special works reasonably well, throwing in harmonica riffs and an atmospheric player-piano tune to add to the ambience. Unfortunately, the high of this special wasn't sustained in the final entry in this collection, You're The Greatest, Charlie Brown (1979), which drags us through all ten events of the decathlon, tossing in a few surreptitious licks of the Olympic Theme for good measure. Charlie Brown and Marcie's sportsmanship is admirable but has the feel of a "this-is-good-for-you" theme that was stressed one or two too many times. We see a sort of anticipation here of such later specials as Why, Charlie Brown, Why? (1990) and What Have We Learned, Charlie Brown? (1983). In You're The Greatest, however, the rap of the schoolmaster's stick is a little too sharp. Alas, so is the adult voice of the track announcer, which opens up a whole new can of worms that would only grow wigglier as we moved into the 80s. (Adults of a sort do appear in What a Nightmare, it's true, but they follow convention; sled-dog Snoopy's master is only seen in silhouette and speaks with the familiar trombone-voice, while we only see bits and pieces of the bodies of the saloon patrons. I'm willing to forgive that because of the highly unusual nature of the special; we had to have some substantial visual evidence that we were "really" in the Arctic in order for the show's conceit to work.)

The only extra here is "You're Groovy, Charlie Brown," which purports to examine PEANUTS in the 70s. How strange, then, that I saw so many clips from the Schulz documentaries of the 60s tossed in. It seems that even the extra-makers realized that this collection well and truly marked the passing of the glory days.

RIP John "007" Barry

The gifted composer who established the "tonal template" of the James Bond movie series has died at the age of 77. Here's what I consider to be his most underappreciated musical contribution to the series -- and, fittingly, it appeared at the beginning of the most underappreciated movie in the series (sorry, Sean, Roger, Daniel, et al., this one is and probably will always be my favorite). Barry also contributed the classic "We Have All the Time in the World", so memorably sung by Louis Armstrong, to OHMSS.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

THE BEST OF KIMBA: Introduction

The American version of Osamu Tezuka's seminal manga JANGURU TAITEI -- known to us as Kimba the White Lion -- debuted in syndication 45 years ago this coming September. It's part of what I might call the substrata of my interest in comics and animation, a product that left an indelible impression on me during childhood, along with The Flintstones, Speed Racer, PEANUTS, and RICHIE RICH. All of my future fan-interests, including my interest in Duck comics, flowed from these early experiences. Kimba, however, was an exception in that I literally had to "rediscover" the series in adulthood.

As a long-delayed tribute to this marvelous series -- and, I'll freely admit, as a bit of a warm-up for my planned re-review of DuckTales next year, on the occasion of its silver jubilee -- I've decided to post my impressions/critiques of what I consider to be some of the best Kimba episodes. This is harder to do than it sounds, not because many of the series' 52 eps were lousy, but because the series' intended continuity -- a story line based in great part on the original manga, but which Tezuka found that he had to sort of sneak into the TV series through the back door, due to American distributor NBC Films' nervousness over any sort of continuity that could render reruns problematic -- was severely compromised by the manner in which it was redubbed for American consumption. The outstanding voice/writing crew that took on the job were fed episodes in a rather haphazard manner and, as a result, made understandable mistakes. The wonder was that the finished product turned out so well. As Fred Patten and Robin Leyden note in their authoritative article "How Kimba Came to Be" (which I highly recommend that all White Lion "Newbies" read):

["Kimba"] was created by a Japanese producer who didn't get to do the program he'd wanted to make, for an American TV distributor that didn't get the program it had expected to receive. It was adapted for American TV by a production team who often weren't sure of what they were doing. Yet what resulted was a program that was imaginative, intelligent, exciting, humorous, and charming.

To that concluding list of adjectives, I'd add "Heart-filled." "Heart" -- that undefinable but recognizable quality that makes us believe in the reality of fictional characters and care about their relationships and fates -- is present in the best Disney TV series, PEANUTS, and many other products I've enjoyed, but Kimba may be among the most "Heart-filled" series ever made.

I don't know how often I'll be posting these musings -- if I can pull off one a week during the spring semester, I'll be more than delighted -- but I do hope you enjoy them. The first episode reviewed will be the pilot, "Go, White Lion."

Episode List:  1. Go, White Lion, 2. The Wind in the Desert, 3. A Human Friend, 4. Great Caesar's Ghost, 5. Fair Game, 6. Jungle Thief, 7. Battle at Dead River, 8. The Insect Invasion, 9. The Flying Tiger, 10. Two Hearts and Two Minds, 11. Catch 'em if You Can, 12. The Hunting Ground, 13. The Trappers, 14. Journey into Time, 15. Scrambled Eggs, 16. Diamonds in the Gruff, 17. The Magic Serpent, 18. The Runaway, 19. Mystery of the Deserted Village, 20. Restaurant Trouble, 21. The Bad Baboon, 22. Dangerous Journey, 23. The Gigantic Grasshopper, 24. Gypsy's Purple Potion, 25. Too Many Elephants, 26. A Revolting Development, 27. The Chameleon Who Cried Wolf, 28. The Wild Wildcat, 29. The Nightmare Narcissus, 30. Adventure in the City, 31. City of Gold, 32. The Last Poacher, 33. Jungle Justice, 34. Jungle Fun, 35. The Pretenders, 36. Monster of Petrified Valley, 37. Legend of Hippo Valley, 38. Volcano Island, 39. Running Wild, 40. The Troublemaker, 41. Destroyers from the Desert, 42. The Balloon That Blows Up, 43. Monster of the Mountain, 44. A Friend in Deed, 45. Such Sweet Sorrow, 46. The Return of Fancy Prancy, 47. The Cobweb Caper, 48. The Red Menace, 49. The Sun Tree, 50. Soldier of Fortune, 51. The Day the Sun Went Out, 52. Silvertail the Renegade  

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Movie Review: GRAND ILLUSION (RAC/World Pictures Corporation, 1938)

 La Grande Illusion (1937) Poster

Reams of paper, gallons of ink, and, now, terabytes of computer space have been used to parse French director Jean Renoir's World War I masterpiece, which Nicky and I viewed this past week as a "Netflix-Streaming Instant Watch" while a snowstorm whirled outside. I don't have much more than deux additional sous to pitch in... I think that the critics who reflexively describe it as a "great antiwar statement" are missing the point. The film is far more of a pro-humanity statement than an antiwar indictment. No character or class is presented in a really harsh light, not even the cruel-looking commander (Erich von Stroheim) of the German prison fortress to which perpetual escapees Capt. de Boldieu (Pierre Fresnay), Lt. Marechal (Jean Gabin), and Lt. Rosenthal (Marcel Dalio) have been sent. Compare a movie like Titanic, in which class determines attitude with all the rigidity of a Kabuki drama. Renoir's film can be taken as an elegy for an entire way of life, in which aristocratic foes can converse with resigned dignity and "noblemen" can willingly risk their lives for others (as de Boldieu does when he contrives a plot to help his two lesser-born comrades get away) while still not quite understanding what makes them tick. There's plenty of sardonic Gallic humor and an unexpected love story that takes up the last half-hour or so without feeling "tacked on" to appease a particular demographic. The use of subtitles probably mandates multiple viewings to take everything in, but there's no question but that this belongs on the "short list" of the world's greatest films.