Post by Jean-Luc Lemur on Nov 13, 2015 2:26:36 GMT -5
The Fuma Conspiracy
By the mid eighties the Lupin franchise was in an odd place. The second series had become iconic through reruns, The Castle of Cagliostro had slowly risen in esteem to be recognized as a modern classic (evidently—and incredibly—it underperformed on initial release), yet the most recent series was not close to the level of the old ones and Legend of the Gold of Babylon was an obvious disaster. Lupin was simultaneously a strong brand and a wounded one, perhaps fatally.
To rescue the brand the decision was made to go with a direct-to-video (which I gather did not have the same stigma for Japanese animation) film that hearkened back to Cagliostro and the earlier series; though he was not the director, most sources identify Ōtsuka Yasuo, a veteran of those productions, as the lead creative figure and it shows. After the uneven Babylon most effort was put into making sure the film looked good.
Part of that was setting The Fuma Conspiracy in Japan, on the grounds that animators wouldn’t have to go abroad for research. I’m a bit skeptical of how much this privilege was offered for previous films, but in any case the Fuma animators make the best of their local research activities to make a beautiful depiction of rural Japan—not the mountains (in glorious autumn!), but also little slices of life we see in the background. This distinctive sense of place actually makes the film fit rather well with the Lupin franchise’s cosmopolitanism—rural Japan is not exactly a destination for jet-setting master thieves, after all, meaning Fuma can simultaneously manage both a warm familiarity and a sense of exoticism.
It also allows for a Goemon-centric story. Goemon is usually best in small doses, but now that we’re in his element Goemon essentially gets to be the lead, set to marry Murasaki, the granddaughter of Sumiwara, one of Goemon’s mentors and likewise the sort of person to unironically wear Samurai-wear in the late twentieth century. During their wedding—to which the gang’s all invited, of course—Goemon’s wedding present, an ancient piece of pottery, is stolen. He retrieves it, but they take Murasaki. Goemon wants to pursue her, but Sumiwara says he can’t since the vase contains the secret to the Sumiwara family treasure, held by the rival Fuma clan. The rest of the film is spent getting Murasaki back and treasure-hunting.
This sets up parallel plots for Goemon and Lupin and Fujiko—Goemon is, of course, concerned first and foremost with Murasaki, and while Lupin hasn’t entirely abandoned his Cagliostro-esque charm he and Fujiko are mostly concerned with the treasure, giving for their impish partnership-rivalry a lot of time. It’s a tightly structured film where nothing seems superfluous. Even Zenigata’s subplot is nicely slotted in—he’s only in town because he’s at a monastery (praying for Lupin’s soul, of all things), uncovers links between Fuma and local police, and even facilitates their escape at the end without wavering from his conviction to capture Lupin. The mechanics of how everything fits into a short 73 minutes (and it feels like less) are truly impressive.
The whole film is quite ingenious—appropriately, the Sumiwaras’ treasure stems from their legacy as engineers. I was smiling almost immediately when we I saw Sumiwara’s shifting, safe-concealing bookcase, and even bigger when I saw Lupin was holed up spying on him, and yet bigger when I saw how he’d break into it (I’d just finished writing my Legend of the Gold of Babylon review, so it was like meeting an old friend again). The Fuma Conspiracy is in near-constant action—the car chases are wonderful, and made all the more distinctive by the amount of finely rendered detail Lupin and the police plough through. The Fumas themselves are well drawn, a nice mix of grotesque and imposing.
Yet it’s all kind of empty calories. The film’s highly enjoyable, of course, but lacks the punch that Mamo, Cagliostro, and a number of the episodes have. It’s mostly sustained mainly on ingenuity and energy, and while that’s enough to make it highly enjoyable Fuma doesn’t quite hit the heights we know Lupin’s capable of. The reasons for this, I think, are two-fold.
First, there’s no effective “bottom” for the story. Like Legend of the Gold of Babylon, it’s essentially a treasure hunt and little more. It does reach for some thematic depth, touching on Goemon’s sometimes-tense relationship with the rest of the gang, but doesn’t have time to explore it very much. And Goemon’s upcoming marriage to Murasaki’s really more of a maguffin than anything else, with Murasaki herself essentially having zero characterization beyond “the girl.” It’s one of the few places where Fuma’s outmatched by Legend of the Gold of Babylon—despite being restricted to a few comedic scenes, Goemon’s infatuation with Chinjao felt less perfunctory than his engagement here.
There’s also no real edge to the story, nothing that’s sexy or truly disturbing here. Despite some slightly gory booby traps and an episode with hallucinogenic gas, the caverns where much of the story takes place could easily slot into a Duck Tales episode (in fact I wish I’d seen The Fuma Conspiracy as a kid). The story just moves too fast for us to feel any weight to the danger (which ties in with the lack of thematic punch). Even The Castle of Cagliostro had darkness under the surface, and Clarisse and Lupin had more sexual tension that Goemon and his bride-to-be. The villains, though well designed, are more imposing than threatening, and the Lupin Gang’s softer look represents the end point of the Green Jacket aesthetic which Ōtsuka helped shape. Altogether The Fuma Conspiracy feels innocent, and the last thing one wants from Lupin, after all, is innocence.
As far as cinematic empty calories go, though, Fuma’s are delicious. While the technical competence helps the film go along, what really makes Fuma hum is its understanding of character. Lupin has a good mix of impish, avaricious, and honorable, Goemon’s stoicism gets a good challenge, and Fujiko’s comic potential is explored without compromising her competence. We may not get very deep with any of them, but Ōtsuka and company still know who they are and The Fuma Conspiracy feels like a proper reunion. This also allows the humor land in a way that Lupin media often fumbles.
The great irony of Fuma is that, despite the strength of characterization, a change in voice actors sunk the film in the Japanese market. While highly regarded by fans outside of Japan, one of the main economizing factors in The Fuma Conspiracy’s production was the replacement of the previous voice actors. Sometimes it works well—I actually prefer Koyama Mami’s Fujiko to Masuyama Eiko’s (though that may just because this is a very strong story for the character), and Furukawa Toshio does a good job of capturing Lupin’s character without aping Yamada Yasuo (who later encouraged Furukawa to audition as his understudy and eventual replacement; he didn’t get the role).
This changing voice actors may seem minor—the look and tone vary wildly from incarnation to incarnation, after all—the Lupin franchise has had an unusually strong auditory continuity, with actors staying in their roles until they could no longer voice them (by death or aging), and even dreck like Babylon was elevated by their presence. Their sudden replacement (while the main actors were still alive and kicking) felt like the floor dropped out. The absence of Ohno Yuji added to the blow; the score, by Miyaura Kiyoshi, lacks Ohno’s melodicism and general timelessness but is endearingly eighties.
Like Legend of the Gold of Babylon, The Fuma Conspiracy didn’t feel right to them. And admittedly The Fuma Conspiracy doesn’t feel entirely right to me (albeit for thematic reasons). It’s greatest strength—the film’s rapid pace—also is its weakness. But overall it’s not a bad trade-off.
Recommended?
Yes. It’s a bit shallow, but so well made and well paced that it doesn’t really matter. And while the guest characters aren’t that distinctive, the detailed and authentic-feeling place setting more than makes up for it. I don’t think it’s the successor to Cagliostro it’s sometimes billed as, but The Fuma Conspiracy is Lupin’s eighties high point.
Stray Observations
I did a bit of digging around and it turns out that Oshii got fired from what became Legend of the Gold of Babylon when started talking about removing the character of Lupin from the film. Given that even a well-made, fairly conventional Lupin adventure flopped commercially without Yamada’s voice it’s easy to see why he was fired (and Angel’s Egg, which owes a lot to the unmade Lupin film, probably stands better as its own work).
Evidently Ōtsuka Yasuo’s Fiat 500 was the inspiration for Lupin’s (Ōtsuka also worked on the first series, not to mention the original pilot film). Miyazaki’s Citroën 2CV also makes a cameo. Surprisingly it’s Jigen that does the driving during chase sequences.
Lupin wears glasses at the wedding, apparently not as any sort of disguise.
We only see Goemon and Murasaki courtship in flashback—a bit of research shows that they were supposed to have met in adolescence and now they’re both older, but both look about the same in flashbacks, making their romance seem a bit April-July (Murasaki’s butterfly barrette doesn’t help).
Lupin has a change of clothes in the car for Murasaki (still in her wedding garb), which includes a red jacket. It turns out just to be a coincidence, but under the influence of hallucinogenic gas we do get a nice gag as Lupin’s face shifts from incarnation to incarnation, from the comic through the various television series and movies.
Next week we finish off our examination of Lupin in the eighties with Bye Bye Liberty Crisis, the film that finally put Lupin on his feet, at least commercially.
By the mid eighties the Lupin franchise was in an odd place. The second series had become iconic through reruns, The Castle of Cagliostro had slowly risen in esteem to be recognized as a modern classic (evidently—and incredibly—it underperformed on initial release), yet the most recent series was not close to the level of the old ones and Legend of the Gold of Babylon was an obvious disaster. Lupin was simultaneously a strong brand and a wounded one, perhaps fatally.
To rescue the brand the decision was made to go with a direct-to-video (which I gather did not have the same stigma for Japanese animation) film that hearkened back to Cagliostro and the earlier series; though he was not the director, most sources identify Ōtsuka Yasuo, a veteran of those productions, as the lead creative figure and it shows. After the uneven Babylon most effort was put into making sure the film looked good.
Part of that was setting The Fuma Conspiracy in Japan, on the grounds that animators wouldn’t have to go abroad for research. I’m a bit skeptical of how much this privilege was offered for previous films, but in any case the Fuma animators make the best of their local research activities to make a beautiful depiction of rural Japan—not the mountains (in glorious autumn!), but also little slices of life we see in the background. This distinctive sense of place actually makes the film fit rather well with the Lupin franchise’s cosmopolitanism—rural Japan is not exactly a destination for jet-setting master thieves, after all, meaning Fuma can simultaneously manage both a warm familiarity and a sense of exoticism.
It also allows for a Goemon-centric story. Goemon is usually best in small doses, but now that we’re in his element Goemon essentially gets to be the lead, set to marry Murasaki, the granddaughter of Sumiwara, one of Goemon’s mentors and likewise the sort of person to unironically wear Samurai-wear in the late twentieth century. During their wedding—to which the gang’s all invited, of course—Goemon’s wedding present, an ancient piece of pottery, is stolen. He retrieves it, but they take Murasaki. Goemon wants to pursue her, but Sumiwara says he can’t since the vase contains the secret to the Sumiwara family treasure, held by the rival Fuma clan. The rest of the film is spent getting Murasaki back and treasure-hunting.
This sets up parallel plots for Goemon and Lupin and Fujiko—Goemon is, of course, concerned first and foremost with Murasaki, and while Lupin hasn’t entirely abandoned his Cagliostro-esque charm he and Fujiko are mostly concerned with the treasure, giving for their impish partnership-rivalry a lot of time. It’s a tightly structured film where nothing seems superfluous. Even Zenigata’s subplot is nicely slotted in—he’s only in town because he’s at a monastery (praying for Lupin’s soul, of all things), uncovers links between Fuma and local police, and even facilitates their escape at the end without wavering from his conviction to capture Lupin. The mechanics of how everything fits into a short 73 minutes (and it feels like less) are truly impressive.
The whole film is quite ingenious—appropriately, the Sumiwaras’ treasure stems from their legacy as engineers. I was smiling almost immediately when we I saw Sumiwara’s shifting, safe-concealing bookcase, and even bigger when I saw Lupin was holed up spying on him, and yet bigger when I saw how he’d break into it (I’d just finished writing my Legend of the Gold of Babylon review, so it was like meeting an old friend again). The Fuma Conspiracy is in near-constant action—the car chases are wonderful, and made all the more distinctive by the amount of finely rendered detail Lupin and the police plough through. The Fumas themselves are well drawn, a nice mix of grotesque and imposing.
Yet it’s all kind of empty calories. The film’s highly enjoyable, of course, but lacks the punch that Mamo, Cagliostro, and a number of the episodes have. It’s mostly sustained mainly on ingenuity and energy, and while that’s enough to make it highly enjoyable Fuma doesn’t quite hit the heights we know Lupin’s capable of. The reasons for this, I think, are two-fold.
First, there’s no effective “bottom” for the story. Like Legend of the Gold of Babylon, it’s essentially a treasure hunt and little more. It does reach for some thematic depth, touching on Goemon’s sometimes-tense relationship with the rest of the gang, but doesn’t have time to explore it very much. And Goemon’s upcoming marriage to Murasaki’s really more of a maguffin than anything else, with Murasaki herself essentially having zero characterization beyond “the girl.” It’s one of the few places where Fuma’s outmatched by Legend of the Gold of Babylon—despite being restricted to a few comedic scenes, Goemon’s infatuation with Chinjao felt less perfunctory than his engagement here.
There’s also no real edge to the story, nothing that’s sexy or truly disturbing here. Despite some slightly gory booby traps and an episode with hallucinogenic gas, the caverns where much of the story takes place could easily slot into a Duck Tales episode (in fact I wish I’d seen The Fuma Conspiracy as a kid). The story just moves too fast for us to feel any weight to the danger (which ties in with the lack of thematic punch). Even The Castle of Cagliostro had darkness under the surface, and Clarisse and Lupin had more sexual tension that Goemon and his bride-to-be. The villains, though well designed, are more imposing than threatening, and the Lupin Gang’s softer look represents the end point of the Green Jacket aesthetic which Ōtsuka helped shape. Altogether The Fuma Conspiracy feels innocent, and the last thing one wants from Lupin, after all, is innocence.
As far as cinematic empty calories go, though, Fuma’s are delicious. While the technical competence helps the film go along, what really makes Fuma hum is its understanding of character. Lupin has a good mix of impish, avaricious, and honorable, Goemon’s stoicism gets a good challenge, and Fujiko’s comic potential is explored without compromising her competence. We may not get very deep with any of them, but Ōtsuka and company still know who they are and The Fuma Conspiracy feels like a proper reunion. This also allows the humor land in a way that Lupin media often fumbles.
The great irony of Fuma is that, despite the strength of characterization, a change in voice actors sunk the film in the Japanese market. While highly regarded by fans outside of Japan, one of the main economizing factors in The Fuma Conspiracy’s production was the replacement of the previous voice actors. Sometimes it works well—I actually prefer Koyama Mami’s Fujiko to Masuyama Eiko’s (though that may just because this is a very strong story for the character), and Furukawa Toshio does a good job of capturing Lupin’s character without aping Yamada Yasuo (who later encouraged Furukawa to audition as his understudy and eventual replacement; he didn’t get the role).
This changing voice actors may seem minor—the look and tone vary wildly from incarnation to incarnation, after all—the Lupin franchise has had an unusually strong auditory continuity, with actors staying in their roles until they could no longer voice them (by death or aging), and even dreck like Babylon was elevated by their presence. Their sudden replacement (while the main actors were still alive and kicking) felt like the floor dropped out. The absence of Ohno Yuji added to the blow; the score, by Miyaura Kiyoshi, lacks Ohno’s melodicism and general timelessness but is endearingly eighties.
Like Legend of the Gold of Babylon, The Fuma Conspiracy didn’t feel right to them. And admittedly The Fuma Conspiracy doesn’t feel entirely right to me (albeit for thematic reasons). It’s greatest strength—the film’s rapid pace—also is its weakness. But overall it’s not a bad trade-off.
Recommended?
Yes. It’s a bit shallow, but so well made and well paced that it doesn’t really matter. And while the guest characters aren’t that distinctive, the detailed and authentic-feeling place setting more than makes up for it. I don’t think it’s the successor to Cagliostro it’s sometimes billed as, but The Fuma Conspiracy is Lupin’s eighties high point.
Stray Observations
I did a bit of digging around and it turns out that Oshii got fired from what became Legend of the Gold of Babylon when started talking about removing the character of Lupin from the film. Given that even a well-made, fairly conventional Lupin adventure flopped commercially without Yamada’s voice it’s easy to see why he was fired (and Angel’s Egg, which owes a lot to the unmade Lupin film, probably stands better as its own work).
Evidently Ōtsuka Yasuo’s Fiat 500 was the inspiration for Lupin’s (Ōtsuka also worked on the first series, not to mention the original pilot film). Miyazaki’s Citroën 2CV also makes a cameo. Surprisingly it’s Jigen that does the driving during chase sequences.
Lupin wears glasses at the wedding, apparently not as any sort of disguise.
We only see Goemon and Murasaki courtship in flashback—a bit of research shows that they were supposed to have met in adolescence and now they’re both older, but both look about the same in flashbacks, making their romance seem a bit April-July (Murasaki’s butterfly barrette doesn’t help).
Lupin has a change of clothes in the car for Murasaki (still in her wedding garb), which includes a red jacket. It turns out just to be a coincidence, but under the influence of hallucinogenic gas we do get a nice gag as Lupin’s face shifts from incarnation to incarnation, from the comic through the various television series and movies.
Next week we finish off our examination of Lupin in the eighties with Bye Bye Liberty Crisis, the film that finally put Lupin on his feet, at least commercially.