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This article covers the immediate response the YouTube had to the inital takedown request made to them on Oct 20, 2006 by the Japanese Society for Rights of Authors, Composers and Publishers (JASRAC).
In relation to my project, JASRAC requested through DMCA takedown request procedures that YouTube remove nearly 30,000 unauthorized video files that were uploaded by YouTube users. This furthers my project research into the issue of copyright infringement as it pertains to internet video-sharing service.
Tanzil, Sarah. "YouTube Deletes 30,000 Files After a Copyright Complaint." The New York Times 21 Oct. 2006: Technology.
Wetmore Jr., Kevin J. “Modern Japanese Drama in English.” Asian Theatre Journal 23.1 (2006): 179-205.
This article discusses the modernization of Japanese dramatic mediums. In the late 19th century with the advent of the Meiji Restoration, Japan was opened up to the west politically, economically, and culturally. The conceptual challenge to Japanese theatre brought about the opposing strategies to either renovate traditional theatre or to implement entirely western models. Initially an attempt was made to maintain the traditional forms through the former path, including the reinvention of kabuki with shin-kabuki or “new kabuki” and then later with Shimpa or “New School” which incorporated Western storylines and playwrights with the traditional style and acting of kabuki theatre. Eventually, however, these failed attempts transitioned into a full application of Western models in the early 1900s with shingeki or “new theatre.” This new style marks a complete rejection of tradition, both in the realm of theatre but also in the greater context of Japanese cultural heritage. Shingeki placed emphasis on naturalism and realism, indicating its adherence to modernism. The American occupation between 1945 and 1952, however, brought about a new attitude towards Western views, translating as well into the now established new theatre styles. In the 1960s, the U.S.-Japan Mutual Security Treaty crisis of 1960 brought about the formation of a new form developed going by many names, including angora or “underground,” post-shingeki,” and shE gekijE undE or “Little Theatre Movement.” This new form attempted to reconnect with the lost traditions of the pre-modern Japan. The last thirty years show a growth in “modern pluralism,” blending modern and traditional techniques, including the English versions of many works. The author goes on to state that despite such reforms few modern Japanese artists, directors, actors, etc., receive much attention in English.
This article relates to my film because it deals with modernism and the translation of Japanese drama outside of the island. Kurosawa’s film is unique in its modern perspectives and narrative techniques, and its influence across the globe is seen in many contexts. Akutagawa Ryunosuke’s short story is mentioned in the article as an English playwrights using Japanese source material, and the film has influenced many remakes and reinterpretations, such as the films Vantage Point and The Usual Suspects.
McKenzie, Andrew. "True Demon Bound by No Rules: AN INTRODUCTION TO CHARACTER AND VENGEANCE IN THE LONE WOLF AND CUB FILMS." Metro 148 (2006): 112-115. EBSCO. University of Pennsylvania. 10 Apr. 2008.
Andrew McKenzie’s essay, “A True Demon Bound by No Rules: An Introduction to Character and Vengeance in the Lone Wolf and Cub Films,” places the Lone Wolf and Cub series within the larger context of the Tokugawa Era (1600-1865), the Bushido (“the way of the warrior”), and the films’ reception.
Critics condemn the Lone Wolf and Cub series, arguing that the film’s masterless protagonist, Itto Ogami, is a caricature of the Tokugawa samurai. These critics allude to the meager and powerless existence of the historical ronin (masterless samurai). But McKenzie argues that Ogami’s unique freedom emphasizes the presence of feudal Japanese conventions. Without the existence of these customs, Ogami would not have a force against which to rebel. According to McKenzie, the primary targets of Ogami’s rebellion are the Bushido and the Eastern conception of fate. Ogami first violates Bushido code when he refuses an order from his superior to commit seppuku. McKenzie also cites Ogami’s disregard for his sword as a subversion of Bushido. In Bushido the sword is akin to the “soul of the samurai,” and its wielder should guard it at all costs. In his unorthodoxy however, Ogami hurls it like spear. Finally, McKenzie posits that “Belief in predestination or fate in Eastern culture is standard; Ogami however, simply refuses it” (McKenzie, 114).
The essay establishes Shogun Assassin’s (1980) historical relevance through Lone Wolf and Cub. Shogun Assassin, a reedited version of the first two Lone Wolf and Cub films, contains the same tropes of abandonment and rebellion against feudal convention. The films challenge the conventions and the authority of the Tokugawa era with their gruesome fight sequences. Because of the overt violence, McKenzie argues that critics incorrectly ignore the social and cultural implications of the film, and immediately assign it to the exploitation genre.
Call#: Van Pelt Library PN1993.5.J3 R44 1992
Call#: Van Pelt Library PN1993.5.J3 R44 1992
Call#: Van Pelt Library--4 East--Temporary Location Annenberg PN1993.5.J3 R44 1992
Call#: Van Pelt Library--4 East--Temporary Location Annenberg PN1993.5.J3 R44 1992
David Desser's essay, "Towards a Structural Analysis of the Postwar Samurai Film," outlines the sub-genres of samurai film, describes their properties, and examines their cultural implications. The first of Desser's sub-genres is the "nostalgic samurai drama." The chief characteristic of the grouping is what Desser calls "mono no aware." The term refers to a "feeling of sweet sadness, or an almost inexpressible sensation of life's mortality, which is pleasantly painful" (Desser, 148). Characters in these films are generally "powerless yet proud samurai," condemned by the society that created them. However, he does not rebel against the system, instead he "takes the path of righteousness out of a sense of obligation" (Desser, 149). Next, Desser discusses the "anti-feudal drama." The anti-feudal drama, a reaction to America's post-war presence in Japan, tracked its hero from a position of prominence to his ruin. In these films, self-hatred replaces mono no aware. The anti-feudal drama is also more violent than the nostalgic samurai drama, as the protagonist must rage against the flawed conventions of society. Finally, Desser analyzes the "sword film," or chambara. While the author admits that critics generally apply the term chambara as a pejorative, he believes the sword film to be the "most interesting and revealing of all the sub-genres within samurai film" (Desser, 155). The Western viewer's inability to appreciate chambara stems from the movement’s extreme aesthetization of violence, specifically, gores. Sword films use violence as a kind of nihilism. Furthermore, the genre subverts Bushido (“the way of the warrior”) through the meaninglessness of death.
Through Desser’s essay, we can classify Shogun Assassin (1980) within the larger context of the samurai film. The film most fits the conventions of the chambara. Its slow motion decapitations, spurting blood, and high body count all work to undermine the established order. Desser’s assertion that the film’s movement provides both an agenda and an aesthetic, denotes artistry unfound in the exploitation film.
Call#: Van Pelt Library PN1993.5.J3 S72 2005
The chapter, "Speed and Movement in Chambara: Stylistic Conventions," from Isolde Standish's book, A New History of Japanese Cinema, examines the use and function of speed in its application to the human body and filming technique. Standish argues that Japanese film uses speed as a "mimetic response to the mechanical ordering of temporality" (Standish, 97). In contrast to Western directors, who frequently used the convention to reflect mechanized industry's effect on the human timetable, Japanese films glorify the process through "spectacle and display" (Standish, 97). Standish grounds her polemic with examples from Japanese theater and early Japanese cinema.
The section attributes Japanese cinema's emphasis on speed to two sources: reactionary sentiment to a rigidly stratified society and the shinkokugeki theater movement. Standish ascribes chambara's (sword-play film) appeal to its visceral effects. The physical freedom of the chambara's characters "provided subjective moments of corporeal intensity and fantasy" (Standish, 99). Images of movement fascinated young Japanese men, who felt constricted by society. The shinkokugeki theater movement of the early 1920s introduced the display of realistic sword fighting scenes on stage. The new style was much more exciting than the detached, suggestive style of kubuki theater. Japanese filmmakers combined real sword fights with filming techniques like long tracking shots and crosscuts over different parallel lines of action to accentuate on screen movement.
Standish's chapter enumerates the different tropes of the chambara. Using her criteria, one can evaluate the effect of Shogun Assassin's (1980) use of speed, movement, and editing. Ogami Itto's fencing skills seem inhuman: his blade often moves too fast for the eye to see. Furthermore, Shogun Assassin uses crosscuts in every fight scene. The shots, which shift between Ogami and his opponents, maintain focus on all characters involved without sacrificing tension. Finally, Shogun Assassin culminates with a tachimawari, or a "climactic sword-fight scene" (Standish, 98). Standish claims that the tachimawari is the hallmark of the chambara film, as it features the most pace and movement.
Call#: Van Pelt Library PN1995.9.S24 G35 2005
Patrick Galloway’s review of Lone Wolf and Cub: Sword of Vengeance (1972) provides an acclamatory summary and informed analysis. Central to Galloway’s review are Lone Wolf and Cub’s origins in manga and its extreme violence. Galloway explains, “The Lone Wolf and Cub Saga, six films in all (1972-1974), was adapted from the popular manga of the same name” (Galloway, 151). The critic praises the film for its efforts to capture the “spurting gore” of the comics. But the movie’s relationship to its predecessors transcends imagery. Galloway argues that the film emulates the psychotic conceptual framework of the manga. In this way, Lone Wolf and Cub propagates a sense of destruction and rage, unprecedented in samurai film. This ambience allows the viewer to understand Itto Ogami’s “bloodlust [and] twisted Bushido rationalizations” (Galloway, 153).
The review classifies Lone Wolf and Cub as a chambara (swordplay film), which is a form of jidai-geki (period film). While this serves the thesis of the paper, it is more important to note the artistic deference Galloway pays the film. The article takes pains to illustrate director Kenji Misumi’s efforts to replicate the manga’s look and feel. Even in his criticism of the film, Galloway is careful to use the Lone Wolf and Cub manga as his measuring stick. He faults the director for allowing the static quality of the manga’s sequenced picture frames to transfer onto the film. Galloway also castigates Robert Houston and David Weisman, Lone Wolf and Cub’s American adaptors, for their shoddy reedited film Shogun Assassin. The writer and director ignored the nuances of the original story and implanted a ridiculously dubbed script. Though focusing on two different films, the contrast between Galloway’s meticulous study of Shogun Assassin’s progenitor and Vincent Canby’s biting New York Times review emphasizes Shogun Assassin’s marketing and reception as an exploitation film. The public did not recognize Shogun Assassin as a stylized reproduction of manga; rather it was just another poorly dubbed film from Asia.
Vincent Canby’s review of Shogun Assassin (1980) is scathing, but warranted. He begins his diatribe with a critique of the film’s child narrator, Daigoro, the protagonist’s son. Canby finds Daigoro’s commentary on the film’s bloody action “pricelessly funny” because of his matter of fact tone and perpetual understatement. The columnist applies the brunt of criticism to the film’s script, “Shogun Assassin…is as furiously mixed up as What’s Up Tiger Lilly? the classic that Woody Allen made by attaching an English soundtrack to a grade-Z Japanese spy movie.” He sums up the film’s plot quite simply, as the story of a “tubby, outcast samurai wandering the length and breadth of Japan.” Though Canby appreciates some of the film’s photography, the movie’s intense violence and gore disturb him. Ultimately, Canby concludes, “the movie is an unimportant joke.”
The review illustrates Shogun Assassin’s reception in the United States as an exploitation film. The film’s director, Robert Houston, and writers, Houston and David Weisman, spliced together scenes from the first two installments of the Japanese Lone Wolf and Cub series, fabricated a script, and then dubbed the footage. The film enjoyed moderate success as its release coincided with television’s airing of the epic miniseries “Shogun” (based on James Clavell’s novel). But in marketing Shogun Assassin within the context of more traditional samurai films, Houston and Weisman did the movie a tremendous disservice. Viewers like Vincent Canby attended the film with expectations formed from such legendary Japanese directors as Akira Kurosawa, Masaki Kobayashi, and Hiroshi Inagaki. Shogun Assassin however, is an adaptation of the manga series Lone Wolf and Cub. Thus, the film requires a different set of criteria for judgment. The movie’s unrealistic fight sequences and unlikely heroes are firmly rooted in its manga predecessor. Yet Shogun Assassin’s distributors were not interested in its artistic or cultural heritage; they were interested in turning a profit.
Call#: Van Pelt Library PN1995.9.S24 S5 2005
Section 6.3 of Alain Silver’s book, The Samurai Film, entitled “The Red Slayers,” suggests that the gory content and pitiless heroes of the 1970s’ chambara films (Japanese swordplay films) act as a historical corrective of the cynical samurai films of the 1960s. These films, critical of the Romantic conception of the samurai, featured self-sacrificing heroes who championed humanity and subverted violence to question popularized notions of “samurai honor.” While the protagonist of the 1970s chambara film also rejected “samurai honor,” he “manifests his or her rejection of those false standards not merely with words but with actions” (Silver, 221).
Silver also documents the increased self-interest of the 1970’s filmic samurai. His denunciation of the samurai code transcends the typically griped about tenants of fealty until death and honor at all costs. This “new hero” denies humanitarian values in favor of his own advancement or survival (Silver, 221). Samurai betray other samurai to further their careers (Furin kazan) and warriors rob from peasants with a disregard for civic duty. The section culminates with Silver’s ruminations on Itto Ogami, the central character of Shogun Assassin and the Lone Wolf and Cub series. For Silver, Ogami is the paradigm “new hero.” He is a ruthless killer driven by his instinct to survive. He cannot afford to lay down his weapon, “because he is locked into a time where to do so is to perish” (Silver, 223). Silver also provides some examples from the Lone Wolf and Cub saga to illustrate Ogami’s skepticism about the “way of the samurai.”
By including Lone Wolf and Cub (and transitively Shogun Assassin) in his evaluation of 1970s chambara films, Silver grants the film does provide historical insight. The section implies the film’s director, Kenji Misumi, attempted to define the true objectives of the samurai: money, social status, and survival. He accepts Lone Wolf and Cub as a new revision of a historical icon.
Call#: Van Pelt Library GV1100.77.A2 H87 1998
“Martial Arts and Japanese Culture,” the first chapter of Cameron Hurst’s book, Armed Martial Arts of Japan: Swordsmanship and Archery, examines the dichotomy between the function of martial arts in contemporary and medieval Japan. Furthermore, Hurst takes issue with the facile popular conception of the feudal Japanese warrior.
Hurst begins his study with a syntactical analysis of the Japanese terms applied to various schools of martial arts. By identifying the differences between contemporary and ancient Japanese characters for martial arts, Hurst documents the evolution of the sport. In opposition to the vast array of martial arts styles practiced today, the feudal samurai were primarily concerned with budE . But rarely did samurai use budE to refer to specific combat activities. Instead, “it represented a moral ideal for the samurai” (Hurst, 11). Hurst then transitions to an investigation of samurai military practices, citing that contrary to the widely held belief that the samurai was a “solitary wandering warrior” wielding a sword; the samurai were chiefly mounted archers. Hurst does concede however, that the sword did find prevalent usage by the beginning of the Tokugawa Shogunate (1600 AD). Hurst also corrects the widely held notion that the samurai were blood-lusting mongers. On the contrary, the Japanese viewed death and blood as forms of pollution and ritual impurity. He continues, “There were even taboos against causing bloodshed, incurring wounds, and being contaminated with blood” (Hurst, 21).
Hurst’s chapter provides a scholarly evaluation of Shogun Assassin’s (1980) historical inaccuracies. While he recognizes the sword’s popularity among Tokugawa samurai, he would take issue with the Shogun Assassin’s “wandering warrior” protagonist. He emphasizes that the samurai was predominately a mounted archer. Of course, Shogun Assassin is a chambara (swordplay) film, so its rampant swordfights are acceptable cinematically, if not historically. But in direct opposition to Hurst’s chapter, Shogun Assassin’s characters are obsessed with blood. One villain even describes aspirations of cutting a man across the neck so that the squirting blood makes the sound of a “wailing winter wind” (Shogun Assassin). In this way, Shogun Assassin’s producers pander to Western misconceptions about the samurai.
Hatcher examines the workings of the American anime industry, paying the most attention to the history and physical process of fansubbing. Fansubbing is the process by which fans take Japanese anime (taped from broadcast television or DVD/home video), translate it and edit the video to include their own subtitles. Fansubs used to be distributed on VHS either in stores or among fan clubs, but are now almost exclusively found online. Hatcher suggests that the anime industry, though it has unquestionably benefited from fansubbing and other forms of high-level fan involvement, is now "held hostage by the internet and their otaku-consumers." By now professional licensing and localization companies can do much of their own advertising and market research due to the growth and age of the domestic marketplace; yet such companies know that to crack down on the core loyal fans will almost certainly result in a huge backlash from those on whom they rely most. In contrast to common internet "pirates," fansubbing groups commit infringing acts in the open (as publicized on websites or individual named in credits attached to their work) and are confident in the moral high ground of their actions (if a work is not yet licensed in America, it is seen as "perfectly legal" to make it available in fansubbed form, for example-despite international copyright laws); the common conception of "anime fair use" makes many technically illegal uses practically immune to legal retaliation
The almost forced acceptance of the fan use of anime in America, in order to maintain loyalty and relevancy among fanbase, makes anime music videos relatively easy to allow for domestic copyright holders. A lawsuit that attacks a now established tradition within the community would alienate much of a company's fanbase, driving them to other sources-including illegal ones if nothing else is available. Given the companies' general tolerance of (or lack of legal action against) the availability of full episodes or movies online, music videos are a much easier sell as "advertisements" for their products as opposed to replacements or illegal derivative works. And given the industry's heavy stake in the convention scene, it is clear that the community aspect of anime fandom must be maintained and courted in order to stay viable.
These photos show painted cardboard shelters in the homeless city that took root in the underground sprawl of Shinjuku station’s western wing in the mid-1990s. A deadly fire swept through the community in February 1998, forcing the inhabitants out and conveniently allowing the city to proceed with long-awaited plans to construct the moving walkway that now exists there. The paintings were also lost in the fire.
In this Japanese court decision, Spec Computer is sued (this is the appeal) by game manufacturer Konami for copyright infringement. Spec Computer loses and is forced to pay Konami. Konami had created a game that simulated a love story, where the player/main character would progress over a specific set of days, building personal "stats" and romantic relationships. Spec created a memory unit that could boost a player's stats and start the game at any point in the game's calendar. Konami argued, and the court agreed, that this action changed the essential contents and purpose of how the game was meant to be enjoyed, thus infringing upon the author's "right to preserve the integrity of a work." The case is similar to the Nintendo of America v. Lewis Galoob Toys case in the US, where Nintendo challenged Galoob's right to produce the Game Genie (which did basically the same thing as Spec Computer's product); Nintendo lost. Yet in Japan, the original game creator won out over the party who created the means to modify it. When comparing these two cases, it seems as if Japanese copyright law is enforced more strictly than American.
As other sources indicate, Japanese anime and manga artists happily live with fan-made comics starring copyrighted characters (called dojinshi, or doujinshi). In fact, much of the talent and creativity within the industry can be attributed to artists starting out in the dojinshi field. But in Konami v. Spec Computer it is clear that such infringement is technically against Japanese law as much as it would be against American law (even more so, given this case's similarity to Nintendo v. Galoob). So it is not the law that dictates the products of Japanese fan-culture, but rather common opinion and recognition of the positive effects to come out of certain forms of infringement.
In 2002, American website Anime Tourist conducted a convention interview with two of the founding members of the respected Japanese anime production company Gainax, Hiroyuki Yamaga and Takami Akai. The two discuss their current and upcoming projects at Gainax, provided some details on their past at the company, as well as explaining some of the themes and such of their more famous works. Finally they speak on American localization of their works and American fandom.
An audience member asks the creators for their opinion on the music videos made from their work by American fans. Akai seems not to have been aware of them (the translation perhaps makes it a bit confusing), but Yamaga appreciates the fan-made works. He discusses the often-pointed-to model of manga and anime creators getting their start in the industry by writing and drawing dojinshi, or unlicensed fan comics based on copyrighted properties: "as Gainax, they got their start doing similar stuff so it's very hard for them to say, ‘No, We won't allow that.'" As a company, they have to plead ignorance that such fan material exists or else even Japanese copyright law would dictate that they shut infringers down. He points to the line between fan/hobbyist and professional as the deciding factor in whether or not infringing work is worth going after legally; in the Japanese manga business, the line is extremely blurred as young artists very often earn their stripes and build their skill on dojinshi before tackling original projects of their own. Japanese creators such as these may not be aware of the American arm of fan's use of their characters and work, but they are used to letting such forms of use slide within their Japanese fan culture.
Lessig writes about the recent development of a record company, Wind-Up Records, requesting AnimeMusicVideos.org (perhaps the largest online collection of anime music videos and "AMV" artists) to remove all links to music videos containing music by their artists. These artists included Evanescence and Creed, bands popular among fans and with a large number of music videos on the site, roughly 3,000. He points to the AMV movement as a sign of the growing read-write culture allowed by the internet and computers that new generations are increasingly participating in. Where content owners try to enforce a "Read-Only" environment where viewers/users can look, but not touch, Lessig advocates the development of creativity and benefits thereof for those (often young) fans who take it upon themselves to add to the artistic tableau of a medium. He even relates a personal anecdote about his son, in which the only way he was accepted to a prominent university was by showing them the AMVs he had made as an example of his artistic talent. Lessig sees the struggle between copyright holders and young, artistically motivated fans as the new battle to be fought, and one in which it should be easy to see which side is in the right. Of course, according to current US copyright law (backed by copyright holding corporations) such employment of "Read-Write" culture is illegal. The internet, however, has afforded both an opportunity to put such artistic expression on easy display and an at least temporary hurdle for content owners to leap in order to stomp down on "unfair" uses due to its expanse and level of anonymity.
Hatcher examines the workings of the American anime industry, paying the most attention to the history and physical process of fansubbing. Fansubbing is the process by which fans take Japanese anime (taped from broadcast television or DVD/home video), translate it and edit the video to include their own subtitles. Fansubs used to be distributed on VHS either in stores or among fan clubs, but are now almost exclusively found online. Hatcher suggests that the anime industry, though it has unquestionably benefited from fansubbing and other forms of high-level fan involvement, is now "held hostage by the internet and their otaku-consumers." By now professional licensing and localization companies can do much of their own advertising and market research due to the growth and age of the domestic marketplace; yet such companies know that to crack down on the core loyal fans will almost certainly result in a huge backlash from those on whom they rely most. In contrast to common internet "pirates," fansubbing groups commit infringing acts in the open (as publicized on websites or individual named in credits attached to their work) and are confident in the moral high ground of their actions (if a work is not yet licensed in America, it is seen as "perfectly legal" to make it available in fansubbed form, for example-despite international copyright laws); the common conception of "anime fair use" makes many technically illegal uses practically immune to legal retaliation
The almost forced acceptance of the fan use of anime in America, in order to maintain loyalty and relevancy among fanbase, makes anime music videos relatively easy to allow for domestic copyright holders. A lawsuit that attacks a now established tradition within the community would alienate much of a company's fanbase, driving them to other sources-including illegal ones if nothing else is available. Given the companies' general tolerance of (or lack of legal action against) the availability of full episodes or movies online, music videos are a much easier sell as "advertisements" for their products as opposed to replacements or illegal derivative works. And given the industry's heavy stake in the convention scene, it is clear that the community aspect of anime fandom must be maintained and courted in order to stay viable.
Leonard's paper on American fans' use and distribution of anime goes into great depth on the legal issues raised, and often ignored, in regards to copyrighted works. The original Japanese copyright holders spurred on American fan-imports and fansubs by "abandoning" the market early on; in this way it was law-breaking American fans, clubs and conventions that created almost single-handedly what is now a visible and profitable market for the Japanese owners and the American licensors. Currently, though the Japanese owners do finally play in the American marketplace, they are nearly as willfully ignorant (in practice) of fan infringement than they were when America was still written off as an impossible market. But while first this ignorance was a result of their not thinking any American infringement could possibly hinder them financially, reasons for this now include the historical and continued support and "free publicity" for anime that American fans would not be so willing to embrace legitimately had it not gained buzz from prior illegal distribution among fan networks. Yet Leonard outlines all of the various ways that obtaining, translating, distributing and showing fansubs break any number of American and international copyright laws. Though fans often cite fair use as a defense for their actions (though a case has never been brought to court), Leonard dismisses all of the potential factors that would constitute fair use save for the "purpose and character" in the commerciality of fansubbing; in this case, fans often do their work for no profit and as a courtesy to fellow fans. In every other sense, their use is wholly unfair.
Here we see the rough legal guidelines that both Japanese and American anime copyright holders tend to adhere to when dealing with fans. In general, fan's use of anime is forgiven and often ignored, unless it exists in direct competition with legitimate localized releases. Anime Music Videos (not mentioned by Leonard) are another, altogether less potentially dangerous (than importing and fansubbing) form of "free advertising" for anime and of strengthening the fan networks that built and maintain the American anime audience. Again, Japanese copyright holders are shown to display a willful ignorance of American fans use for the most part.
Mehra explores the disconnect between Japanese (and American) written law and the tolerated success of dojinshi, a growing industry that could even be seen as direct competition for its copyright-holding cousin manga. Part of this issue is explained by the differences in which America and Japanese copyright law (especially that concerning character copyrights), though very similar on paper, are interpreted by courts and the common man. The few key differences include affording authors moral rights (Mehra points to the Konami case mentioned above as an example, given their ability to control how their characters are portrayed) and lacking a "generalized fair use provision." Mehra discusses the various reasons manga artists and copyright holders generally do not prosecute dojinshi artists; such reasons could include the social norms among artists where the good of the industry (in recruiting new talent, filling a niche unfillable by traditional manga, or catering to all its audience's favor) as a whole is placed before individual needs and the lower profitability of Japanese litigation (not to mention the average dojinshi author's common lack of real funds). Taking the dojinshi model, Mehra claims that "in some contexts, a certain level of fair use may help generate an economically efficient level of collective action;" in other words, allowing some level of infringement can foster a stronger and more creative artistic industry.
The reaction of the Japanese manga artist is examined here in relation to artifacts of fan culture. As manga and anime have penetrated foreign markets, it has brought some of that mindset with it, particularly to America. To begin with it sprang from fans' proactivity creating the American market itself, but the Japanese fan mindset has only been strengthened by the original authors' willful ignorance, and in some cases support, of classically infringing fan works. Despite the differences in American and Japanese case law concerning character copyrights, Japanese characters remain for the most part fair game for dojinshi, music videos, and the like on either side of the Pacific.
The only problem with the “pokkuri” understanding of Watanabe’s death is revealed later on by Long, “Dying without the presence of other (kodoku nashi, or “lonely death”) is considered a terrible fate.” This interpretation adds understanding to the “wake scene,” in which the various coworkers of Watanabe try to convince themselves that he did not know about his cancer. The coworkers do not want to believe that Watanabe would willingly experience such a terrible fate, so they try to show that he did not do it willingly. It is very hard to understand the film in terms of both “pokkuri” and “kodoku nashi,” so maybe the best information that can be gleaned from Long’s book is that “preparation for death may mean arranging for property distribution, laying the groundwork for role inheritance, or doing activities the person has always wanted to do.” This offers a completely different take on Watanabe’s actions than Richie, who saw him as initially searching for solace. Through this interpretation, Watanabe’s adventure with the writer could be seen simply as a way of preparing for his death, although the film itself does not seem to suggest this. While none of these terms may have direct application to Ikiru, they do offer an interesting point of view of the culture behind the film and potentially provide some insight into the film that no other book offers.
Discussing the film Drunken Angel, Kurosawa recounts, “As background to the characterizations, we decided to create an unsightly drainage pond where people threw their garbage” (156), which is an image that returns in Ikiru, although it has a different allegorical meaning. Many plot elements and images from Kurosawa’s films were taken straight from his life (a point made b