AltJapan

Sweet Soul Revue

Tamashii Web English version is GO! Fan sites abound, but Tamashii Web is the first-ever official source of English-language info about Bandai's "high target" toy lines. It includes interviews, news, and release dates for the Soul of Chogokin, Super Imaginative Chogokin, Saint Seiya, Evangelion, Kamen Rider, Gundam, and other series. In Bandai's own words, it's "cool, fun, and just plain awe-inspiring."

It's a historic moment. Not only does this mark the first time the Bandai Collectors Division has ever reached out to English speaking fans, but they were also kind enough to invite me aboard as a consultant and semi-regular contributor. First up is a brief history of Popy and the Chogokin. If you're as crazy about giant robots and tokusatsu heroes as I am -- or even if you aren't -- strap on your henshin belt and check it out!

The Joy of Plex

At first glance, this doesn’t seem like the kind of place one would come to pimp their robot ride...

Plex. You've probably never heard of them, but odds are more than a few of the products they designed have been through your grubby little hands. They are the crack team of toy-designers that companies like Bandai-Namco and Toei rely on to create the latest super robots, vehicles, and accessories for the Power Rangers, Kamen Rider, and dozens of other shows. I had a rare opportunity to infiltrate their offices in Tokyo late last year for Otaku USA magazine, and the article is finally available online. Check it out!

Hypercultured

The hyperculture of Japan seeks to broaden the humanistic vision and the culture of creativity.

So says the mission statement of the Kennedy Center's Japan: Culture + Hyperculture exhibition, which is being held from February 5th through 17th, 2008, in Washington DC. Featuring 450 artists in over 40 musical, dance, and theatrical performances, it's a one-two rocket punch of traditional and pop-cultural appreciation.

Of note for American otaku: the American premiere of Studio 4C's anime omnibus Genius Party; a "Manga Cafe and Lounge"; a panel discussion with manga expert Frederik Schodt and Loving the Machine author Tim Hornyak, and the Robotopia Rising exhibit, which will feature the likes of Honda's Asimo robot, ancient karakuri clockwork automata, and...(drum roll, please) my Jumbo Machinder collection.

For those not in the know, Jumbo Machinders were a series of two foot tall, all-plastic robots that changed the face of the Japanese toy industry when they were first introduced in 1973. Roughly twenty pieces I've collected over the years will be on display in a custom-designed enclosure in one of the Kennedy Center's main halls, giving you a chance to get face to face with some classics of Japanese toy design. (Above: a little preview as I prep the suckers for transport.)

Check out the Kennedy Center's website for performance schedules. I'll be posting more details as the date approaches. See you in DC in 2008!

Beet It

Late last summer, I interviewed famed mecha-designer Shinji Aramaki about his new film, "Appleseed Ex Machina," which just opened in Japan this weekend. Perhaps "interview" isn't the right word; it was more like a freewheeling discussion in a back-alley yakitori joint. The resulting text was so long it had to be split into two parts, both of which will appear in Otaku USA magazine. The first half is in issue 3, which is on sale now.

Over the course of the conversation, we occasionally plunged so deeply into nerd obscurity that even a "protaku" like editor-in-chief Patrick Macias felt the need to edit the text down in a desparate effort to keep his readers' heads from imploding. Here's the only significant part that didn't make the final cut: an interlude about an obscure '80s toy series called "Beetras." Let me set the stage: the lights were dimmed, enka music is playing in the background, the scent of soy sauce and yakitori is in the air, and I'm about to prove what a total frickin' toy-nerd I am once and for all...

Tha Shizznit

Patrick and I really did it, I think to myself, triggering the shutter for what has to be my first-ever photograph of a urinal. We've penetrated the inner sanctum. This is where the people who design Gun-Pla relieve themselves.

We're in the Shizz. That's what Patrick has unoffically dubbed the Bandai Hobby Center, the gleaming new high-tech factory in Shizuoka prefecture where each and every Gundam model kit is lovingly manufactured. Bandai set up a personal tour for the two of us after a sake-fueled evening in Asakusa a few weeks back. Patrick's book Otaku in USA made a big splash at the Bandai offices, and my company's been doing translation work for them for years. Now we're being thanked with the otaku equivalent of an audience at the Vatican.

The first (and, as far as we know, only) group of "civilians" to visit the facility earlier this year were Japanese fans selected via an online lottery. More than ten thousand applied. Five hundred were chosen. We are, we're told, the first fresh gaijin meat ever to set foot inside the place.

Actually, that's not exactly true. According to our guide, a horde of crazed French anime fans showed up out of the blue one day several months back, drumming on the windows with baguettes, begging to be let inside via a combination of hand signals and broken English. After a hurried discussion that probably involved a hasty consultation with the local Shizuoka gendarmerie, the management agreed to let them in as far as the entryway. Even that must've been pretty thrilling for a Gundam fan, it being lined with glass showcases containing professionally-assembled samples of Bandai's top kits for the last twenty five years. But they weren't allowed any futher. The Shizuoka facility isn't open to casual visitors. It's a sacred place, hallowed ground for the sort of people who care more about the "One Year War" than the Six Day War.

Photos alone don't even come close to conveying the sense of all-plastic assualt on the senses upon entering the lobby. The displays -- there's easily forty or fifty of them -- are arranged by year, filled with professionally assembled samples used at trade shows back in the day. These are the robots that hooked you as a kid and made you cry when you realized you'd never be able to build and paint them this well.

But we aren't here to see old model kits. We're here to see the heart and soul of the facility. It lies behind a sturdy, card-activated door, sealing it off from the public areas... and the reality of the outside world. Welcome to the "Area 51" of the Japanese toy industry.

Behind it lies the sprawling workroom where employees dressed in simulacra of Earth Federation Forces jackets plan, design, and troubleshoot upcoming model kits, jacked into massive 3-D rapid prototyping stations that let them churn out perfect samples from computer data. Back when Bandai's Gundam kits first strode onto toy store shelves in 1980, the prototypes were all carved by hand from wood by local craftsmen -- descendents, we're told, of the same craftsmen that built Shogun Ieyasu Tokugawa's castle here in 1585. It took weeks, sometimes months, for even men as supremely talented as them to assemble a final prototype. Now it only takes a few hours.

We make our way through the Hall of Forgotten Prototypes. Slumbering in a glass case are blueprints for the very first Gundam kit and a mouth-watering selection of products that could'a been but never were. (My kingdom for that giant wooden Walker Galliar or tiny Baikanfu.)

Then we're on the factory floor, home to sixteen cutting-edge injection molding machines in concert capable of popping out some seventy thousand sprues per day. That breaks down into thousands upon thousands of kits. The toy-manufacturing facilities have all been outsourced abroad, but not the models. They're the crown jewel of Bandai's toy line, and the technology is far too important to risk falling into competitors' hands. Everywhere sit giant sacks of plastic pellets, the unrefined base material used to make street-grade Gun-Pla. Stacks of dies await their turns to be mounted on the machines. Some of them look quite old; when I ask, I'm told that they're quite possibly originals, still being used after all these years. Most toy fads peter out after a few years. Bandai's been manufacturing Gun-Pla for more than a quarter century.

In an adjacent work bay a half dozen workers polish and adjust the molds for Bandai's upcoming giant-scale $400 Space Cruiser Yamato kit on lines of greasy tables, like a prison shop class. One genial ojisan, apparently still ineligible for (or uninterested in) parole, is introduced to us as "the man who oversaw the molding of the very first Gundam kits in 1980. He mildly surprised at the crazed twinkle in Patrick's and my eyes, the "big fan of your work, sir," launched in unison in our most cracking fifteen-year-old fanboy voices. How would he have reacted if we hadn't restrained ourselves, barely, from throwing ourselves at his feet?

Amid the din of the machines suctioning plastic pellets from bags of raw material and robotic arms lifting finished sprues from the dies, a pair of beeping automated forklifts shuttles raw materials and finished product around the facility. One is finished in olive drab; the other in red. Both, naturally, feature the cyclopean faces of Zaku mobile suits. They're unmanned, operating under their own initiative as they scurry back and forth between the manufacturing floor and the warehouse.

Robots making robot toys. In a place where the employees wear Gundam unifoms and even the commodes feature the giant hero's trademark red, yellow, and white colors, why are we not surprised?

Hey hey hey... Wow!

First, forget everything you know about the Amazing Spiderman. Forget Peter Parker. And Tobey Maguire, too.

Second, watch the mind-blowing opening of the 1978 Japanese live-action Spiderman television series.

Third, familiarize yourself with the new deliciously diecast Soul of Chogokin toy of the Japanese Spiderman's hot ride, Leopaldon. Or Leopardon. Leperdon. Whatever. Note how it looks exactly like the "real thing," insofar as the real thing was a skinny Japanese guy wearing a bunch of boxes.

Finally, you're ready to enter the Thirty-Sixth Chamber and read the uncredited, over-the-top "liner notes" contained with said toy, which I translate and quote verbatim here. Enjoy.

The year was 1978. Toei's live-action heroes stood at a crossroads. The Kamen Rider and Sentai ranger series had finally crossed over. The previous year, a total of four Toei productions were broadcast in Japan; now, however, all had finished their televised runs. It was at this fortuitous time that Toei began negotiating with American company Marvel Comics for the rights to several of its characters. Before long, Toei singled out Spiderman as the prime candidate for a new live-action television series and film. Judging from the circumstances, it was obvious that Spiderman wasn't intended to be one of their usual "henshin" (transforming) heroes, but rather a new hope for the next generation of hero characters.

Spiderman is particularly notable for its successful fusion of the distinctive "essences" of Marvel and Toei heroes. Marvel's portrayal of Spiderman's humanity and pathos proved an excellent match for the characterizations of the Toei Henshin Heroes series. Even though Toei added their own original elements -- such as Spiderman's powers originating from "Planet Spider" rather than a radioactive spider and the introduction of the "Iron Cross Army" as his sworn enemy -- they respected the original's portrayal of Spiderman as a less than perfect hero, as symbolized by the show's ending theme. There were also no shortage of episodes with a pessimistic mood. But Toei ensured a balance by putting a spectacular climax in every episode: the appearance of the giant robot Leopaldon. The catharsis of Spiderman's bug-eyed monster enemies getting blown into smithereens by Leopaldon's explosive attacks was, at times, a much-needed stress valve for viewers subjected to thirty minutes of somber and stressful drama.

In the end analysis, the Spiderman represented a much-needed shot in the arm for Toei's hero series. "Battle Fever J," another Marvel license, took to the airwaves the following year. The current format and lineup for Toei's shows first began to gel with Spiderman's success. The show's pioneering combination of transforming heroes and giant robots had (and continues to have) an incredible impact on merchandising of children's shows in Japan. Spiderman can truly be called the "man who saved Toei's heroes."

Toy Hunter: 1999 A.D.

An oldie but goodie, originally published on ToyboxDX in the winter of the far-flung year of 1999. Magic Box is a dusty shadow of its former self these days and I've since moved to Tokyo, but the song remains the same...

Ten A.M. It's freezing outsize, raining, and I'm on a packed train. I've already been up for four and a half hours already, thanks to jet-lag, and I'm tired as hell. But I could have a bullet in my belly and it couldn't slow me down: I'm on the hunt.

I get like this whenever I go back to Japan. In fact, the minute I step off the plane and into the stale, smoky air of Narita International Airport, I can feel my chest tighten and my breathing quicken. It doubles after I step off the Narita Express train and into Shinjuku Station downtown. I'm finally back again. Too bad I don't usually get in until seven or eight in the evening. Most of the shops are already closed or closing.

The efficient under-seat heaters warm the cabin of my Chuo-line train; as I recline on a seat I was fortunate enough to snatch as I boarded, I almost doze off to the repetitive lull of the wheels clattering along the tracks. Almost. I snap back into focus as I remember the Magic Box ad in the latest issue of Hobby Japan: there were some serious deals listed in there. Emphasis on "were": by the time I managed to get the magazine, several days had elapsed since publication. The die-hards and freaks have already probably picked the shop clean of bargains like toy-hungry pirhana. But I can't let doubt stop me. I'm like a toy-seeking cruise missile that's just been armed and launched. Too late to turn back now, and Alen will kill me if I don't find him the cheap set of "Scramble Dash" wings I promised him for his Jumbo Great Mazinger.

The train arrives and I stumble bleary-eyed out of the station, winding my way through a labyrinth of streets. Even the suburban areas feel like something out of a science fiction movie here, and the glaring neon signboards, diesel-smelling air, and filthy snow packed in the gutters don't help my 'lag-hangover-induced condition. In spite of myself, I look up into the gray sky, raise my fists, and laugh as a grimy rain pelts my face . Fellow pedestrians quickly move to the other side of the street, but I don't care. I'm a block from the store, five thousand miles away from my birthplace, and I've never felt closer to home.

"The" store is something of a misnomer. Magic Box is one of the oldest and largest antique toy retailers, and the recent craze for vintage diecast has filled their pockets like never before. In the past few years they've expanded their once humble operation into a gaggle of spin-off stores, subsuming almost the entire block in the process. Tiny shops, aimed at microscopic delineations in an already-narrow hobby, line the side of the road. I pass Paper Star, the poster, menko, and trading-card store. I trudge past Micro, the shop dedicated to the tiny robot toys once sold as prizes in gumball machines and candy packages. I'm almost waylaid by Seikatsu ("Lifestyle"), some bizzare new Magic Box formulation with a crudely mimeographed, questionably spelled "Welcome to Toy's Hell" sign hanging in the window. Come to think of it, they ALL had that hanging in their windows. Have to check that out later, but it's an appropriate sentiment for this little journey. Abandon all hope of leaving solvent, ye who enter here. Ah, there's Magic 3.

The door-chimes jingle and the two women behind the register look up for a moment, only mildly surprised to see a gaijin face in their store, before they return to meticulously wrapping old chogokin boxes with transparent plastic. How could I forget? Magic Box ONLY hires attractive female clerks, presumably to attract love-starved otaku to the store like bait on a fishing-line. Not to mention quashing any hope of negotiating prices: they're there for window dressing, not as toy experts. Surrounded by dusty, decaying boxes of character-toys, stifling air, and fanboys a-plenty, this must be akin to serving time on a plane of hell for them. Bad girls in a previous life? I'll never know.

I'm startled out of my reverie by the sharp, acrid aroma that only comes from assembling hundreds of old diecast and vinyl toys together in a cramped space. Hard to breathe, but no matter: the sight before me takes my breath away anyway. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall, shelving everywhere -- and on it, pile after pile of carefully arranged toy boxes, nary a space between them. Walls of super-alloy, entire universes of vintage toys. Trying to take it all in, I twirl like a ballerina, transfixed, eyes sparking like a little pixie-girl who's just gotten the pony she's always wanted. Overstimulation. The clerks regard me for a moment and begin whispering. Never mind, I'm in heaven. Or "Toy's Hell," depending on your viewpoint.

Bingo. There's the Takatoku Macross VF-1J I'd been looking for. Not bad for only having been in the store thirty seconds. Bingo, there's the Scrander wings. Woah, a set of all three Diapolon diecasts. And the big score: a Robot Factory Gardian, a Jumbo Machinder Dol, and a pair of Nakajima Jumbos of Tekkaman and Pegas. Talk about a target-rich environment; I'm nearing oversaturation levels here. Microman, Dougram, Gundam...No matter where I turn my vision is filled by vintage toy. Thank God I can still blink. Otherwise I'd be starting to feel like young Alex from A Clockwork Orange.

I silently rifle through the wad of bills in my pocket. Time to bust a move. I flash the ladies my most winning smile.

"I hope you will forgive me for intruding at what appears to be such an inconvenient time," I say in my most polite Japanese. "But if it would not be too much trouble, I should very much appreciate if you would show me several of the items which I have interest in." Blank stare from the ladies. Usually, I have to pry 'em off me after an act like this, but my stalwart little shop-clerks stand all but unmoved. Tough crowd.

Suddenly I get it. They've just finished artfully wrapping each and every piece in the store, and Captain America storms in asking for them to take them out. Maybe it's time for that winning smile again. "I apologize for my persistence in this matter," I add somewhat unhelpfully.

"Don't worry about it. It's no problem at all," says one of the women, her downward-averted eyes telling the true story. Or am I just being paranoid? Probably. These multi-cultural exchanges always leave my head spinning. Or it could just be the cheap sake I drank on the plane ride over here.

A pile of boxes steadily accumulates on the counter as I check piece after piece. As always, I'm agonizing over "potentials": Tekkaman jumbo, or Pegas? I don't have the money for both. And the Valkyries...

"Sir, were you aware we're having a fifty-percent-off sale today?" asks one of the clerk-clones, startling me out of my reverie.

My jaw dropping, I can only nod to acknowledge her. I'm absolutely dumbfounded. This is all but unheard of. Wordlessly, uncontrollably, I begin to pile ten thousand yen note after ten thousand yen note on the counter with a visibly shaking hand. Shaking because of the shock of the discount -- or because of the fact that I know this means I'm going to spend double what I initially planned. And here I was, thinking I could quit anytime...

"Ah, which will it be, sir?"

"All," say I with a tone of finality.

Completely unsurprised, one clerk begins counting the mountain of bills piled on the counter as the other stuffs my acquisitions into plastic bags. They're obviously more than familiar with this kind of obsessive, pathologically wallet-draining toy mania. In fact, the thought of how the hell I'm going to get a pair of two-foot-tall boxed Jumbos back in my suitcase hasn't even entered my discount-addled brain yet. Not to mention the terror of carrying them home on a crush-friendly, crowded train.

My wallet lightened, I bid my disaffected young friends a fond farewell and step outside the musty shop. The rain has stopped, and the sun shines weakly through a rapidly-thinning cloud cover. I fill my lungs with cold Tokyo air. There's no time for worry. It's going to be a good trip.

And this is just the first store of the day.

Getting Schooled by Professor Robo

Update, August 22, 2006: Taku Sato passed away suddenly at his home on August 21st. The world has lost a wonderful human being and a prodigious talent. My sincerest condolences to his friends and family.

Earlier this week, I had the pleasure of meeting Taku "Professor Robo" Sato (pictured above), the designer and sculptor of Fewture Models' new series of diecast metal Getter Robo action figures. The first, Getter One, stands nearly ten inches tall, making it quite possibly the heaviest mass-produced portrayal of the robot ever created. It's also one of the most expensive: set to be released on July 13 at 25,800 yen ($225), this is a toy for serious Getter-maniacs. For more information and photos, take a look at Fewture's websites for Getter One and Getter Two and Getter Three.

Matt: First of all, please tell me a bit about your own personal "robot history." When did you first become interested in robots, and what's your favorite Japanese robot character?

Sato: I've liked robots ever since I can remember. I've pretty much been crazy about robots ever since Mazinger Z aired! (Laughs) I like all sorts of science fiction robots. Gundam, the Transformers, you name it. But my all-time favorite, as you may have guessed, has to be Go Nagai's "Getter Robo." Studio Nue's illustrations for the Japanese language edition of Robert Heinlein's novel "Starship Troopers" left a deep impression on me as well, and they continue to influence my design work today.

M: Can you give me some background as to the original concept for the EX Diecast Getter Robo?

S: The dates on my earliest sketch, which I just made for fun, is June 2000, so I suppose that's when the design work started. Initially, the idea was to make a totally normal PVC action figure rendition of the character, but then about two or three years back, it was decided to make it in diecast metal rather than PVC so we'd have a product with a real feeling of weight. That's how the EX Diecast series started. To be honest when I initially designed it I never expected to see it in metal, but the president said, "let's just do it," and here we are today.

M: Did you study sculpture in school, or are you self-taught?

S: After graduating from high school, I planned to attend art school but didn't pass the entrance exams. So I became a "ronin" (a student without a school) and took a part-time job at Kaiyodo to tide me over. It turned out I had a flair for sculpting prototypes, and they ended up hiring me on as a full-time employee. The senior sculptors there taught me a lot of modeling techniques. After working there for about three years I decided to quit and work as a freelance prototype sculptor.

M: Can you tell me about some of your previous projects?

S: The majority of my work has been on resin-cast models called "garage kits." At Kaiyodo, I sculpted their Patlabor "Helldiver" kit, the live-action heroes "Space Sheriff Gavan," "Sharivan," and "Shaider," and "Kamen Rider V3," among others. I also sculpted the "Evangelion Unit 01, 02, and 00" kits. I sculpted the "God Gundam" (which I believe is called "Burning Gundam" in America) for Bandai's B-Club, and a "GaoGaiGar" kit for a company called Pla-guild. I also worked on a "Gunbuster" for the company General Products (now Gainax). Most of these were fixed-pose figures designed to evoke a single moment from the shows. Recently, I worked on Yamato's "Ideon" action figure. And while it isn't a physical product, I oversaw the 3D CAD modeling and motion design of the "Apharmid" character that appeared in Sega Enterprises' arcade game "Virtual On 2: Oratorio Tangram."

M: On to the toys! Your take on the Getter Robo design is very sharp and industrial, like a piece of construction equipment. What was the original concept for the series?

S: You're right. I deliberately tried to work themes of heavy industrial machinery, like power shovels and bulldozers and other earth-moving equipment, into the design. In the original Getter Robo animated series, the robot was basically engineered for peaceful purposes, as an industrial machine for deep-space exploration. It was only equipped with weapons after the "Dinosaur Empire" launched an invasion of the Earth. I wanted to emphasize the power and weight implied by the original design in my portrayal. That's how the concept came about. I think of it as Getter Robo in high-definition! It's what Getter Robo might have looked like if the old "cameras" the show was "filmed" in had better resolution. (Laughs)

M: Getter Robo's face is quite grotesque when you remove the faceplate.

S: I wanted to portray it as more cybernetic than disgusting. I mean, if you could look under the skin on a human's face, it would look pretty "grotesque" too. Go Nagai is famous for portraying oni (Japanese demons), in his work. Devilman is the most obvious example, but Mazinger Z is one too, and there are others. So I wanted to give the Getters oni-like faces.

M: Incidentally, has (original Getter Robo creator) Go Nagai seen your design?

S: I'm not sure, but I suspect he probably has. I hope he likes it!

M: It seems to be pretty posable for a diecast toy.

S: I did my best to make it as naturally posable as possible. Here, look at the arms. A robot like Gundam's can only rotate along a plane, but I designed the Getter One so that the shoulders can roll inward, like a human's.

M: So was Gundam an influence on you as well?

S: I built the models and stuff as a kid, but I actually have some resistance to the whole Gundam concept and ideology, because it's basically a weapon. I think the pilot's personal sense of justice is more important, so I prefer the 1970s "super robot" genre. Remember, Getter Robo was originally designed for peaceful purposes.

M: That's interesting. I've noticed that Japanese and Americans tend to view the role of technology in society quite differently....

S: Yes! I was talking to a friend of mine in America about this recently. So many American portrayals of robots are negative, like the Terminator, or the big two-legged robot in Robocop, while very few are benign, like the droids in Star Wars.

M: Perhaps that's because in America, a lot of high technology is directly connected to military research? I do think the Japanese seem to have a more benign take on the role of technology in society. So why is it that Japanese are so great at designing these massive war machines?

S: Right. Why do so many of us like massive, sharp things, like military aircraft and battleships and tanks? Or guns. They're basically tools for killing people. I'm fascinated by that sort of thing, but I'm not pro-war or pro-violence, so it's a dilemma for me.

M: Getter Robo and the other super robots never felt like weapons in that sense to me, though. They were symbols of power.

S: Yes! Exactly! Japan is a polytheistic society. We have many kami (gods), neither good nor bad, just powerful. I think of Getter Robo as being like that. It's incredibly dangerous but in the hands of the person with the right spirit, it's a very useful tool for humanity. There's a concept called yase-gaman in Japanese. It's a fundamental aspect of bushido, the Japanese art of war, and is a form of stoicism in the face of adversity. That's the kind of feeling I wanted to portray with my Getter Robo design, indirectly.

M: Very Japanese. I've always liked the fact that you used the old kanji characters for one, two, and three on the backs of your Getta Robo designs.

S:: On the reactor coils, yes! Here, check this out (pops one off the back of the Getter One and puts it in my hand): they're diecast, too. I put a lot of thought into the numbers, actually. I chose the old kanji characters because I wanted to emphasize the fact that it was made in Japan.

M: Can you tell me a bit more about the recently-announced EX Diecast Getta Three? It looks beautiful.

S: I'm afraid I can't let you photograph this prototype, but I can show you this: the surprise gimmick! I put it in for fun. The tank treads fold down and feet fold out like this... See? It can stand up on two legs, like Getter Poseidon. I call this the "standing mode." It's a little like a Transformer. I love Transformers.

M: Are those caterpillar treads rubber?

S: Yes! And they work! See? Br-r-r-r-m! (Makes robot sound as he drives it across the tabletop and laughs.)

M: In "standing mode" it looks like a sumo wrestler!

S: In the show, the pilot is a judo master. So I wanted to portray the Getter Three as having a lot of power.

M: Do you have any words for foreign fans of your Getter Robo designs?

S: It's an honor to know that people outside of Japan are appreciating my work. I love sculpting things that are as faithful as possible to the original designs, so it's been difficult to inject my own personality into my work until now. I feel very lucky to have gotten the chance to design the EX Diecast Getter Robo, and very fortunate to see it get so much attention both here and abroad. There are a lifetime's worth of robot characters that I'd like to sculpt, and I have my own original robot characters as well. I really appreciate everyone supporting me and cheering me on.

M: Will the EX Diecast line continue?

S: Definitely! We don't have any formal plans after Getter Three but we definitely intend to continue the series.

M: Any chance of seeing the Getter Robo G ("Starvengers") designs get the EX treatment?

S: I would love to do that! I've been working on the designs in my spare time, privately, but there aren't any official plans to move ahead with them. If in the future the president of Fewture decides to make them, the set of Dragun, Ryger, and Poseidon, I've got the designs ready to go in my sketchbook! A Grendizer would be great, too...

Return to the 36th Chamber of Chogokin

The latest in a series of translations of articles from the book Chogokin Chronicle.

EVOLUTION: "Battle Fever Robo"

"The first time I saw Shotaro Ishimori's hit television series Secret Sentai Goranger (1975) and Blitzkreig Force JAKQ (1977)," recalls Popy toy designer Katsushi Murakami, "I was struck by the innovative way in which he portrayed multiple hero characters. A year later, just as I'd about forgotten the shows, Toei's Yoshinori Watanabe called me in for a meeting. It turned out that they were planning to revive the 'Sentai' show format and wanted my input. This time around, Toei wanted to use their own original concept rather than Ishimori's, and they wanted me to help them come up with a successful merchandising hook for the series. I told them that if I was going to be involved, I wanted them to write a robot into the script. No sooner had I spoken the words than they told me 'fine -- we're leaving it up to you.'" (Laughs)

It was Murakami's fateful introduction to a television show that would come to be called "Battle Fever J." It became the cornerstone for a long-running series of "Super Sentai" shows whose popularity continues to this very day.

"Live action shows where heroes used robots and other vehicles to fight their enemies were a hit from the very get-go. In fact, the merchandise outsold that of anime shows. So the robot really played an indispensable role in the Battle Fever J concept. And since there hadn't been a robot in Goranger or JAKQ, it worked out well from a story standpoint, too."

Having been given free reign to develop merchandise for the series, Murakami came up with the beginnings of a plan to sell Battle Fever J.

"I can't remember the name of the product, but at the time another toy company sold this tank-like vehicle that was jointed in the middle, and it was really selling well to a wide range of age groups. (Perhaps he's referring to one of Tomy's Koseidon toys? --Matt) So in order to compete, I came up with the idea of a spaceship that separated into two parts, with a robot in the center. I wanted to emphasize the concept of the Sentai heroes and the robot fighting together as a team, and so I created this new category of product, that of the 'combination' set, which basically is the English meaning of the Japanese word 'gattai.'"

The robot-base combination concept would eventually be employed in a variety of Super Sentai successors, including "Denjiman" and "Sun Vulcan."

"Looking back on it," reminisces Murakami, "the concept isn't particularly complicated, but I do think packaging the robot and its carrier-ship together as a set looked good on-screen and ended up adding a lot of play value to the toy."

The introduction of giant robots to the Sentai concept and the combination of robot and carrier-ship toys ushered in a new era in the evolution of merchandise for the series.

Enter the 36th Chamber of Chogokin

Attention, grownups: geek zone ahead.

Not so long ago, in an American suburb far, far away from Tokyo, I helped create a website by the name of ToyboxDX. It was intended for grown men with an inordinate fondness for Japanese toy robots. When Alen Yen founded it back in 1998, it was a grimy little corner of the Web devoted to an arcane sub-unit of the hobby of toy collecting. It still is, and I mean that with love. A friend of mine who "isn’t in the life" once described ToyboxDX as being a "snarling otaku pit." I think that was a compliment.

Little has changed in the eight intervening years save for the fact that Japanese pop culture is a lot less arcane than it used to be. American kids quote lines from their favorite anime and "cosplay" as their favorite characters. You can find Japanese toys on the shelves of Wal-Mart. There's at least two English language books out on the topic, one co-authored by yours truly. The "scene" gets coverage – even occasional cover stories -- in everything from ToyFare to Wired to Playboy. (Yes, Playboy. But that's another story for another time.) In the age of the Internet, no stone of childhood nostalgia remains unturned for long. And that goes double here in Japan, a place where even the government is starting to promote pop culture as the next "big thing."

Last year, Japanese toy company Bandai, never missing an opportunity to milk a few extra yen out of Japanese robot toy freaks, released a luxuriously large-format slipcased hardcover book by the title of Chogokin Chronicle. Chances are, if you're browsing this site, that you're already at least passingly familiar with what "Chogokin" means. (If you aren't and have even the slightest interest in toy robots, hither thee to the ToyboxDX Datafile on the subject.)

Chogokin Chronicle is absolutely killer stuff for robot junkies. Problem is, it's all in Japanese. That's why I decided to translate a handful of chapters and make 'em available here. There aren't a whole lot of "original source" materials on the subject of Japanese robot toys available in English, and I'm hoping to do some more sections when I get the free time… No promises on when that'll be, though. In the meantime, enjoy retired toy master Katsushi Murakami reminiscing about the robots he designed. A word of caution: these passages are from a book written for the sort of folks who engage in heated arguments about design similarities between Combattler V and Voltes V, people for whom words like "rocket punch," "Godbird mode," and "Super Alloy Z" are daily vocabulary. Consider yourself warned.

Awakening: The Introduction

Transformation: Designing "Brave Raideen"

Fusion: Designing "Future Robo Daltanias"

The Ultimate: Creating "Tetsujin 28"