Chapter 1: The 6th New Chitose Airport International Animation Film Festival

Anime Tokusatsu Archive Centre (ATAC) Special Talk
“Passing on the Culture of Anime and Tokusatsu for Future Generations”

Date: November 4, 2019
Speakers:

Ryusuke Hikawa
Director of the Anime Tokusatsu Archive Centre, Specially-appointed Professor, Meiji University Graduate School, and Anime/Tokusatsu Researcher

Hiroshi Miyoshi
Secretary General, ATAC

From the Program Description:
Anime Tokusatsu Archive Centre (ATAC) is a nonprofit organization (NPO) established in June 2017 with the goal of preserving and passing on the culture of anime and tokusatsu for future generations. We preserve various materials related to anime and tokusatsu, use them to raise awareness, and promote archiving activities to preserve the culture of anime and tokusatsu. In this program, we will welcome two guests from ATAC, who are the founders of the organization, to talk about our activities.

More like a movie

The first three episodes of Space Battleship Yamato

Miyoshi: Many people may not know what the Anime and Tokusatsu Archive Centre is. Simply put, we are an NPO that archives anime and tokusatsu, preserving various materials and valuables for future use. The chairman of the board is Hideaki Anno. Another board member is film director Shinji Higuchi, and the other board member is Mr. Hikawa, here.

In preparation for this invitation, they requested that you “choose one film to share with everyone.” You chose Space Battleship Yamato. Please tell us why you chose it.

Hikawa: First, when asked to choose a movie, why did I choose the first three TV episodes? Simply put, it’s because these are more cinematic.

Miyoshi: I suggested the 1977 film version of Space Battleship Yamato, but I was told, “You don’t understand.”

Hikawa: It’s true that it was released in theaters, but it misses out on many of the things about Yamato that I consider great. To give a clear example, take Episode 3, which we just screened. The Wave-Motion Engine doesn’t actually start in one go. It’s an incredibly large engine that exceeds the speed of light, so naturally it doesn’t start immediately, and human error is also a possibility. Yamato depicts many of the key points and essence of this massive mechanism, as well as its relationship with people.

Then, the second start…after a very long pause, just when you think, “This one failed again,” the sound effect coming from the massive engine begins, quietly at first, gradually building up until it starts moving. If it started in one shot, it wouldn’t have the same cinematic impact, but the theatrical version started in one shot to shorten the length.

Miyoshi: It was like, “What the heck?”

Hikawa: The later Yamato 2199 also started in one shot because modern audiences would have trouble keeping up with a slow pace, which was a shame. The live-action remake even goes so far as to fire the Wave-Motion Gun. It was fine back then because Yamato wasn’t an all-powerful mecha that delivered cathartic moments like a hero, unleashing a special move. But a certain classic flavor was lost.

Television programs before Yamato tended to only present the important parts. The story’s structure was explained in a chronological order to make it easy for children to understand and not miss anything. Otherwise, they’d just change the channel. However, the Space Battleship Yamato TV series places emphasis on “invisible things” like presence, atmosphere, perspective, and realism.

And even the production steps are deliberately lengthy. They do all sorts of complicated things, like turning on the auxiliary engine before starting the wave engine, and checking the instruments. Our generation was blown away by this unusual pursuit of realism. It would take all night to explain why it was made that way, so I won’t go into detail here. (Laughs)

Miyoshi: You said those elements were chosen because they were “truly cinematic.”

Hikawa: That’s right. Of course, I didn’t think “this is cinematic” back in 1974. But as I continued to research various things, I began to understand that Japanese anime evolved with a desire to be “cinematic.” Moreover, in 1974, two epoch-making works were released that could be discussed in terms of “before” and “after.” The other was Heidi, Girl of the Alps. Since it was a work by the Isao Takahata/Hayao Miyazaki duo, it’s only natural that Yamato, which aired against it, would never have been able to win the ratings battle. (Laughs) Moreover, Yamato began airing around the time Heidi was in its fourth arc, approaching the climax of whether or not Clara would stand up.

Miyoshi: It was crazy. It was at its most exciting.

Hikawa: I often heard stories of people who visited the Yamato production site at the time and were told by the staff, “Don’t watch Yamato, watch Heidi.”

Miyoshi: The world was dominated by Heidi. What was your first encounter with Yamato?

Hikawa: Yamato began airing on October 6, 1974. At the time, I was drawn to tokusatsu, so I ended up watching the other competing program, Monkey Army. This tokusatsu series was produced by Tsuburaya Productions and was inspired by the original ideas of three powerful sci-fi writers: Sakyo Komatsu, Aritsuni Toyota, and Koji Tanaka. It’s a serious show with no giant heroes, labeled “science-fiction drama.”

Miyoshi: It was after the huge success of Planet of the Apes.

Hikawa: Five or six years had passed, but in terms of content, Planet of the Apes and Yamato are two sides of the same coin. Planet of the Apes depicts a world where humanity has been wiped out, while Yamato depicts a world on the verge of extinction. This was during the apocalypse boom at the time. Works such as the film Japan Sinks, released in late 1973 (based on the best-selling novel by Sakyo Komatsu, which sold over 2 million copies), and The Prophecies of Nostradamus (a non-fiction book by Tsutomu Goto, also sold 2 million copies), which was written as a warning to the future, caused a stir.

Moreover, Japan Sinks was the first big-budget blockbuster produced by Toho after the death of tokusatsu director Eiji Tsuburaya (he passed away in 1970), and it was also the first monster-free tokusatsu film. Japan Sinks, Monkey Army, and Yamato share a common context in that they all depict the “end of the world.”

Miyoshi: That was the era, wasn’t it?

Hikawa: The doomsday boom and oil crisis made it seem like the scientific civilization that had supported Japan’s revival had reached a plateau, and a sense of social crisis pervaded Japanese society. At that time, Monkey Army and Yamato were made with a message for young people: “Maybe there’s something you can do, too.” So, the problem is November 3, 1974. Exactly 45 years ago. At that time, an event called the 2nd Japan SF Show was held at Setagaya Civic Hall.

Miyoshi: Was it a gathering of fans?

Hikawa: The Japan SF Convention was a fan-led convention inviting writers, while the Japan SF Show was a professionally organized event. At the time, Japan Telework, a TV production company that pioneered outsourcing, was a member, along with Masahiro Noda (a key figure in translating and introducing space opera to Japan), who produced the children’s variety show Hirake! Ponkikki. Studio Nue was responsible for the setting of Yamato, and also provided illustrations with moving mechanisms for Ponkikki. Thanks to this connection, the first episode of Space Battleship Yamato was shown on the big screen in 16mm film.

(Find numerous clips from Hikare! Ponkiki here)

The reason why the second SF Show was held on November 3rd in the first place was because the first part was the coming-of-age ceremony for Godzilla (released in 1954). The second part was the Sakyo Komatsu Show. As you can see, at the time, tokusatsu and anime were still inseparable visual genres, and SF connected them. Both Godzilla and Yamato were shown on the big screen on the same day. So my first encounter with the first episode of Yamato wasn’t on TV, but on film, that is, as a movie. I watched it, almost to the point of nosebleeds, burning every last detail into my brain.

Miyoshi: Watching it on a big screen makes you nosebleed, doesn’t it?

[Translator’s note: in Japanese pop culture, a “nosebleed” is a visual metaphor for an overwhelming sensation.]

Hikawa: Still excited, at the end of November or beginning of December, I decided to go over to the production site in Nerima, Tokyo, with some friends, under the pretense of a tour. I was a second-year high school student, so I’m embarrassed to admit that I was causing trouble, but I was just being young and foolish…

Miyoshi: Just like how Kodai and Shima flew out in the first episode of Yamato.

Hikawa: It was exactly like that. (Laughs)

Yamato‘s visuals, created with tokusatsu-like techniques and ideas

Hikawa: At the time, there weren’t any anime magazines yet, so I only had a vague understanding of how anime was produced. Even though I knew that “cels are colored and photographed one by one to create the series,” I didn’t know anything about the finer details.

I went there expecting to find a company building, but I was surprised to see that they were working in an apartment building that was used as both a residence and an office. The production room was covered with tatami mats, but there were rows of shelves lined with enormous stacks of paper. These were the first setting materials I had ever seen, and they were the original pencil drawings. At a time when people didn’t even know that such things existed, I was impressed by how minutely the meters and levers on the first bridge were drawn. Even the explanation of the wave engine included detailed descriptions of each block and its function.

In other words, they weren’t just drawing random ideas or atmospheres. They first had a blueprint that summarized ideas in pictures. This was shared among many staff members, and then the depictions were further layered on. It was because the images were born from this layering of evidence that the aforementioned engine start scene turned out so impressive. I was shocked to learn that. In other words, I felt with my own skin that, “there is a specific reason why something is amazing.”

Miyoshi: You saw it live?

Hikawa: Yes, the power, texture, and detail of the original manuscript were also significant. Chief Director Noboru Ishiguro was a very kind person, and he always spent time with me every time I visited after that. He is a lifelong mentor to me.

Ishiguro originally wanted to become an animator, and entered the industry because of Disney’s Sleeping Beauty. Not only was it the last hand-traceable work, but it also had excellent effects animation. After hearing this explanation, I began to understand that the explosions, rays, and other effects in Yamato looked so special because they were created with Ishiguro’s sensibility.

In fact, Disney even listed “effects animation” in the credits because they knew that putting effort into it would enrich the film. Ishiguro-san’s experiences, especially the wave effects, were particularly fascinating to draw, and he shared many of his experiences that lie at the heart of his work. This conversation sparked my interest in “effects animation.” Because Yamato is heavy, it moves slowly, even with many lines. “But that’s suicidal in anime,” he said with a laugh.

Miyoshi: That’s right.

Hikawa: He also mentioned how the planet bomb was shot by masking the light in the craters and compositing the transmitted light. And I was truly surprised to hear that the final scene at the end of Episode 3, where Yamato slowly moves toward the camera, was done using a special process called skip shooting (photographing elements separately) and composited using an optical printer. “What? So they’re using the same techniques as tokusatsu, even though it’s anime?” I was shocked.

Speaking of optical printers, they’re legendary compositing equipment. Tokusatsu director Eiji Tsuburaya, with no financial resources, purchased a state-of-the-art machine costing 40 million yen at the time (reportedly worth 200 million yen today), which ultimately led to the creation of Ultra Q. I also began frequenting Tsuburaya Productions in the summer of 1974, and joined the “Monster Club,” an organization led by the late Hiroshi Takeuchi. At a time when monster movies had yet to gain cultural recognition, I met pioneers conducting research and, driven by a desire to learn about the reasons behind them, began to search for materials myself. I also began taking photographs from movie theaters and TV screens and developing and printing them myself.

Miyoshi: This was a time when anime and tokusatsu were more closely intertwined than they are now.

Hikawa: I also have fond memories of the materials for Yamato. I had the strong impression that animation companies built large buildings and produced their works in assembly line fashion, but Space Battleship Yamato was different. Since it was an independent production studio run by producer Yoshinobu Nishizaki, it was decided to disband after the TV series ended. Rent and labor costs were also incurred. So I asked them to collect the materials that were scheduled for disposal, and I went to collect them.

Miyoshi: You mean the huge pile of paper on the shelf?

Hikawa: Those were the originals, so they were kept, but the studio made tons of copies of setting materials and storyboards, and the original drawings were considered garbage once the film was completed, so they threw away everything except the bare minimum. It became industrial waste.

Miyoshi: Anime was born from a huge amount of paper, and a huge amount of paper was thrown away as garbage. There was a time like that.

Hikawa: I think it’s still being thrown away. Cels later became valuable, but before that, there was even an urban legend about a certain studio getting scolded for burying already-filmed cels in a field. (Laughs)

Miyoshi: What did you do when you heard that the Yamato materials were being discarded?

Hikawa: These documents contain a wealth of important information that cannot be obtained from the finished film alone. The materials used in the studio, serving as evidence, primary sources, and so-called proof, contain a vast amount of behind-the-scenes information. Believing that their loss would be a great tragedy, I volunteered to recover and preserve them.

Coming into contact with these materials and analyzing them independently in high school without relying on others has been an extremely valuable experience in my research of anime. Now, 45 years have passed. I don’t know how long I’ll live, and people around me continue to die suddenly. I began to feel acutely that if I didn’t do something, I wouldn’t be able to preserve the materials for the future, including the items I’d worked so hard to preserve.

Miyoshi: This desire to preserve materials that embody the “soul of the creator” is utilized in our archiving activities.

A cinematic visual style that stimulates and inspires the imagination

Miyoshi: Let’s return to the topic of Yamato. What did you think of Episodes 1-3, which were screened today?

Hikawa: First of all, I was surprised to see footage that was so close to the original film. The HD remastered DVDs and Blu-rays currently on sale have replaced all episode openings with the later version, which has a more heroic melody. Various other errors have been corrected, but I believe the version screened today was the master used when the first DVD box set was made. Even with the scratches and slightly out-of-focus areas, it brought back the feeling of watching it on the big screen in 1974. You can’t get that same feeling when watching it on a small TV.

Miyoshi: What’s your favorite highlight?

Hikawa: The opening scene of Episode 1 immediately draws you into the story. Mobile Suit Gundam begins with an explanation of the worldview, but Yamato does nothing of the sort.

Miyoshi: It starts straight away with a battle scene, so I think viewers were taken aback.

Hikawa: Yes. It’s confusing. And it starts with a losing battle. A normal TV show would explain “What is Space Battleship Yamato, why was it created?” and “The enemy is this alien race” before the first battle begins. Or, more specific details would be explained during the battle, but this one suddenly depicts a fleet battle without Yamato appearing. I believe that battle at Pluto was a metaphor for the clash between the Russian Baltic Fleet and the Japanese Combined Fleet during the Russo-Japanese War. Eiji Tsuburaya’s posthumous movie, The Great Battle of the Japan Sea, also uses special effects.

(See the trailer for The Great Battle of the Japan Sea here)

The camera is mainly placed on Okita’s bridge, and the story is told from the subjective point of view of Captain Okita and the Earth Defense Force crew. I particularly like the scene where the lights go out and switch to bright red emergency lights. I was shocked, as I’d heard that in real life, submarines switch to red lamps for improved visibility when making an emergency dive. Color TV was at its peak in popularity in 1972, and Yamato was made in 1974, so it may have been a time when people were thinking about using color to enhance expressiveness. Using a monotone effect like this might make viewers change the channel, but they still go ahead and force their way through it to stimulate their concentration. That’s what makes it so cinematic.

Miyoshi: And the Earth is red, too.

Hikawa: That’s right. In the B section of Episode 1, the shocking situation is depicted, depicting not just the fleet’s annihilation, but the entire human race on the brink of extinction. It’s only at this point that we’re given an explanation of how things came to this, and the context and worldview. Toward the end of Episode 1, they’re told, “If you want a radiation removal device, fly 148,000 light years to us.” Even though Earth is on the brink of destruction, they’re still being asked to do even more. The scale of the story starts small and gradually grows, making it dizzying, which is probably the highlight of the film.

Incidentally, the opening of the 1977 movie begins with an explanation that Earth is being targeted by Gamilas and is on the verge of destruction by a planet bomb. While it’s certainly easier to understand, the cinematic experience is gone.

Miyoshi: What role does the 26-episode 1974 TV series play in the history of anime?

Hikawa: I believe it was an epochal moment that can be discussed in terms of “before” and “after.” A significant proportion of the anime creators currently working on the series, many in their 50s and 60s, entered the world of anime after watching Yamato. It had an impact on people in their late teens at the time, reminding them that anime had come a long way, that there seemed to be a huge uncharted territory ahead, and that while watching anime was fun, it also encouraged them to try making it. This work has the power to inspire action, almost like a message from Iscandar. I think that was its greatest influence.

Another factor is the intricacy of the depictions. The first bridge is a prime example, and the sense of density and realism makes you think, “There’s no need to go to this extent in an anime.” Anime is essentially an “art of exaggeration and omission,” but Yamato raised the bar of expression. It’s often said that “God is in the details” in film, and this film takes that feeling to the next level. Of course, there were other works by Tatsunoko Productions that came before this, such as Science Ninja Team Gatchaman, but Yamato took a different approach.

Miyoshi: So it updated realism.

Hikawa: This mainly resulted in more work, time, and money, which made the production of the TV series very difficult. Yamato raised the bar by using the time, intellect, and effort of the creators. After completing its 296,000 light-year round trip, Yamato was in a terrible state, but so were the staff.

Miyoshi: What are the visual highlights?

Hikawa: The pink light that spreads softly when the planet bomb explodes. That’s not the usual transmitted light cinematography technique. When Hideaki Anno visited the studio of Super Dimension Fortress Macross, he asked questions to find out what was going on, since the same director, Noboru Ishiguro, was also involved. While simultaneously adjusting the aperture and focus, he said, “I’ll just do it roughly.” (Laughs) However, this fuzzy, analog “roughness” is difficult to achieve digitally. It ends up looking “casual” and somehow beautiful, but it’s hard to capture that sense of realism.

Miyoshi: There are some techniques that digital just can’t keep up with.

Hikawa: An example of this is the “ripple-glass photography” technique used extensively in Episodes 2 and 3. Shooting through distorted glass created a hazy, turbid scene, as if Yamato were emerging from an explosion.

Today, the name Hirotaka Takahashi appeared in the credits. He’s famous for his work with director Osamu Dezaki, and when I interviewed him at T2, the successor studio to Takahashi Productions, for Evangelion 1.0 the cinematographer Susumu Fukushi told me this story: the director would say, “Do something like ripple glass,” but no matter what they tried, they couldn’t get that feeling. When you distort it with a computer, it just looks “calculated.” But when you pass light through glass and burn it onto film, it’s analog, so light suddenly pops out or unexpected parts suddenly disappear. That’s why it looks natural..

Miyoshi: Analog techniques are still valuable today.

Hikawa: It’s the skill of a craftsman, and it has a distinctively Japanese flavor. It could be done digitally and look better, but the imperfections and rough edges add to the charm.

Miyoshi: There’s so much to discuss, but I feel like I’ve covered most of the important points.

Hikawa: Let’s talk about another highlight.

Miyoshi: What is it?

Hikawa: The depiction of the Analyzer’s sexual harassment. (Laughs) I watched it thinking, “Oh, they couldn’t depict something like that anymore.”

Miyoshi: It was made in 1974, so please be lenient.

Hikawa: When I pointed out to the staff of Yamato 2199 that Analyzer didn’t engage in sexual harassment this time, they got angry at me.

Miyoshi: It was a refreshing scene for a child’s mind.

Hikawa: That makes it feel like it’s being made by adults. It’s like the smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and sex is in the air. The success of the Yamato theatrical release brought a large number of young staff members to the industry. This was both a blessing and a curse, but it inevitably made the feeling of “anime made by anime fans” more prominent. While I can’t deny that it introduced new expressions, I also think that Yamato‘s exquisite balance of being “half TV cartoon, half trying something new” was a good one.

Another point: Space Battleship Yamato aired in 1974, less than 30 years after the Pacific War. Comparing the gap between Battleship Yamato and Space Battleship Yamato (29 years) and the gap between Space Battleship Yamato and the present (45 years), the latter is far greater. However, Space Battleship Yamato‘s purpose is not to “refrain from war.” It strongly conveys things and technology experienced during the war, its awareness of their peaceful uses, and hope for the future. While some people may perceive the subject matter as glorifying war, I felt strongly that it conveys a strong anti-war message. Since many people born before the war participated in the production, I believe that this wish is embedded in the story.

Miyoshi: If you have the chance, I would encourage everyone to watch all 26 episodes of Yamato‘s journey. I think it would be interesting to then trace the history of Yamato to the works of the next generation, created by those influenced by it.

Hikawa: The scene in Episode 3 where they say, “Electricity is being sent from all over the world,” reminds me of Operation Yashima from Evangelion. (Laughs)

Miyoshi: Our chairman [Hideaki Anno] is also heavily influenced by it. (Laughs) That means he respects and inherits it. For a viewer, being familiar with Yamato will make Evangelion even more interesting.

Hikawa: I think that’s true.

Miyoshi: Maybe it will also make Shin Godzilla even more interesting. Of course, when watching Gundam or other works like Heidi, if you think, “Oh, so this happened in that era,” you can see it as a way to supplement your knowledge of history.

Hikawa: There are many modern works that incorporate the merits of the “Yamato style” or “Heidi style.” The characteristics of the Heidi style were spread throughout the Ghibli films, after all.

Miyoshi: I think that’s about all the time we have.

Hikawa: Thank you very much.

Continue to part 2: commentary on episodes 1-6