Medfan anime and the desire for space
“Medfan” is a portmanteau word for works that merge fantasy tropes and premises with a setting reminding the viewers of the medieval ages. That is, a time characterized both by a technological level that is prior to the modern developments leading to the industrial revolution, and by social relationships based in feudalism, or even an empiric and magical approach to understanding the world around people. Often, one may think that medfan is based on European societies, but it can be an interesting twist on the part of individual shows to invest Japanese elements of medieval of feudal times.
As such, the fantasy part can answer to some of the problems faced by a medieval degree of development, giving a way to overcome narrative challenges. For instance, a griffin mount may play the role of a plane, magic could fuel technology that we would associate with steampunk…
It’s a helpful word to characterize different aesthetic traditions. Such as isekai, which are sometimes based on the contrast between reincarnated folks from a more modern stage of development to a less advanced, parallel present. Sometimes the protagonist uses this to their advantage, like Eminence in Shadow where Shadow Garden commercializes productions such as chocolate. But also “LitRPG”, which can merge codes from science-fiction (for instance VRMMORPGs like Sword Art Online) or just video games to traditions of role-playing games.
A common interpretation of the current success of isekai or LitRPG anime adaptations is that it fuels the desires of escapism while providing narrative codes that are familiar to the viewers, precisely because it is common in the ACGN (Anime, Comics, Games, Novels) version of media mix strategies of production committees.
While it may suffice a surface-level conversion, I think we can go further in the medfan anime reception and production of spaces. Which is why I explore with the reader what I consider to be a desire for space. Though this may seem a short critique of a subgenre of the medium, I want to inscribe this analysis as part of the production of a geography of Japanese animation.
Isekai anime is an often very short portion of the series, though Re:Zero : Starting Life in Another World can be highlighted as an interesting contrast for narrative development of characters in the past of Subaru, the male protagonist. Death of the main character is expected to occur fast, to provide screen time for the isekai setting itself. There is a quality of liminality in isekai when it comes to space-time. An other place, an other time can better suit the characters, as occurs in No Game No Life.
Should we interpret this as a rejection of modernity, with its climactic spatial incarnation in sprawling megalopolises and a time rhythmed by productivity? Japan has been characterized by one of the densest megalopolises on Earth, from Fukuoka on Kyushu to Tokyo, Honshu. Yet, often the protagonists of isekai shows reproduce the same thinking processes, having held positions that can be perceived as alienating other members of the workforce. In Saga of Tanya the Evil, this is to win a total war in an uchronic mixture of Germany during World War 1 and 2.
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But in I’ve Been Killing Slimes for 300 Years, immortality is part of the premise and the protagonist instead seeks respite from “chrononormativity” (a term coined by queer theorician Elizabeth Freeman meaning how social, political and economic institutions use time to organize bodies around a standardized life rhythm to extract productivity). After all, the suspension of disbelief needed to accept isekai narratives permits the emergence of alternative models of societies, and so social criticism toward black companies, defined as particularly exploitative of their workers. Comedy can also alleviate some of the tension, and we find some of such elements in the medfan anime The Dungeon of Black Company.
Space in contemporary Japan is also orchestrated around time and productivity, hence the national symbol of the shinkansen as the bullet train. In geography, distance can be perceived as a cost, and a reduction of distances by public transportation renders acceptable a higher commuting distance. But in medfan anime, transportation is often not as advanced, can be much more dangerous. Escort missions therefore acquire more value. Space can be more contemplated, but is also to be feared. The dead of night can conceal enemies, like in Goblin Slayer…
But spaces aren’t necessarily natural or urbane. There are also supernatural spaces, like dungeons. They can be places for adventurers to explore, but in teams for better efficiency, reproducing LitRPG codes but for narrative plausibility. They are probably inspired by virtual instances of a dungeon, like in MMORPGs, and thus the simulacrum (Baudrillard) acquires the value of the original.
And a succession of levels going up to the sky, when one can die by falling in the void, is what Aincrad fundamentally is as the first iteration of a VRMMORPG (using the Seed as source code that is explored in future seasons) in the SAO franchise. After all, the binary progress of a series of stages, with boss battles to unlock them provides a simple narrative to follow, and there is a clear symbolism of ascendancy. Aincrad instigated a trend for some other anime to follow. But dungeons aren’t repetitive, otherwise viewers (and readers when it’s the promoted source material we’re discussing) would get bored as there’d be few fantasy to it. An important part of medfan is to provide sceneries that don’t exist in real life for the average fan, living in a city.
This is why I believe that when we’re saying people like isekai, medfan, LitRPG narratives for escapism, we can’t stop there in terms of spaces. There is a desire for space, not just for its negation. Also in terms of variety, of alternative models of structuring societies possibly, too. Thus far, however, we’ve mostly been concerning ourselves with the reception — if not “consumption”, a way more charged word that I consider to mean the spaces of such anime have no impacts on the psyche of the viewer — of spaces, which can be thought of as passive in opposition to a more active production of spaces.
Action scenes are often a characteristic part of medfan anime and they can have interesting scales. For instance, at one point The Villager of Level 999 makes use of 3DCG, with NPR (Non-Photorealistic Rendering) to keep the suspension of disbelief of the rest of the show, while allowing for dynamic battles. 3DCG globally permits a diversity of camera angles that allow to consider space differently. But animators can also hand-draw camera rotations. The desire for space can also come from the staff producing anime, making conscious aesthetic choices to craft the best narrative possible with the means they’ve got.
Another plane of the desire for space can be the attraction for anime adaptations instead of original works, or preferring the manga over the novel, despite there being in light novels some money shots, rare panels that take some budget and mark the narrative beyond just words. There is abstraction in language and materiality in the visually detailed. This is not to say the authors don’t imagine narratives in a fictitious space they try to describe and transmit correctly, but it is way easier for viewers to see the scenes than for readers to imagine them. Inversely, some readers will prefer the ability to superimpose their rich imaginaries on the empty vessels of the writer’s prose, if it’s not too vivid at describing things.
And thus it appears obvious that the “desire for space” is not similar for every person in the chain of narrative production and reception, but instead a crossroad and a creative potential. What is sure is that medfan narratives illustrate themselves by excluding a model, contemporary developed societies.
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