Japanese Animation – Bitch Flicks

‘Michiko to Hatchin’: Anime’s Newest Mom Has Some Issues

Throughout the course of the 22-episode series, Michiko abandons Hatchin to get laid, lets Hatchin work a part-time job rather than pay for shoes she herself stole, leaves Hatchin with an abusive orphanage (more on that in a second), lets her run away half a dozen times, all while the two bicker constantly about often incredibly petty matters. All of this rolls up to establish that Michiko is, well, basically just a terrible, terrible mom.
And that’s pretty amazing.

This guest post by Robert V. Aldrich appears as part of our theme week on Bad Mothers.

**Includes extremely mild spoilers**

Michiko is a terrible, terrible mom.

In 2008’s Michiko to Hatchin, brought to us by Studio Manglobe and directed by Sayo Yamamoto, we see Michiko Malandro (voiced by Yoko Maki or Monica Rial, depending on the original or English dubbing) break out of prison and liberate her daughter, Hatchin Morenos (voiced by Suzuka Ohgo or Jade Saxton) from an abusive foster family, and subsequently take her daughter on a whirlwind trip around a South American nation that’s totally not Brazil. Sounds like pretty good mom, right?

Yeah, no. See, for starters, Hatchin’s name is actually Hana. Michiko just calls her Hatchin because it seems more fitting. And she isn’t taking Hatchin on this “tour” of South America; she’s on the run from the police (remember the part of her breaking out of prison?). And she isn’t quite so much reuniting her family as she is trying to track down clues to find Hatchin’s allegedly dead father, Hiroshi.

But at least Michiko rescues Hatchin, right? Well, yes, she does do that. But that’s about all she really does for Hatchin. And, again, it’s more because Hatchin might have a clue or two about Hiroshi’s whereabouts. Throughout the course of the 22-episode series, Michiko abandons Hatchin to get laid, lets Hatchin work a part-time job rather than pay for shoes she herself stole, leaves Hatchin with an abusive orphanage (more on that in a second), lets her run away half a dozen times, all while the two bicker constantly about often incredibly petty matters. All of this rolls up to establish that Michiko is, well, basically just a terrible, terrible mom.

And that’s pretty amazing.

Why? Because mothers in anime are usually perfect. Like their fairy tale counterparts, mothers are (with a few very rare exception) saintly figures capable of doing no wrong. The matrons of anime families are often paragons of the traditional Japanese ideal; dedicated homemakers who are happy to don the apron and attend to the culinary and domestic responsibilities of husband and child. Examples include Trisha Elric from Full Metal Alchemist, Ikuko Tsukino (Serena/Usagi’s mother) from Sailor Moon, and even Mom Racer (from Speed Racer), and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Other characters in anime can be louts but when maternity is concerned, there’s rarely much messing around.

We see atypical examples of course, such as Yui Ikari from Evangelion, who instead of being a homemaker is a brilliant and innovative scientist but whose primary if not sole motivation is to make a better world for her son, Shinji. We see Chi-chi from Dragon Ball Z, who is a ferocious fighter but still the doting housewife. We also see evidence of the strong maternal instinct in non-mother characters, such as the career military woman Lisa Hayes in Robotech/Macross, who adopts a maternal role to Rick Hunter/Hikaru Ichijyo), despite the personal and romantic tension between them.

The anime genre is positively lousy with iconic mothers whom fill the role either perfectly or cleverly. Still, one constant in all of anime is that the role of the mother is filled as near-perfect: in deed or at least intention.

Except Michiko. She’s terrible.

There’s a theme developing here, you may have noticed.

Mothering is hard and not every woman takes to it naturally, even when they’ve hoped to be mothers their entire lives. Check out this clip from Scrubs or episode 11 from the third season of House of Cards (where the campaigning Claire Underwood talks to the lonely mother and wife) just for a few examples in fiction. And yet in anime (like much of art), mothers are often depicted as flawless in their pursuit and intentions, if not results as well. The idea of a woman who isn’t naturally inclined towards maternity, if not automatically great at it, is almost alien and so rare as to be almost be unheard of. Thus art isn’t always imitating life.

Michiko, as outlandish and flamboyant as she is (we first meet her when she drives a motorcycle through a window onto a dinner table), might be one of the most realistic depictions of motherhood in anime. Not because she’s terrible per se, but because mothering doesn’t come naturally to her. At all. It’s not some magical transformation that she (like all women) automatically goes through. Some women struggle with the trials and with not knowing what to do. Some fail at it, no matter how much they wished they could do better. And Michiko reflects that possibility.

Of course, Michiko isn’t the only mother in the series. On the contrary, the series has quite a few mothers and mother-figures. In episodes five and six, we meet the woman who ran the orphanage that Mitchiko grew up in, Zelia Bastos. A hard woman, we see her making a terrible situation almost functional. She’s a horror, but a horror found in a horrible world. We see a menagerie of mother-figures, but almost none are actual biological and true-to-the-iconic-image of the mother-saint found in so many other anime. Whether it’s a drag-queen single father doing his best or even Hatchin having to take care of her ill mother, motherhood as both a responsibility and an identity is an undercurrent in Michiko to Hatchin and nobody is the ideal.

The series does a lot to explore the different people in Michiko’s life, and by virtue Hatchin’s life as well. We see a multitude of different maternal figures, including, at the very end, Hatchin herself. The series closes by jumping forward half a dozen years to when Hatchin works as a cook and has a child of her own, a little baby girl. Her life is far from idyllic but it’s a life of her own creating and one free of at least some of the troubles that plagued her own mother. In some ways, her life is the result of Michiko’s trials and struggles witnessed throughout the show. Just as Michiko tried to give Hatchin a better life than she had (which she did, which is a testament to how terrible Michiko’s life was), Hatchin tries to give her daughter a better life than she. And she seems to be managing it, certainly at least compared to Michiko’s efforts.

The series, directed by Sayo Samamoto (previously known for her work on Trava: Fist Planet and Samurai Champloo) and produced by Shinichiro Watanabe (one of the leading voices in modern anime, with credits like the aforementioned Samurai Champloo as well as Cowboy Bebop and segments from the Animatrix), isn’t the most innovative or ground-breaking anime narrative to come along, but it is most certainly a breath of fresh air. It is a vibrant and encouraging show with a vivid style and a unique feel. It can remind palling anime fans of what the medium can do and it’s the sort of thing that can surprise others who might dismiss anime as nothing but “giant robots and hentai.” This is a great show that deviates from so many anime norms, but its greatest accolade may just be its bravery to make Michiko a terrible, terrible mother.

Robert V Aldrich is a semi-talented author who writes novels and others works, while also speaking at conventions. His newest novel, Samifel, will be released by Haven Publishing House this June at Anime Mid-Atlantic. His writings and other works are available at official website, TeachTheSky.com

Fearless Friendship! Usagi and Rei

Growing up isn’t cute. At six or 16 or anywhere in between, figuring out who you are and what your place in the world is isn’t sparkly fun-times. The best you can hope for is to have a real friend to muddle through the worst of it with you, someone who is having just as much of a crazy time as you are, who will run to your defense, give you pep talks when you’re about to face the Dark Kingdom, and shamelessly make fun of you for being such a crybaby after you call her a meanie.

This guest post by Kathryn Diaz appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

For real: shiny makeup senshi or not, the world needs more best friendships like Usagi and Rei’s from Sailor Moon. These two girls could not be more different on the surface, but does that stop Usagi from wanting to save her from sudden danger? You bet your moon tiara not. Even after she accidentally tried to exorcise an evil spirit from her and gave her a harsh brush-off when she tried to offer help, saving Rei is still Usagi’s top priority when she sees her in danger. In fact, it’s Rei’s peril that prompts fraidy-cat Usagi to find her courage and transform into her super-powered self at all. How’s that for serious friendship? But what really puts things over the top is how quickly they fall into sharp banter and jibes.

The Rei that teases Usagi about her crush on Tuxedo Mask, rolls her eyes when she’s goofing off on merry-go-rounds instead of fighting evil, and wrestles on the floor with her for a Sailor V book is a far cry from the testy, aloof shrine maiden she was when they first met, and yet she transitions into this openness very quickly where Usagi is concerned. For Rei, acting out her frustration in honest, albeit childish, ways is a sign of trust and comfortability. There is no other senshi on the team she leaps to go toe-to-toe with. In the second episode after they meet, Rei all but comes to blows with Usagi to get her and a small child away from the Jadeite-trap-of-the-week. Though normally cool and competent, she drags them off in an embarrassing spectacle. But after they’re called out, we see her begrudgingly riding the kiddie train with Usagi as a kind of apology, even though she knows she was right. This is because Rei cares under all her criticism and attitude. Cracking jokes at Usagi’s expense is her way of saying “I love you.” And for her part, Usagi speaks the same language as Rei when the situation calls for it. She spies on Rei’s talks with Mamoru and races to score a date with him before she does. She trips her, she shouts that she’s a meanie whenever they’re in front of their friends, and teases her about her crush on Yuichiro. In short, these two can exercise their anime teen angst on common ground until they’re practically blue in the face.

Nothing says I love you like fighting over who gets to read Sailor V first — Nothing says I love you like fighting over who gets to read *Sailor V* first

This is not to say that Usagi and Rei are simply mutual punching bags for each other. As fellow senshi Makoto points out, “The more you fight, the better friends you are.” And are they ever friends. After taking a step too far in one of their “fights,” Usagi uses her disguise pen to pose as a fortune teller to help Rei get with a boy she likes. The plan falls apart, of course, but the point lies in the extent and sincerity of her effort. In a later episode, Usagi and Rei are trapped in a snow drift. To pass the time, Usagi breaks out a musical locket from the then-missing Tuxedo Mask. But as soon as Rei sits beside her, she puts it away and asks if she hurt Rei’s feelings. She knows she and Rei have been playing tug-of-war with Tuxedo Mask; she knows that when he was taken, and Rei was upset that she didn’t fight for him. Even though their problems have multiplied a good tenfold since then, Usagi is worried that she might have awoken genuinely hurt feelings in Rei. There is a line between these two. They give each other ample permission to communicate in implications, gestures, shouts and screams, but if any of their verbal blows actually bruise, they’ll race to pedal back. In the scene, Rei shrugs off Usagi’s worries. “Why would I think that?” she says. “Honestly, I’ve already given up on Mamoru–I mean–Tuxedo Mask.” Not only does she assure Usagi, but she takes the conflict off the table. She’s sad, of course, but any affection for Tuxedo Mask comes second to Usagi. Further proof: she steps away from communicating via implication and harsh humor to be comforting and frank with Usagi. It isn’t just what she’s doing for Usagi in this moment, it’s how.

Of course, because Usagi and Rei’s friendship thrives less on heart-to-hearts and more on pulling faces and well-meant bickering, Rei follows up this tender moment with snipping, “If you don’t live in happiness with Mamoru, I’ll punish you!” Usagi smiles. She knows exactly what Rei is trying to say.

The strongest demonstration of Rei’s friendship with Usagi doesn’t come until one of the last episodes of Sailor Moon‘s first season. In a rare moment of thorough planning, Usagi has decided to pretend to have fallen out with the other senshi in the hope that the Dark Kingdom will come after her and take her to Tuxedo Mask. The bad guys take the bait, but rather than whisk her away, they begin to torture her. Unbeknownst to them, the other sailor senshi are lurking nearby, and they want to call the plan off and save their friend. What stops them? Rei. Rei knows what’s at stake and how important it is to Usagi that she have the chance to save the boy she loves. Rei’s bond with Usagi is one such that she can be in as much anguish as the other senshi at watching Usagi in pain, but have enough wherewithal to stay focused on the mission that Usagi has put in place. Of course, when to some of the senshi Rei’s relationship with Usagi looks more like veiled contempt than ill-concealed devotion, questions arise about her true motives. Makoto accuses her of hating Usagi all along. Rei reveals that she’s only lasted this long because she loves Usagi.

Rei's truth is heartbreaking — Rei’s truth is heartbreaking

In the end, Rei breaks the plan without so much as a “never mind” to the other senshi. She doesn’t care that she just insisted otherwise 10 seconds ago and she doesn’t care that the bad guys will know that the jig is up or that Usagi might be mad that she went back on her word. Rei is fearless. She knows that Usagi will accept and forgive her. Because if there’s one thing you can count on from a friend that you can name-call, boy chase, and fight evil with, it’s that you are always accepted and always forgiven. If that’s not true friendship, I don’t know what is.

This look is what it's all about — This look is what it’s all about

Kathryn Diaz is a writer living in Houston, Texas. She is currently pursuing a B.A in English at the University of Houston. You can follow her at The Telescope for more of her work.

Miyazaki’s Swan Song ‘The Wind Rises’

Hayao Miyazaki is one of the most renowned animators alive. He brought us visually arresting, pro-woman, environmentalist tales like ‘Princess Mononoke’ and ‘Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind.’ He brought us lush tales of magic and mythology, like ‘Spirited Away’ and ‘Howl’s Moving Castle,’ with young women as protagonists and other women as focal, powerful characters throughout. Miyazaki now insists that his latest animated film, ‘The Wind Rises’ (‘Kaze Tachinu’), will be his last.

"The Wind Rises" poster — “The Wind Rises” poster

Written by Amanda Rodriguez
Spoiler Alert

Hayao Miyazaki is one of the most renowned animators alive. He brought us visually arresting, pro-woman, environmentalist tales like Princess Mononoke and Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind. He brought us lush tales of magic and mythology, like Spirited Away and Howl’s Moving Castle, with young women as protagonists and other women as focal, powerful characters throughout. Miyazaki now insists that his latest animated film, The Wind Rises (Kaze Tachinu), will be his last.

The film felt like a goodbye with its insistence that artists can only be creative and productive for 10 years, its somber outlook, and the way in which it concluded at the end of a major era in Japanese history (Japan’s defeat in World War II). The Wind Rises also features one of Miyazaki’s rare male protagonists, Jirô Horikoshi (a fictionalized version of the eponymous historical aeronautical engineer who designed Japan’s model “Zero” fighter plane); I suspect this is because Miyazaki identifies with Jirô and his dreams that are too big and too pure for this world.

Jiro Dream Pilot — “Airplanes are beautiful, cursed dreams, waiting for the sky to swallow them up.”

Considering Miyazaki’s focus on the centrality of female characters throughout his career, The Wind Rises is disappointing in its lack of developed female characters. There’s really only Jirô’s loud and pushy but soft-hearted little sister, Kayo, who grows up to be a doctor. Jirô’s encouragement of her medical school dreams and the achievement of a peripheral female character’s big dreams in the 1940’s are a bit too subtle to consider feminist, but it’s a welcome nod nonetheless. Nahoko is Jirô’s tragic love interest who has loved him completely and selflessly since he rescued her as a girl from the Great Kantō Earthquake of 1923. Though we know Nahoko loves painting, French poetry, and Jirô, there is little else that we know about her beyond that. She exists solely to love and support Jirô and to humanize him in a way that none of his other relationships do.

Nahoko and Jirô meet by a picturesque spring

Though The Wind Rises is (as to be expected) beautiful, it is overly sentimental. Jirô’s reunion with a woman who he helped many years ago only to fall in love with her only to have her be tragically ill was a bit too neat of an unrealistic package designed to give magic and wonder to the external life of a young man who mainly lived within his own head. Not only that, but the ethereal quality of dreams is the heart of the film, insisting that we must make our beautiful dreams a reality no matter what the consequences, no matter how the world may pervert those dreams. This is particularly true of Jirô’s innocent desire to design planes that is warped and manipulated to serve his country’s wartime needs. As a member of the country who heinously dropped two atomic bombs on Japan during World War II, I find this particular theme questionable. Though I valued a glimpse of history from Japan’s perspective, which the US rarely sees, I would have been extremely uncomfortable had I been watching a tale about the creation of the atom bomb and how it was a beautiful dream that life distorted, a dream with deadly real life applications for which the dreamer takes little responsibility. We only know that Jiro and his dreamland mentor, the Italian Caproni, would prefer to design planes that weren’t used for war, but they do so anyway and without question.

This leads me to my final critique of the film. The war and the purpose of the planes that Jirô builds are, strangely, non-issues. The Wind Rises is an oddly apolitical nationalistic film that laments Japan’s poverty, inability to innovate due to economic challenges, and the pain of pride for being a country technologically left behind. The motivations for the war are never discussed. No one is pro-war or anti-war. The film seems to be asserting that Japan’s involvement in World War II was due to a sense of honor rather than conviction or even political profit. Japan, like Jirô, is, instead a little country with a big dream. Miyazaki’s blasé approach to the war does not measure up to the clear-cut environmentalist stance he takes in many of his other films.

Jiro stands before his failed plane prototype — Jirô stands before his failed plane prototype

While Miyazaki continues to deliver breathtaking animated scenes and a sense of wonder and magic, The Wind Rises disappoints on a thematic level with its lack of engagement or curiosity about Japan’s involvement in World War II or an artist’s responsibility for their creations. The borderline cloying saccharine sentimentality along with the lack of strong female characters we’ve come to expect from Miyazaki leave me hoping The Wind Rises is not his swan song, that he will make just one more film that rivals, if not surpasses, the masterpieces he has already given us.

Amanda Rodriguez is an environmental activist living in Asheville, North Carolina. She holds a BA from Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio and an MFA in fiction writing from Queens University in Charlotte, NC. She writes all about food and drinking games on her blog Booze and Baking. Fun fact: while living in Kyoto, Japan, her house was attacked by monkeys.