Myriad Colors Personal Narratives
So, Myriad Colors Phantom World has stories rather than a story. Unsurprisingly, the show is largely episodic, presenting stand alone stories in each episode. After the first two episodes introduce the main characters and the setting, the following episodes bring the focus on the problems of different individual characters. There’s Mai who has to grapple with a problem from her past, and demonstrate how fuzzy and unreliable childhood memories can be (episode 3). There’s Reina who feels conflicted about her relation with her family (episode 4). There’s Koito who has to learn about friendship and teamwork (episode 5). There’s Kurumi who needs to discover self confidence (episode 6). There’s a “senior” from the drama club who bears the regrets of continuously failing in competition (episode 9). Even the climatic last two episodes still carried a tale of interpersonal and intrapersonal relationship amidst a high stake fight for humanity, before culminating in an “ending” that opens endless serialization.
As Wilyan (2016) has argued based on Laurel Richardson’s explanation on personal narratives, the elements in the personal narratives within Phantom World are able to resonate with the memories and experiences of its audience. The characters, their actions, and the plot they experienced can feel close to the audience’s own experiences in life. Reina’s narrative for example, may have resonated with the people who similarly feel they are more “at home” or comfortable with other people outside the home of their own biological family. Yet, the resolution to that story helps to affirm that, even then, the bond with biological family is also still important and valuable, and leaves an uplifting hope that strained relations with the biological family can be restored.
Or we can take another example from the narrative in episode 11. Haruhiko, who has reverted back into a child, came under the custody of Mai. Both Haruhiko and Mai are only children, and it has been established that both has “missing” parent figures. Through living together in the course of the episode, they were able to come into terms with their mutually shared feelings of loneliness. And through that, the two lonely only children can act out being siblings, with Mai as the older sister and Haruhiko as the older brother. Is it not uncommon for only children to sometimes wish or dream of having a brother or sister? Mai and Haruhiko’s sibling play is a fantasy that can resonate with such wish.
Going for the broader picture, the circle of the main characters mainly consisted of individuals who are lonely for various circumstances. But it is with fellow lonely children that they are able to find a place where they can feel belong, and find togetherness through shared joy and pain. Jun Maeda (in Galbraith, 2014) has argued that the pressures of contemporary life destabilized conventional family bonds and drive people to become more individualized. But in response to individualization, people are seeking alternative means to construct new connections and a sense of togetherness, such as through shared passion for anime. Phantom World sort of illustrated that condition in a medium that, in itself, can be a subject of shared passion.
Thus, the field of multiplied frames of reference that spins out small, personalized narratives in anime such as Phantom World enables the possibility of constructing a sense of togetherness in an intensely individualizing environment. Audience can connect through shared recognition of the dense field of “trivial” knowledge and information referenced in Phantom World; and/or through the feelings of shared experiences with the character narratives. The anime communicates a valuable meaning to those persons who share similar interests and/or experiences.
That is how Myriad Colors Phantom World can be an enjoyable and interesting anime to think about. However, admittedly not everyone would consider thinking about it to be a worthwhile endeavour; not everyone would be interested in every narrative element and references that it brings into the fold; and some viewers would only think about Mai-senpai’s breasts anyway. And those are also the consequences of the condition of multiple frames of reference. But for those who can connect with it, the existence of anime like this communicates a comforting call: “someone out there understands what you like to know and what you experienced. You are not alone.”
References
Galbraith, Patrick W. (2014). “Interview with Maeda Jun – The Crying Game: Moving Players to Tears,” in The Moe Manifesto: An Insider’s Look at the Worlds of Manga, Anime, and Gaming. Tuttle Publishing. Pp. 98-107.
Lamarre, Thomas (2009). The Anime Machine: A Media Theory of Animation – Part II: Exploded View. Minneapolis: Minnesota University Press. Pp. 101-206.
Wilyan, Kevin (2016). “Opini: Mengapa Saya Memilih Menonton Musaigen no Phantom World (Opinion: Why I Choose to Watch Musaigen no Phantom World).” KAORI Nusantara, https://www.kaorinusantara.or.id/newsline/46838/opini-mengapa-saya-memilih-menonton-musaigen-no-phantom-world
The Indonesian Anime Times | by Halimun Muhammad | Musaigen no Phantom World and images ©Soichiro Hatano/Kyoto Animation
You always seem to go back to Lamarre for your references, but aren’t theory of narrative consumption concerning loss of grand narrative and database model of small narratives consumption originate from Eiji Otsuka and Hiroki Azuma?
Aside from that, what you wrote in this article could apply to a number of different anime. I don’t see how this is a review of Phantom World in particular. Words have meanings, and using the word review creates a certain amount of expectations (that may be different to each people). And to me that means a discussion on what makes a particular work unique or interesting. But in this review that only comes down to one sentence, “But the show actually manages to make the flattening of banal and fantastic elements into a fairly coherent and consistent combination,” that I feel does not adequately explain that. It would be different if the article was titled, for example, “Phantom World as an Example of Personal Narratives.”
Thanks for the response.
Yes, I’m aware about Otsuka and Azuma. Those were part of Lamarre’s references too. Maybe I should have mentioned that? But I don’t want the text to get too cluttered. And I also want to raise readers’ interest to read the book because it seems to be less known than Azuma’s Database Animals, despite having been published two years before the English edition of Azuma’s book. There’s also some critique to Azuma’s theory in the book, so I’ll leave it to the book to do that job.
What’s unique about the anime? I guess there aren’t anything notable, really. But does it have to be unique to be able to connect to the audience? What I intend to do is explaining why anime like this work the way they do, that there are some meaning to what they do. And those meanings emerge from the engagement between the stories and the audience’s own knowledge and experiences.
Which brings to another thing that I’ve learned from a recent training. There’s a theory in language teaching that posits that reading is not a passive activity, but rather, an active one that involves interaction between the text and the readers’ prior knowledge and experiences. Then, can we consider watching anime to be similar to that? Thus, another purpose for me to write like this is to broaden the readers’ knowledge base a bit with some readings that can help to understand why Phantom World anime can be like that, which can also be applied to a broad range of anime as well.
In the end, our chief here always stressed that the purpose of review is to help people make informed decision, rather than persuading people to watch or not watch something. I hope that what I write can help readers understand what Phantom World is actually about, what it performs, and from that, decide for themselves if they want to engage with it. And if they do, I hope this writing can provide hint on how to engage with it enjoyably.
I hope that makes things clear.
Personally I haven’t read what Lamarre said, but while mostly I approve what Halimun said in this review, I don’t think the fanservice bit is the Achilles heel for this anime. Instead, it was a part of the beautiful engineering, cleverly designed to appeal the otaku audience (Azuma with his moe-agare character design). Yet I still don’t get why some self-proclaimed otaku feel disgusted with this anime.
By reading once more of this article, I got details I missed from what I saw. Just like what Otsuka said, the example of capturing the small narratives is the art of enjoying this anime. And by giving this anime such deep exploration like this, I think it’s a nod to the many – both explicit and implicit – references to the many theories referenced here. Even more, it’s injustice if people only write this anime’s review based from their watching experiences alone.
(I’m not proficient in writing in English)