Monthly Archives: September 2009

Noein

Its director compares Noein to Stand By Me, which initially seems absurd. Watch the below video—the opening two minutes and thirty seconds of the first episode—and you’ll see why. High above a desert, men fly and do battle with an enormous, invading creature that’s just burst through the atmosphere.

I love this action sequence because it seems so artfully designed. The creature, with its clasped hands and many faces, looks like a kind of eastern statue. Its human opponents fire magic from their hands by squeezing it painfully through their bulging wrists. The animation throughout the show makes use of occasional 3D, but at one point in this opening fight a character is so pained he devolves screaming into his pencil sketch form.

By the end of the first episode, that Stand By Me comparison makes more sense. The show follows Haruka and her group of friends, including two boys—the anxious Yu, with whom she considers running away from home, and the laid-back Isami—and two girls—the tomboyish Ai and the superstitious Miho. They each come from slightly broken homes, and the first episode involves their adventure to a nearby graveyard to search for ghosts.

Where it diverges from Stand By Me is, obviously, in the heavy fantasy elements. At the graveyard, the group encounter those flying men from the introduction. It takes around six or seven episodes before anything even begins making sense, but the explanations eventually involve alternate dimensions, the Many-Worlds and Copehnagen interpretations of quantum mechanics, and Haruka’s significance as something called the Dragon Torque.

For all the originality in its concept design, Noein is by far the most traditional of all the animé I’ve watched thus far. But it falls within a group of stories—those that juxtapose fantasy and mundane reality—that I find irresistible. The most fun of these are the Kids With Special Powers Attend Special School For Kids With Special Powers, which Noein is not, but it’s close enough to get its hooks into me anyway.

We’re bringing our own further juxtaposition, Lisa and I, by alternating episodes of this and Death Note. For an idea of the contrast: Noein puts the fantasy aside for an episode called “Friendship,” about a lost phone charm, which we watched immediately before an episode of Death Note in which Light spent its entire length attempting to murder a female widow in cold blood.

Next post will be about games, I swear.

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Death Note


In Death Note—a Japanese animé series originally aired between 2006 and 2007—a young schoolboy named Light Yagami finds a magic notebook lying on the ground. Inside are detailed instructions as to how to use the titular book.

The human whose name is written in this note shall die.

This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person’s face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected.

If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack.

After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.

These simple but specific rules lay the foundation for the most clever television show I’ve watched in a long time.

After a couple of testing flirtations makes it clear the book is real, Light resolves to use it to kill every criminal in the world and to eventually create a world free from evil. After days of writing names in the book, he is visited by the shinigami—a death god—responsible for dropping the book to Earth. Expecting punishment, Light is instead told that there are no immediate consequences. The shinigami is just bored.

The show then becomes about the rivalry between Light and L, an anonymous and eccentric detective attempting to catch the person responsible for hundreds of seemingly impossible murders.

The show plays like a twisted combination of Dexter and Jonathan Creek. The Dexter comparison is obvious: the protagonist in each is a sociopathic killer with a vigilante’s moral code, and both have a cop for a father. But where Dexter is strict about only killing the criminals, Light is willing to murder anyone who stands in his way, even if they’re police officers or FBI agents.

The more important difference is that where Dexter is often saved from compromising circumstances through fortunate happenstance, Death Note instead forces its character’s to think their way out. This is what was always so excellent about those early seasons of Jonathan Creek. That and the character living in a windmill.

Both Light and L are willing to go to extremes to win, and the show spends a lot of time dealing with the inner lives of each as they attempt to second-guess and outwit one another. It becomes impossible to root for Light pretty quickly—where Dexter’s outward persona is charming and affable, Light is characterised by teenaged petulance and a frightful God complex. But it is both thrilling and excruciating to watch him squirm out of the predicaments in which he finds himself, each situation eventually resolved with logic and a careful interpretation of those aforementioned rules. It’s the I, Robot of supernatural murder fantasies.

I’ve been watching a lot of animé recently, introduced to most of it by the generous Richard Cobbett. It is refreshing, after years of Western television and film, to discover an entirely new culture with its own tropes, traditions and styles. By which I mean that animé is strange. Death Note is perhaps the least odd of what I’ve been watching, but it’s amongst the best. Despite the comically dramatic direction of entirely mundane tasks.

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Lotus III: The Ultimate Challenge


Fuel is unplayable on my home machine, due to scenery pop-up so bad that the ground beneath my car doesn’t appear unless I stop and look directly at it for 15 seconds. The only natural response to this was to start playing Lotus III: The Ultimate Challenge.

Lotus 3 was released in 1992 and developed by Magnetic Fields. They had probably my favourite logo of any Amiga-era developer. It sounds so epic, and seemed so grown up to my childbrain.

Returning to Lotus 3 prompted three weekends spent playing Amiga games, including Lotus 2, Overdrive, Ruff ‘n’ Tumble, The Chaos Engine, The Settlers, Walker, Prince of Persia and Flashback. Observations so far: Superfrog is as shit as I remember, and Lotus 3 is even more awesome.

Playing it now, I’m realising that I never really made it beyond stage 3, even on the easiest difficulty settings. I think there are a whole bunch of games from my childhood that I absolutely love, but that I never got further than the first twenty minutes. I sucked, but didn’t care. I had no competitive drive in most games; no idea that there was an end to be reached, and very little sense of my own failure.


It’s also only now that I realise that the race tracks are randomised. The string of letters displayed on the screen before each level, which I always mistook for some far-off Scandanavian location, were actually a code representing the track. Lotus 3 comes with a track editor called RECS, the Racing Environment Construction Set. You don’t place specific pieces of road, but instead play with percentages: 60% corners, 15% obstacles, this weather, and so on.

Create your track and you get an XX-letter string with a two-digit number, which you can then enter at any point to return to your created track. It’s pretty powerful.

The result is that you’re never able to learn the tracks. Fail, and the next time you play it’ll be different. While in something like Spelunky, randomly generated levels stops the repetition becoming boring, racing games normally thrive on that repetition. It’s how you improve: learning the corners, perfecting your time. So Lotus 3 isn’t about cornering.

This is made even more obvious when you consider that the game does most of the cornering for you. Even on the hardest difficulty, the car still automatically moves most of the way around each bend. You’ll go off the edge slightly and slow down if you do nothing at all, but it still shifts the challenge to other areas.


The challenge – the ultimate challenge, I guess – instead lies in overtaking. I can’t be sure, but I think the other cars in the road deliberately move in front of you to block your path.

It lies in managing your fuel load. Longer races mean having to stop off at designated areas to re-fuel, something which the computer drivers don’t have to do.

It lies in dodging obstacles. In the woodland areas, these are puddles and fallen logs. In the desert areas, it’s sand dunes. In windy areas, you’re fighting against a gust pushing you off the track (visually indicated by rolling tumbleweeds – who needs Fuel for weather effects?). And, in the futuristic sci-fi races – yes – you’re at the whim of timed laser shields that flash across the track.

Removing the focus on cornering is maybe a consequence of the limited technology of the time. Racing games from the era – those with Lotus 3′s perspective, at least – normally had your car sitting stationary while the track moved around you. That changes the feel of taking a corner. There’s certainly no sense of the backend of the car swinging around, or powersliding into bends. There are no physics, there couldn’t have been. So Lotus 3 facilitates fun in other parts of its racing simulation.

This is helped by the fantastic music. Before each race, you’re presented with your car radio, through which you select what music you want to drive to. This had such an enormous effect on me as a kid. This car I’m driving, it has a car radio, like a real car. The music? I chose it. The soundtrack is what I’ve remembered most about the game for the last 15 years, particularly the title track. It’s had me dancing in my kitchen for weeks now, and listening to it via YouTube videos at work.

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