Robert V Aldrich – Bitch Flicks

Mary and Susan on ‘Johnny Test’

While the show as a whole was run-of-the-mill, it quietly had two of the most brilliantly realized female characters in recent cartoon history: Mary and Susan Test. …Mary and Susan Test are ambitious, intelligent, and fully-actualized. Exaggeratedly brilliant scientists, it’s the twin girls who put into motion most events of the series.

This guest post written by Robert V. Aldrich appears as part of our theme week on Women Scientists.

No one’s going to blame you if you haven’t heard of Johnny Test.

It was a quiet little show that ran from 2005 to 2014, first on The CW (Kids’ WB at the time) and thereafter on Cartoon Network. There wasn’t a whole lot to it as a show, to be honest. It was pretty casual fare about a boy and his talking dog, with simple art and generic animation. The voice acting was pretty decent but nothing to write home about. Each episode was usually a very simple concept (often revolving around school, chores, and similar mundane events) that got milked for all it was worth. The series’ episodes had a few decent jokes to make you smirk, a lot of lowest-common-denominator giggles, and one or two gags that went over the kids’ heads that only mom or dad got. It was a perfectly decent show, perhaps even good at times, but never anything particularly stellar.

In another time and place, Johnny Test might have been a bigger deal, but like its ancestors from the late-80s, the series suffered from being an adequate cartoon just after a major epoch of great cartoons (with the 2008 conclusion of Avatar: The Last Airbender and the cancellation of Toonami) as well as being overshadowed by a few stellar standouts (like Ben 10 and Transformers: Animated). As such, only its very core target audience even knew it existed. Which is a shame because while the show as a whole was run-of-the-mill, it quietly had two of the most brilliantly realized female characters in recent cartoon history: Mary and Susan Test.

While the TV series Johnny Test was very clearly aimed right at the ‘boy’ demographic, with the titular character and his talking dog Dukey (…shudder…) being the centerpiece of most episodes, the two pivotal characters were Johnny’s older twin sisters. Whereas Johnny was an average, no-brand kid who was equal parts jock, geek, and lay-about (IE your generic all-American pre-tween), Mary and Susan Test are ambitious, intelligent, and fully-actualized. Exaggeratedly brilliant scientists, it’s the twin girls who put into motion most events of the series. The two red-haired teen girls are constantly working on scientific experiments that push the boundaries of human comprehension, ability, and rend the very laws of nature. Basically, think Dexter from Dexter’s Lab, only with actual manners, social graces, and no bizarre accent.

Mary, the eldest of the twins and visualized with curly hair and baggy pants, is an open-minded sort of scientist, willing to engage with most any theory. She’s slightly more out-going of the two girls and focuses mostly on their collective work. She seems to be the more mature of the two and the most well-adjusted of the three Test children.

Susan is Mary’s counterpart (if differences that subtle can be called such). The younger of the two, Susan has straight hair and typically wears a skirt. She’s a little more hard-nosed when it comes to science and interpretation, and is a little more curt. She evidences a quicker temper than her sister, and has also garnered the attention of an unwanted paramour in the form of Eugene ‘Bling-Bling Boy’ Hamilton.

Both Mary and Susan are brilliant scientists, whose work is courted by the U.S. government (who seem synonymous with the military, though they’re frequently played for comic relief) and other institutions, even while they attend school at Porkbelly Technical Institute (which seems to be a generic higher-ed establishment and made unclear if it’s a high school or a college).

Mary and Susan are not the first female science wonks in cartoon history. Prior to them, cartoon-watchers had Gadget Hackwrench from Rescue Rangers and Sandy Cheeks on Spongebob Squarepants (yep, technically the squirrel in a diving suit is a scientist). Go back any farther and you could debatably include Penny from Inspector Gadget, but at about that point, the already paltry list begins to thin out completely. Sure, some shows had the occasional one-off or even recurring character as a female scientist (Transformers had Carly, Spike’s girlfriend who seemed a little too enamored with the alien robots), but by and large, the media was woefully lacking in such representation. This necessitated audiences look to live-action entertainment for any semblance of female characters into science, math, and the like. But live-action stuff’s like, for adults and who wants to watch that?

Even more remarkable is that while female science characters are in short supply, in even shorter supply – so much so as to border on unheard of – are female scientists who are still GIRLS. In the annals of cartoon history, one would be hard-pressed to find any other characters so prominent and also so well-rounded. While Mary and Susan’s cartoon predecessors were often more scientist than girl, the Test Twins are still very much regular teen girls. They like to get gussied up in dresses, go to the pool, and go dancing. They like makeup and many of the usual trappings associated with femininity. They just also really, really love science.

This is best evidenced by both girls having an unrequited interest in Gil Nexdor (get it?), the hunky airhead that lives down the street. Both girls pine for Gil’s easily-distracted attention, but are exceptionally clueless as to how to achieve it or hold it. For most of the show, Gil seems largely oblivious to the Test Twins’ very existence, an interesting reversal on the usual trope. It’s doubly interesting because of how it is similar to Susan’s struggles with Bling-Bling Boy and his constant, unwanted (and at times, toxic) attention.

Most every episode of Johnny Test involves the girls and their intelligence. Either an invention of theirs kicks off the episode’s action, or one is needed to save the day. Episodes vary from the run-of-the-mill charm-of-life episodes involving the usual kids’ matters (lazy afternoon, not wanting to do homework, sibling rivalry, etc.) to hyper-exaggerated inanity (alien invasions, feuds with other super-geniuses). Mary and Susan sometimes struggle with one another, as sisters are wont to do, but always end up reconciling. Likewise, their attitudes towards Johnny vary from episode to episode, depending on how much trouble he’s getting them into or how much they want him to test a new invention, but they always drop everything to help him.

The Test Twins really are quite remarkable as characters. As progressive as cartoons can be, there remains a colossal dearth of science-minded female characters, especially ones who embrace femininity. Were we to guess based off the likes of their peers and predecessors like Penny or Gadget, we might get the impression that once a woman puts on a lab coat or a stethoscope, she ceases to be a woman or a girl. Once she commits to STEM interests, she quits being interested in dresses, dances, or swooning after crushes. Mary and Susan Test challenge this quietly but directly.

For girls tuning in to watch this show, they found two prominent and visible characters who appear in nearly every single episode and always contribute meaningfully, if not outright save the day. Moreover, they do it not with beauty or social graces or even physical might, but with their intellect. These girls are the force in the show because of their smarts. Name any other cartoon with any other female character (much less two!) that can say the same. Don’t worry, I’ll wait.

Moreover, these two girls are not the centerpieces of the show. While they’re certainly not supporting characters, they’re not quite tritagonists with Johnny either. Mary and Susan occupy some unique territory where, depending on the episode, they find themselves as anything from partner-in-crime to background character to even deus ex machina. At first glance, this might seem a bit to undermine their importance, but consider instead that the target audience of this show is likely to be boys (because heaven forbid a show appeal to both, but that’s a discussion for another matter). By having these two super-science girls in the background of the show helps normalize the notion of girls who are smart, ambitious and love science. If this show were a little boy’s favorite TV show, it would be very likely that he would be completely accepting of girls at school being into biology, math, and the like. After all, why wouldn’t they be?

The world of entertainment has not been kind to women and girls who are interested in science, technology, engineering, and math. Often these characters are written quickly out of shows, turned into one-off joke characters, or relegated to quiet support. When they are featured in any way, they are nerdy outcasts who are scientists not just first, but almost exclusively. If a female character is into STEM matters, it’s as if they must sacrifice their femininity.

Mary and Susan casually dismiss all of that as the garbage that it is. They’re girls, fully realized and healthy in every way, who love science and lose themselves in their pursuits. No struggle exists to reconcile their intellects with their lives as girls. They are the perfect role-models of the aspiring scientist who also wants to wear cute clothes and go to the prom. On a show that otherwise was solid but quite forgettable, these girls stood out as contributing wonderfully to the tapestry of rich female characters cartoons have offered.

Not too bad for a cartoon with a talking dog named Dukey.

Robert V. Aldrich is a writer and novelist, living in Raleigh, North Carolina (and plans to vote against Pat McCrory as soon as November gets here). He’s the author of numerous books including Samifel and Rhest for the Wicked, as well as a contributing writer for multiple websites. You can find more of his work at TeachTheSky.com and he can be found on Facebook and Twitter. When not writing B-rate sci-fi or smarty-pants evaluations of kids’ shows, he is working for the health department, teaching martial arts, or losing arguments to his cats.

Animated Love: How Anime Produced Two of the Best Interracial Love Stories of All Time

Two of the greatest love stories in anime are interracial relationships. … While the industry as a whole generally eschews characters of color, that hasn’t stopped some series from featuring prominent people of color characters in narratively significant stories. This has led to interracial couples being featured in two of the greatest anime series of all time: ‘The Super Dimension Force Macross’ and ‘Revolutionary Girl Utena.’

This guest post written by Robert V Aldrich appears as part of our theme week on Interracial Relationships. Spoilers ahead.

Two of the greatest love stories in anime are interracial relationships.

Now, to be fair, that might seem a little surprising. After all, while generally being (or at least seeming) progressive on an array of social issues, the anime medium as a whole has a strained relationship with people of color, with the general absence of characters of color as, sadly, just the tip of the iceberg. When characters of color do appear, they are often highly generic (read: racist) stereotypes, although some popular anime cross the line and employ straight-up blackface antics (looking at you, Dragon Ball Z).

While the industry as a whole generally eschews characters of color, that hasn’t stopped some series from featuring prominent people of color characters in narratively significant stories. This has led to interracial couples being featured in two of the greatest anime series of all time: The Super Dimension Force Macross and Revolutionary Girl Utena.

Quick disclaimer: So, any discussion about race in anime needs to acknowledge the difficulties in identifying race in anime’s heavily stylized character designs. While some shows illustrate with more of an eye towards realism and racial distinctions can be made, most characters of white and Asian background are usually shown with nigh-identical features. This often makes distinguishing between the two races quite difficult (with nothing to say of distinctions between different ethnic groups within races). As such, it’s very easy for the token American woman to have largely the same facial features as her Japanese counterparts.

It’s for this reason that discussing interracial relationships can be a little tricky, simply because there are many more interracial relationships than first appears evident. For example, Aresene Lupin the Third (of Lupin III fame) is at the very least a quarter French (if not fully French), yet he is drawn with features comparable to fully Japanese characters (for example, his nemesis Inspector Zenigata). As such, his on-again/off-again dynamic with the patently Japanese Fujiko doesn’t seem interracial at all.

In Macross, the main protagonist Hikaru Ichijyo is drawn with features similar to his American friend Roy Focker, Russian captain Bruno Global, and even his Chinese pseudo-girlfriend Minmei.

This must be stated because it means that, technically, interracial relationships are actually quite common in anime; they are just very hard to distinguish. In order to draw attention to the very existence of interracial relationships, we will be discussing the very rare occurrences of a character of color not only being narratively significant (and not simply a one-off joke or a stand-alone episode), but involved with another equally narratively significant character of an obviously different race.

The Super Dimension Fortress Macross

Released in 1982, SDF Macross tells the story of Earth’s sole interplanetary vessel as it defends against an alien onslaught using reconfigurable aircraft. The story spans multiple years and features a wide array of characters, from grizzled war veterans to wide-eyed and naive starlets. It tells the story of survivors trying to endure the hardships that come as the cost of war, both on a community and culture and on the individual.

Most fans in the west know of SDF Macross as the basis for the first chapter in Robotech (an American product splicing together three separate Japanese shows, including Macross, to produce one three-generation narrative). Some elements of the show were amended for American/Western audiences but the vast majority of the story remained intact, including the violence and realism (well, as much realism as one can have in a show about a transforming aircraft). It would be this story that would introduce iconic anime characters like Hikaru Ichijyo (Rick Hunter in Robotech), Misa Hayase (Lisa Hayes), and many more. While Hikaru/Rick would be the main character and the story would follow his life and romances, a supporting story would be told following the tender love affair between command officer Claudia LaSalle (Claudia Grant) and ace fighter pilot Roy Focker (re-spelled Fokker in the U.S. for some reason).

Claudia is the bridge officer in charge of weapons and navigation of the Macross (the giant space fortress that serves as the set and centerpiece of the show). She’s seen as a veteran officer and a mentor/big sister to other female characters in the show (especially Misa Hayase). She’s often the level-head in the bridge crew but also has a wild side as evidenced by her oft-referenced romantic life.

Opposite Claudia, we find Roy Focker. The ace fighter pilot for the humans against the early onslaught of alien forces, Roy seems to be the action hero of the first half of the story. At first glance, Roy is little more than an American stereotype. Tall, brash, and with copious blonde hair, he seems the antithesis to Hikaru’s Japanese stature and pacifist nature. This slowly evolves into a fully-formed character as we see Roy’s fraternal feelings for Hikaru as well as his romance with Claudia.

We see little evidences of Roy and Claudia’s romance throughout the first half of the show. They flirt after combat missions and we hear about their plans to see each other (events that usually transpire off-screen). In fact, our introduction to Claudia in the first episode includes Misa chastising her for her scandalous behavior with a night out with Roy the night before the big launch at the start of the show. Later, we see Claudia butting into Misa’s official exchange with Roy to tease him about his performance. All this builds to show an idealized relationship that includes passion and commitment.

And then Roy dies. (Uh…thirty-year-old spoiler alert?)

After a vicious dogfight with the alien ace pilot, Milia Fallyna (Miriya Parina Sterling in Robotech), Roy shakes off the suggestion that he go to the hospital. He instead retreats to Claudia’s apartment aboard the Macross. Despite coming out of a fight with her from an earlier episode, she makes pineapple salad for them during what should be rare quiet time together. Strumming away on a guitar, Roy slips from life on Claudia’s couch.

The pallor of Roy’s death hangs over the characters for the remainder of the show, affecting everyone in ways big and small. Claudia grows a bit melancholy in the wake of Roy’s absence but continues to soldier on. She clearly carries warm memories of Roy, as best evidenced when she advises Misa about her romance with Hikaru. During a late-season flashback, we are treated to a full episode of Roy and Claudia’s relationship when it first blossomed. We see Claudia as a stiff junior officer and Roy as a careless and callous fighter jock. They are at odds with one another until Claudia discovers Roy at her door during a rainstorm, determined to explain to her his feelings and to make her understand why he is who he is. Their love blossoms from there and becomes the stuff of legend.

Roy and Claudia’s relationship is not perfect. It is not ideal. It is tested constantly by the working lives of two professionals in tense situations with impossibly high stakes. Yet despite their backgrounds and despite their differences, their love for one another is undeniable.

To fans in the 1980s, tuning in on Saturday mornings, this was quietly subversive. In the west, television shows were (and still are) lacking people of color, except occasionally in a single token role. To see a Black woman in a leading role (whose name wasn’t Uhura) was something many fans still remember distinctly. But an interracial love affair? There were states in the US where that was technically still illegal! And here it was, not only on a beloved cartoon, but depicted beautifully, with the respect to be realistic but also the idealism to be wonderful.

Revolutionary Girl Utena

Whereas Macross would see Claudia and Roy’s love in the background of the larger story of humanity persevering against annihilation (as well as the far less satisfying love triangle between Hikaru and Misa and Minmei), 1997’s Revolutionary Girl Utena would put the interracial relationship front and center. It did this by not just involving the two main characters of the story, but by making their love the very centerpiece of the whole story.

The story of Revolutionary Girl Utena revolves around a sword-fighting contest at an elite private school where the prize for victory is the hand of the lovely and demure Anthy Himemiya. Anthy is of indeterminate racial background, but most guesses is that she is Indian or of Indian descent. While she is drawn with dark skin tones in the comic and early episodes of the animated series, Anthy’s skin tone is noticeably lightened in later depictions, most notably the 1999 feature film.

As the centerpiece of the series, Anthy is an initially enigmatic figure who appears to be little more than an abused damsel in distress, being passed around between the elites of the school. The heroine of the show, Utena Tenjou, more or less stumbles into rescuing her from the monstrous Saionji, resulting in the two being bonded to one another. Their relationship is extremely awkward at first, as much due to their same gender as well as simply being set in the adolescence of life, but their feelings slowly blossom as the series progresses, approaching thinly-veiled romantic overtones throughout the later episodes (and even explicitly stating a sexual dynamic in the film).

The issue of a sapphic connection between the two is very much a running theme in the story. Whispers of lesbianism are shared throughout the show, which makes the tomboy Utena uncomfortable and often explode defensively (at least initially). As the show progresses, the issue of same-sex love takes a backseat as the stakes raise for Anthy’s hand (and the inferred cataclysmic implications of her affection). Whatever novelty there is in their connection is lost as Utena fights for Anthy’s freedom and even her very life. When the final turn comes, the heartbreaking rejection that occurs leaves both characters transformed and arguably not for the better.

Fans of all persuasions gravitated towards the bold love story on display. As the world wrestled (and continues to wrestle) to address issues of gender and sexuality, where the words “gay” and “lesbian” were often still whispered, Revolutionary Girl Utena came out brashly, confronting these issues head-on. To do so while also tackling an interracial couple underscored the pervasiveness of many prejudices and preconceived notions. On full display was a love story that trumped many of the legends of old and simultaneously blew away every single reservation and preconceived notion along with it.

In both of these classic anime series, the racial background of the respective love interests is never made an issue. Nobody remarks to Claudia that her race is an issue in her seeing Roy. Nobody makes an issue of Anthy’s race or ethnicity as she dates Utena. Anthy and Utena don’t even see any real protest regarding their same-sex relationship (regardless of however real or imagined it is at the time). With regards to Roy and Claudia’s pairing, the only protests are internal to Claudia as the relationship begins.

While Claudia would largely disappear from the spotlight of Macross/Robotech fandom as the franchise moved on, Anthy remains a popular character, especially among non-white cosplayers. As a rare character of color in a major series, and as the cornerstone of that series, she’s seen as an icon and deservedly so. She has few peers among a vast sea of comparative homogeny when it comes to character types. While styles, personalities, and all manner of characteristics vary widely in anime, ethnicity and race seem rarely varied. Characters like Anthy and Claudia are welcome respites from that monotony.

That their relationships are unrestrained is even more noteworthy. Claudia’s relationship with Roy is never questioned, and certainly not on the bounds of their differing ethnicity. Anthy and Utena are likewise free from such criticisms (though, to be fair, they have far bigger oppositions in the story).

Anime is not free of racism. Anime, as a whole, has an uncomfortable dearth of characters of color. While that trend is changing, we still see a long way to go. It is comforting, if only a little, that what few characters are depicted and shown so prominently, are free of many of the restrictions of love we see in much of the world today. Claudia and Roy’s relationship is simultaneously realistic and perfect, striking the balance of believability and idealism that we look for in fiction. Anthy and Utena’s love starts accidentally and burns slowly, until it ignites like a flame. Their love story is the stuff of legend and will live on in the annals of great love stories in fiction, anime or otherwise.

With interracial couples sorely lacking in popular depictions in all media, it is comforting to find not only examples in anime (however admittedly rare) but to find sterling examples that inspire hope for any love, no matter the persuasion. Plus, these two love stories are set against dramatic swordfights and pronounced dogfights with transforming aircraft.

Robert V Aldrich is a novelist based out of North Carolina where he lives in denial about his bald spot. He can be found on Twitter at @Rvaldrich, Facebook, at his website Teach The Sky, and at parties talking to the dog. When he’s not writing, he works as a convention speaker, cancer researcher, and martial arts instructor.

‘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

Evil-Lyn: Fantasy’s Underrated Icon

A character with few rivals and even fewer scruples, Evil-Lyn was arguably one of the better developed villains in the show. And in the annals of females from sci-fi/fantasy, her name should be spoken of in the same breath as Wonder Woman and Princess Leia.

This guest post by Robert Aldrich appears as part of our theme week on Unlikable Women.

The female antagonist has historically been an underwritten, under-explored, and often under-appreciated role in fiction. Going back throughout history, the female villain has almost invariably been seen as more novelty than respected foe, more a token deviation from the norm than anything worthy of real development. The trend started in the modern era with Irene Adler testing her mettle against Sherlock Holmes in the short story “A Scandal in Bohemia,” though by the time comics and sci-fi/fantasy had come into their own, most heroes had their “token women opponents.” Going further, we can find a few sparse and rare examples, such as Milady de Winter from Alexander Dumas’ The Three Musketeers, Morgan LeFay in the Arthurian Legend, all the way perhaps to Delilah in the Biblical story of Sampson.

While literature was at times more progressive, television and movies still depicted the female antagonist as one who relies on guile and lies (and maybe sex appeal depending on the writers and the era), but rarely if ever are they seen as comparable adversaries. From James Bond to the A-Team, from Flash Gordon to the sword-and-sandal epics of the 1950s into the 1980s, most female antagonists were evil queens or villainous witches who send forth minions to do their work. They were bosses or femme fatales who enacted complex schemes but who faltered when confronted directly with the hero. This is often because no matter how powerful they may appear to be socially, their actual might is negligible. And moreover, they tend to disappear as randomly as they appeared, providing a single-story novelty of the woman-villain, or the feminine agent who only seemed to exist to facilitate the plans of their male superiors.

Then came Evil-Lyn.

Joke all you want about the corniness of 1983’s He-Man and the Masters of the Universe cartoon series (and there’s plenty to joke about), but the show’s writers created a wholly underappreciated female icon in Evil-Lyn, the self-titled Sorceress of Darkness. A character with few rivals and even fewer scruples, Evil-Lyn was arguably one of the better developed villains in the show. And in the annals of females from sci-fi/fantasy, her name should be spoken of in the same breath as Wonder Woman and Princess Leia.

The world of He-Man is one of classical pulp fantasy. Science and high technology co-exist on a world that is full of marvels that defy comprehension (and sometimes reason). Benevolent monarchs, feudal societies, and creatures of more varieties than can be imagined, all make up the foundations of daily life. It’s here on Eternia, a world at the center of the universe, that cosmic forces are personified as colorful individuals or encapsulated in simple objects such as rods, gems, staves, and swords.

Over the course of the show, we’re introduced to a menagerie of dynamic characters like He-Man, Skeletor, Orko, as well as many other fan favorites. Among the many characters are three prominent females: the Sorceress (a pseudo-deity who sees over the forces of good), Teela (Captain of the Royal Guard and sidekick to He-Man), and Evil-Lyn. Initially conceived as a counterpart to Teela in the action figure toy line (because this was the 1980s and of course there was a toy line), Evil-Lyn would almost immediately transcend that balancing role and become something different, something outside the hierarchy of power and roles found in most traditional fantasy stories.

Probably the most distinctive element of Evil-Lyn was her thirst for power, which was terrifying considering the power she already commanded. Evil-Lyn’s magical might was matched by very few (principally only Skeletor himself, the show’s primary villain, and the Sorceress of Grayskull). Outside of those two key and central figures, Evil-Lyn had few if any peers.

Also fundamental to her character, as well as underscoring her magical prowess, is that Evil-Lyn never demonstrated any combat prowess. While not unheard of for female characters in traditionally male-targeted shows, she stands out in a show like He-Man because everybody is a master combatant. The aforementioned Teela is the Captain of the Royal Guard and debateably as capable a fighter as He-Man. The Sorceress, from whom pretty much all the powers of good derive their might, gets involved in many a battle (often in the form of a great falcon known as Zoar). Even He-Man’s own mother, Queen Marlena, is actually a combat pilot (Lt. Marlena Glenn, and reputedly one of Earth’s first female astronauts). Every woman in this show was capable of throwing down, except Evil-Lyn.

This isn’t a short-coming on her part, however. It’s a testament. In a world where physical might and combat prowess are universally required, that she doesn’t have (or certainly never demonstrates) the requisite skills speaks volumes to the intelligence, cunning, and magical might that she does command. Unlike the “evil witches” in other fantasy stories, however, Evil-Lyn doesn’t rely on henchmen or artifacts to work her will. She is shown throughout the run of the show to have little need for henchmen or intermediary agents, nor does she often rely on magical amulets or great artifacts. Even her oft-present orb staff appears to be more trinket than necessity. Her magic is her own and she has more than enough for almost any need.

While Evil-Lyn is powerful, she is also ambitious. Her role as Skeletor’s aide is on the promise that he will grant her greater power (or that she will take his when the opportunity presents itself). Beyond working with Skeletor, Evil-Lyn works with anyone else she chooses, more than occasionally executing her own schemes independent of Skeletor’s plans or ambitions, loaning out her skills and knowledge to other malevolent forces in the pursuit of greater power.

The 1987 live-action movie deviated somewhat from the depiction of Evil-Lyn, but only in downplaying the verbose demeanor she showed in the cartoon and replaced it with a colder and harsher, otherworldly presence. Played by Meg Foster, Evil-Lyn showed fewer magical powers and less boisterous personality, but she lost none of her critical role to Skeletor. Indeed, we see instances where he confides that his success in conquering Eternia and holding the people is due almost solely to her, while there are hints of perhaps more than a partnership (maybe even romance?) at play between the two.

Almost two decades after the first series aired, He-Man would be rebooted for the 2002 animated series. This series would develop Evil-Lyn even further as well as more firmly establish her as more than mere henchman to Skeletor. She undermines Skeletor’s plans by aligning with other factions (namely Kobra Khan and the Snake Men), all in the pursuit of power. In the wake of this betrayal, we learn that Skeletor and she once were partners before he was turned into the deformed warrior-wizard we all know today.

Looking at Evil-Lyn as a character, she was almost without peer. Never before in pop culture – especially children’s entertainment – had a female character been so unmitgatingly evil, so self-serving, and yet so powerful. In the He-Man franchise, she is one of the great powers of the world, whom no one dares underestimate. She has no minions, and has no need for any. She is no diabolical queen, sitting scheming atop a throne, and hiding behind others. She is a mercenary who does what she wishes and goes where she pleases.

Robert V Aldrich is a novelist and speaker based out of North Carolina. His most recent book, Rhest for the Wicked, is now available, and he publishes a blog and serials at his website, TeachTheSky.com. You can follow him there, or on Twitter @rvaldrich.

Stephanie McMahon Helmsley: The Real Power in the Realm

She’s proven herself to be as diabolical as she is brilliant, manipulating wrestlers against one another and circumventing any and all rules to reach the ends of her choosing. She’s pit wrestlers in matches with their jobs on the line, or the jobs of their spouses (in the case of a short-lived feud with ‘Total Divas’ darling Brie Bella), added heinous stipulations to matches, or just flat-out fired anyone who disagreed with her.

This guest post by Robert Aldrich appears as part of our theme week on Unlikable Women.

Stephanie McMahon Helmsley is the most powerful person in the WWE.

A fourth-generation wrestling promoter, Stephanie McMahon is the current Chief Brand Officer of the World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) and one-half of the power couple (with her husband Triple H) that make up the heart of the Authority, the on-screen powers-that-be which attempt to steer the company down the path that is “best for business.” And while her father, Vince McMahon, may have more family/corporate power, or the rarely mentioned Board of Directors might have more business power, all control in the WWE flows from one of these two places and the person who commands the most of both forms of power is none other than Stephanie.

Not quite following? Don’t feel left out. The world of professional wrestling is confusing, and the monolithic WWE – the world’s largest and most successful wrestling promotion – it’s even more confusing. The story of the WWE is that of a giant, on-going tournament to determine and crown the best performers in the wrestling/sports entertainment business. The reality is that it’s a colorful pageant of athleticism and grandiose drama, of brutality and silliness, of action that is as fake as it is real.

To understand pro-wrestling, you really have to understand the concept of “kayfabe” (rhymes with “hey babe”). Kayfabe is the fictional reality in which the WWE (and all pro-wrestling) takes place. It’s a world where all matters are solved in the squared circle, where a person’s value is determined by the championship belt they wear, and where a contract signed under duress is a perfectly legal and binding affair. It’s a world that utilizes the most cutting-edge of technology (except the instant replay for referee to review), and also settles matters in the most barbaric and ancient manner there is (action).

Everybody knows kayfabe is “fake,” but then, you know the ballet is fake too, right? Live theater and television? They’re fake. Wrestling is just as fake…except for maybe the action, because while the punches may be pulled, the slams may be practiced, and the action is choreographed, there really isn’t any way to fake jumping off a ladder onto another person in front of a live audience of hundreds, thousands, or even tens of thousands. Wrestling may be different from theater and television because we buy into the larger-than-life personas, the over-the-type melodrama a little more fully than other forms of entertainment. Perhaps the best description was writer-poet Gabriel Ricard describing kayfabe as “self-aware suspension of disbelief”; you know it’s fake and yet you knowingly and willingly buy into it for the fun of.

Back to Stephanie McMahon Helmsley. In the 1970s and 1980s, Vince McMahon cobbled together the WWE by systematically buying out rival promoters. Vince’s daughter, Stephanie, got involved in the stories in the late 1990s. Initially, she was a victim of kidnapping by the malevolent forces of evil threatening to take over the WWE, known as the Ministry. After a subsequent rescue, she turned into the object of affection for two rival wrestlers (one of which would become her future husband, Triple H). She got married, then divorced. She competed in the WWE Women’s Division for a brief period (and even held the Women’s Championship) before she turned up again a few years later as a corporate figure and remarried (the WWE has an on-again/off-again relationship with narrative consistency).

At the turn of the millennium, Stephanie brokered a deal to usurp her father’s power by buying a rival wrestling company (Extreme Championship Wrestling, or ECW) and having those wrestlers “invade” the WWE, leading to a long series of matches and feuds over control and ownership of the WWE. While Stephanie did not prevail, this established her to be just as cutthroat as her father and perhaps even more resourceful.

Stephanie disappeared from the story’s eye for a little while, only to return as the general manager (a sort of catch-all boss) of the WWE’s late-week Smackdown, and then later for their flagship show, Monday Night Raw. As the boss, she would either be a voice of reason and ambitious sanity, or a draconian witch who would punish any that got in her way. She would continue in this role for a long time, then disappear for a bit, only to return most recently where she confronted fan-favorite Daniel Bryan about his ineligibility to compete for the title. It’s at about this point that the Authority storyline (currently going) would begin, with the Authority overtly taking control of competition. Stephanie, along with her husband Triple H, would try to guide the active roster of wrestlers towards their preferred ideals, by hand-selecting the champions rather than letting the fans decide, or letting the matches play out. She’s proven herself to be as diabolical as she is brilliant, manipulating wrestlers against one another and circumventing any and all rules to reach the ends of her choosing. She’s pit wrestlers in matches with their jobs on the line, or the jobs of their spouses (in the case of a short-lived feud with Total Divas darling Brie Bella), added heinous stipulations to matches, or just flat-out fired anyone who disagreed with her.

This is, of course, Stephanie McMahon Helmsley. Stephanie McMahon Levesque is quite a different woman.

Who is Stephanie McMahon Levesque? Well, she’s the real-world woman who plays Stephanie McMahon Helmsley in the WWE. She is the real daughter of Vince McMahon and she is a real fourth-generation wrestling promoter. And she is the real Chief Brand Officer for the WWE, responsible for promoting and growing the WWE’s brand through every avenue, be it reading challenges at local schools to embracing the first-ever content-specific streaming service (the WWE Channel). And she is really is married to Paul Levesque (the wrestler who goes by Triple H, or Hunter Hearst Helmsley)

The difference is that Stephanie McMahon Levesque is a decorated business woman, named four times by Cable magazine “One of the Most Powerful Women in Cable TV.” She is an Eisenhower fellow, chairperson for the Connecticut Special Olympics, and even has her own workout DVD. She also has three daughters with Paul Levesque.

Stephanie McMahon Levesque’s career has been a little more traditional than her on-screen persona. A communications degree from Boston University (along with probably at least a little nepotism) enabled her to work for the WWE as an accounts executive. She would work primarily behind the scenes and in the corporate office, until 2002 when she would make the switch to working on the creative side of the WWE, working as a writer and then head writer to develop the talent and storylines that would play out before audiences and before the cameras.

In 2007, she became the Executive Vice-President of Creative, which allowed her to spearhead multiple initiatives, not the least of which was the WWE app, which helped to pave the way to the WWE Channel. In 2013, she was promoted to Chief Brand Officer, making her more or less the face of the company’s business side.

So, Stephanie McMahon Levesque isn’t quite as dynamic as Stephanie McMahon Helmsley. But then, few actors are ever as dynamic as those they play on TV or on stage. In reality, Stephanie McMahon Levesque is the public face for a multi-million dollar, International Corporation. Within the kayfabe of the story, Stephanie McMahon Helmsley is not only this but also heiress to the entire kingdom, both family-wise and corporately. She is a woman who rules with intelligence and conviction, as well as brutal sincerity. When she speaks, the mightiest of men falls silent, listen, and then do as she says. Or they challenge her at their own peril.

Hail to the queen.

The Siren Song of Cartoon Catgirls

As evocative as the scene of the Puma Sisters doing their thing might be, and as culturally-charged a time as the release of ‘Dominion Tank Police’ might have been, much of the success of this scene is owed to the music. “Hey Boy,” by Riko Ejima, is a haunting song that, while seemingly chaste in that it seems to be singing about dancing, captures something deep, deep in the soul.

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

As young teen, I grew up with the unhealthy belief that female sexuality was a subdued and subtle thing. This was a misinformed viewpoint that had been fostered predominantly by growing pretty firmly in the mainstream. Countless songs on the radio, shows I watched on TV, and movies I rented from video stores, all depicted women in the same way: no matter how assertive or aggressive they may be in their day-to-day lives, when it came to anything even remotely sexual, they turned into timid kittens hiding under the bed, fragile things needing to be gently encouraged and carefully wooed, lest they fold up entirely.

Fortunately, I also grew up an anime fan (or an otaku if you really want to be pretentious about it), so this malarkey was dismissed with all the subtlety of a rocket-powered chainsaw when I first watched 1988’s Dominion Tank Police and saw the Puma Sisters distract a SWAT team with an impromptu strip-tease.

[youtube_sc url=”http://youtu.be/mi5GFuvCIp4″]

So, let’s go ahead and get a few things right out of the way. Yes, they’re fully formed adult women with cat ears. Unless you’ve never seen anime ever, that really shouldn’t be anything new. And yes, they’re stripping out of nurses’ uniforms. Because, again, it’s anime and why wouldn’t they? Pretty much all they needed was for one of the Puma Sisters to be holding a riding crop and the scene would have hit some kind of bizarre fetish hat trick.

But here’s the thing: as hot as that scene is, what makes it so remarkable and stand out against so much cheesecake in anime (and entertainment in general) isn’t the sexiness, the fetishistic imagery, or even just the animated near-nudity. What makes this scene stand out is the way it characterizes the Puma Sisters. They aren’t timid about their bodies or the affect it has on others (re: men). They are fully aware of that effect. And they don’t just know it; they know how to use it. And they not only know how to use it, and do so, they enjoy it gleefully.

This is a paradigm-challenging depiction of women that would go through me like a shot, and one that would be shared among many of the anime fans during this era. It wasn’t just “cat-girl strip-tease.” That would have been fun, but immediately forgettable. What makes this so remarkable was the manner in which the Puma Sisters conducted themselves, commanded the attention of everyone and everything around them, and used their sexuality as a nigh-literal weapon.

Who could guess a cartoon with a woman in combat armor on the front might not be the usual?

To fully understand the impact of this scene – or just to make sense of its zaniness – one must take a step back and understand the whole show–Dominion Tank Police, by the legendary Masamune Shirow (best known for Appleseed and Ghost in the Shell). In Dominion Tank Police, Newport City (and presumably the world) live under a dangerous pollution cloud, necessitating people to wear gas masks at all times when outdoors. Tangentially related, crime has gotten so bad in Newport City that a branch of the police employ tanks in their pursuit of law and order (the titular tank police). Opposite the tank police is Buaku and his gang of criminal mercenaries, who have been hired to steal valuable chemicals from a research hospital. The mystery of the chemicals’ nature, use, and origin unfolds across the four installments of the series (a follow-up series titled New Tank Police, released in 1993, follows an unrelated story).

Cat-girls on futuristic motorcycles. And thus the future was born.

Anna and Uni, the Puma Sisters, are Buaku’s primary partners and ostensibly his muscle. They seem to have little interest in crime aside from it being more entertaining than any of their previous employment (different media portray those previous jobs as everything from stripping to the suggestion that they’re androids built for sexual service). As a result, they tend not to take their heists very seriously, the police very seriously, or even Buaku very seriously. This is best demonstrated by the very scene in question where they decide to distract a SWAT team with a striptease simply because the lighting’s really good.

To further understand the significance of this scene, you have to understand when and where it was seen. Namely, it was seen by teenage nerds in a pre-Internet age. Nowadays, anybody with a smart phone can find digital images of extreme sexuality, but in 1988, you had to work for it. You had to know what movies to rent from the video store and at what minute-mark to watch up to. And that was just for live-action stuff. If you wanted to see a cartoon with anything even passing for erotic, you were almost definitively out of luck (Rule 34 was a long way off).

More than that coming from a pre-Internet age, Dominion Tank Police came out just as the 80s cartoon boom was dying. Transformers was in its pseudo-fifth season which was just repackaged reruns, while Robotech, She-ra and others had been off the air for a while. While Dominion Tank Police wasn’t the only anime movie to come out during the Japanimation period, the others were totally different genres and largely devoid of sexuality. On top of that, it would be another five years or so before the 1990s Anime Invasion would get underway.

This was also a time of cultural upheaval. The Cold War was ending, with the fall of the Berlin Wall eminent. There were more channels on TV than there were hours in the day. “Straight Outta Compton” was redefining music, while “Smells Like a Teen Spirit” had yet to deflate the bloat of rock which dominated the airwaves. There was magic in the air in those days. So much change was happening all around us. And so to go to Blockbuster and see on the new releases shelf a section labeled Japanimation, and to see cartoons unlike anything any of us had ever seen? It was a transformative experience, to put it mildly.

A once-in-a-lifetime scene that would change a thousand lives for a lifetime

As evocative as the scene of the Puma Sisters doing their thing might be, and as culturally-charged a time as the release of Dominion Tank Police might have been, much of the success of this scene is owed to the music. “Hey Boy,” by Riko Ejima, is a haunting song that, while seemingly chaste in that it seems to be singing about dancing, captures something deep, deep in the soul. Reading the words won’t do the lyrics justice, but they are:

“Hey, let’s dance, to the hot beat

Hey, hey boy

The heated heart, feel it

And look at me

Hey, let’s dance, don’t be so shy

Hey, hey boy

Don’t be so hesitant,

Let’s dance

This dressed-up town…

This running music…

Hey boy

Nothing intricate…

There aren’t any rules tonight.”

We’ve all heard songs about sex. Some use love as a metaphor for sex, while others use dancing. And some are straight-up explicit. But what they all generally have in common is that most are sung by men. In the rare instance that a song about sex is sung by a woman, it’s almost always passive. This trend has thankfully started to change recently, but it is a new phenomenon, less than twenty years old. In the preceding eight decades or so of broadcast music, women have never been depicted as sexually inclined, adventurous, and certainly not aggressive.

Underground music notwithstanding, the music that’s seen radio play (and thus what most people would have access to in a pre-Internet world) has almost always been passive. Berlin’s “Take My Breath Away” puts the onus upon the partner. ABBA’s “Voulez-Vous” sings about enticing a partner to buy the drinks. Janis Joplin sang about wanting to convince the man in “Take Another Piece Of My Heart.” Even Madonna, who almost invented the modern version of the “sexually-aggressive-woman-in-music” image, had songs like “Papa Don’t Preach” and “Like A Virgin” to her name at this point. She sang songs about sex, absolutely. And that was groundbreaking, no argument, but they still took a passive role.

“Hey Boy” is totally different. “Look at me.” “Don’t be so hesitant.” “There aren’t any rules tonight.” All of this sung with a sultry voice over a shifting tempo. For an entire generation of anime fan, this was the very first time we’d ever heard a woman sing not that she hoped we would do something for her, not that we could do something together, but that she was going to take us by the hand and teach us something about ourselves.

That sexual aggression, combined with the cultural blindsiding that took place by seeing sexually charged cartoons, would burn this scene – and its song – into so many minds. That haunting score invokes a magical time in our lives when animation became more than just cartoons, when women could take the lead, and when life in the world started to get real interesting.

Robert V Aldrich is a writer and geek chic commentator. When not writing at various websites and periodicals, he writes serials and other stuff for his own website, TeachTheSky.com. He has a new novel out, Rhest for the Wicked, that he’d reeeeally love for you to check out.