2012 overly ambitious tv cartoons lupin iii the woman named fujiko mine

This article contains spoilers for Lupin III: The Woman Named Fujiko Mine.

The best scene by far in Lupin III: The Woman Named Fujiko Mine (hereafter Fujiko) is the opening sequence. In 90 seconds, Fujiko Mine (voiced by Miyuki Sawashiro) makes a bold, irrational spoken-word statement of intent over ominous strings and a series of surreal images of the nude Fujiko. It’s about her nihilism, her sense of mystery, the strange compulsions that drive her. The sequence leaves no doubt that this is definitely one of those artsy things.

So do the credits. Sayo Yamamoto (Michiko e Hatchin) directs, Takeshi Koike (Redline) does character design and animation direction, Dai Sato and Mari Okada are among the writers, and some of the industry’s finest animated it. (See Anipages for commentary and a thorough rundown of who does what where in a continuing series on Fujiko.) The art is decidedly in tribute to original creator Monkey Punch, and in contrast to most Lupin anime this is definitely an R-rated effort.

But is this the kind of artsy production that has a genuinely interesting angle on the least defined of a classic set of characters… or are the creators just pretentiously spinning their wheels? Unfortunately, it winds up decisively in the latter camp. The most potentially exciting anime TV series of a strong season manages to disappoint as much as it entertains, by copping out on its own mission statement.



Most of Fujiko proceeds like a typical Lupin III series, moving from one unrelated caper to the next. There is the hint of continuity, as it has the pleasure of doing an origin story for these classic characters — one take of many (don’t think about the canon!) on how Lupin, Jigen, Goemon, Fujiko and Inspector Zenigata became so inextricably intertwined in their business dealings. The episode that gives Jigen’s backstory as a mafia assassin is a highlight, nailing the gruff, soft-hearted gunman’s personality perfectly.

Zenigata is a notably different character here, a proud, cold-blooded, and quite competent cop rather than the bumbling old man you may be used to from other Lupin stories. Pops has also been given a partner, an androgynous embodiment of overwrought 70’s shoujo melodrama named Oscar (get it?), whose romantic obsession with Zenigata and jealousy of Fujiko has driven him to madness. The show is never able to shake off the feeling that this character has been beamed in from another anime.

Indeed, for a character given as much screen time as he is, I’m not really sure what was intended with Oscar. A foil for Fujiko, maybe, but he’s as impotent in that regard as the bumbling Zenigata seen in other Lupin series. We just get to watch him dress up convincingly like a woman and eventually go hootin’, hollerin’ Yosemite Sam crazy. At the end of the show he’s just left screaming “Bad girls should burn!!” while setting a castle on fire.

No, seriously, that’s Oscar’s final sign-off for this show. We don’t see him again.



Contrary to the treatment of the other characters, it often ironically feels that Fujiko isn’t getting a whole lot of attention in her own show. When her character comes upon the question “why?”, usually at the close of the early episodes, she answers “just because” and runs off nude (the nudity eventually starts to feel arbitrary, to the point where we feel like we’re meeting a per-episode nipple quota). She’s treated as a total enigma, with the occasional hint that we might eventually find out something about her. Unfortunately, and this is the show’s ultimate intention, we never do.

These episodes are hit and miss, with a few excellent stand-alone chapters and some duds. Likewise, the animation goes from caper action and spectacle reminiscent of Koike’s best in the first episode to the occasional episode where the animators take a break for a bit while the camera pans from left to right for 25 minutes. (This episode, which takes on the Cuban Missile Crisis, is actually one of the stronger ones.) The up-and-down animation quality of this show gives the impression that it was put together as fast as possible (for example, in the first episode neither the opening nor the ending animation was actually finished!), perhaps by the skin of the production staff’s teeth. Their talent nevertheless shows through: uneven as the animation is, Fujiko completely outshines its contemporaries.

As a mostly episodic series, the big problem with The Fujiko Show comes when it’s about to finish. Realizing there isn’t a lot of time left, the show shift gears abruptly and ties everything together with a single, unbelievably dumb story.

(The major spoilers start now.)



This series is sold as an origin story, and throughout it has been heavily implied through flashbacks that Fujiko Mine is the product of severe physical and sexual abuse throughout her formative years on the part of some incredibly powerful entity, a society of omniscient owl-headed monsters which also control her mind (as if the other abuse wasn’t enough!). As such, we spend the last four episodes of the show dealing with this directly.

If the rest of the show sometimes didn’t feel like Lupin, these episodes turn Fujiko into another show entirely: suddenly we’re in a weird sci-fi mystery unraveling a multitude of secret operations within a sinister, powerful pharmaceutical corporation. Hallucinations and explanations are the order of the day for this segment of the show, as Mari Okada loads every piece of this show’s real story into speeches delivered by unreliable narrators, while Lupin and friends contend with malevolent illusions. These episodes are definitely among the show’s most beautifully drawn, I’ll give them that… but unfortunately they don’t lead anywhere interesting.

You see, in the last ten minutes or so of the show, after episodes of unraveling this story, they tell you it was all bullshit. The whole business has absolutely nothing to do with Fujiko Mine; rather, it involves some villains who we unmask in the final moments and who promptly explain themselves ala Metal Gear Solid or Scooby-Doo. Fujiko was always the way she is, having only recently suffered from temporary memory replacement. Those childhood memories and fears were planted on her. Everything was because of acid and MKULTRA, the show says.

So the final stroke of the show is to cop out on Fujiko. Much of the time we’ve spent with the show, especially this final arc, suddenly feels like it was completely wasted. No amount of literary allusion and symbolism — and the show is awash in it — makes up for the fact that all this posturing winds up being completely empty.



What made Fujiko Mine? Well, what made Lupin III? What made Golgo 13? It doesn’t really matter, does it? These characters aren’t really about their pasts, they’re about the job they’re on right now. But if that’s truly the case, please don’t make an entire TV show that begs the question and then three months later tells you that it’s a stupid question to ask. If that was the point, we could have done it in an hour and the animators could have had an easier time of it.

There is a part of Fujiko‘s twist ending, something that Yamamoto and Okada might have been trying to say, that resonates with me and that I can appreciate.

At the end of the show, Fujiko tells the forces that dared try to shape her to go fuck themselves. That’s a universal feeling. It extends to our expectations of this show. Go fuck yourself, she says, for assuming that a woman who steals and screws and kills without remorse could only be produced by a lifetime of childhood abuse and brainwashing. Go fuck yourself for deciding that I’m damaged, says Fujiko, and fuck you for telling me who I am.

And implicitly, she’s kind of saying to us, “Fuck you for trying to figure me out.” But it doesn’t count as implicating the viewer when you directly say one thing and then say you were lying.

And then Fujiko makes sure her oppressor — who, by convoluted plot twists, was the true victim of all the shocking abuse we were shown onscreen — dies watching her frolic on the beach for no other reason than to make her suffer. That’s Fujiko Mine. She’s not a nice person, or even a good one: in fact, she’s the meanest person in this show. She is herself, without apology.



These rare notes are wonderful. Fujiko has a brilliant idea for a finale in it. There are some fantastic individual scenes… but none of it comes together. It’s not just Oscar’s arc that doesn’t feel like it was properly planned out… it’s everything. Maybe it’s the lack of focus on the stated protagonist. Maybe it’s the sudden change in tone two-thirds through. Maybe it’s the cop-out ending. It’s all this stuff working together that makes the show feel terribly unsatisfying when you’re done.

So should you spend your six hours with this show? Yes, actually. It’s uneven, it’s deeply flawed, it doesn’t deliver on what it promises, but you should definitely watch Fujiko. As far as what it was trying to do, it may well be a failure… but there are some really good episodes of Lupin the Third in there.

Lupin III: A Woman Called Fujiko Mine #13

I'm a little late in wrapping this show up, and other people have written better overviews of the good and bad aspects of the show than I probably can (notably Colony Drop and Analog Housou), but I've just seen the last episode so here are my thoughts.

I'd read the reviews, so I knew what was coming. All of the flashbacks we were presented as gradually building up to some big reveal about Fujiko's past turn out to have been planted in her brain by someone. They weren't Fujiko's memories at all. The whole show was a MacGuffin. Purporting to tell the story of Fujiko's origins, it does no such thing, and closes laughing in your face as the characters ride off into the sunset. Perhaps that is a fitting origin story for characters as protean as theLupin III characters. There can be no origin story, and every purported origin story should be taken with a grain of salt.

The beauty of Lupin III is that its characters are so malleable. They've been re-invented constantly over the years. Everyone has a different notion of who Lupin really is in terms of his personality and visual rendering. The roundly drawn gentleman thief of Cagliostro couldn't be further from the rubbery, horse-faced schmoozer of Part 3, but both are Lupin. The characters have an amazing resilience to inhabit different personalities and situations, and that is undoubtedly part of the franchise's undying appeal. The Lupin characters here are as different as each previous Lupin III outing has been from its predecessors, but in their own way they are valid.

The problem here is that some of the changes they've made simply don't add up. My initial impression after watching episode 1 was that Zenigata's personality change didn't contribute anything and deadened the character for no reason, and Oscar was a useless add-on. I expected that impression to change as the show progressed. It didn't. Zenigata was never much of a serious opponent to Lupin or Fujiko, and Oscar was nothing more than an annoying concession to female fanservice. Fujiko, the main character, never takes anything like a leading role in her own show. She seems more of a trembling victim most of the time, which I think does her character a disservice.

In a show that was already lacking in a sufficiently strong running story, it seems doubly problematic to not only basically throw the whole story at you in the last episode, but then basically go on to say that everything that happened in the show prior to now was just BS. It comes across as saying to the audience that you're an idiot for having invested in the story and expected things to lead where the storyteller made it seem like it was leading. There's a difference between surprising the audience with an unexpected twist, and simply being capricious and taunting. The ending doesn't satisfy, it merely jerks around spasmodically in a way you didn't expect, then stops. The show had already failed to build any cohesive characters for you to invest in, and the ending doesn't offer any catharsis.

The show was extremely ambitious, and I'm almost willing to give it the benefit of the doubt for that reason. Few shows made these days can lay claim to attempting to go against the grain of the industry the way this show has, and it deserves praise for that. It almost comes across as an anti-moe anime, a morbid deconstuction of the idea of the lolita. With its feminist spin, adult themes and sophisticated writing, it was a more serious-minded and intellectualized Lupin III than has probably ever been seen. Maybe the Lupin III characters weren't enough to support such an experiment, but at the same time, who is to say what the real Lupin III is? There is no one Lupin III. Every Lupin III outing is the product of a particular team of people working at a particular time in anime history, and therefore putting the unique stamp that only they are capable of putting on the characters.

But it seems it was overweeningly ambitious, because the writers were not up to the task of putting the package together in a satisfying way. A haltingly successful deconstruction of narrative more tantalizing than convincing, it fell short as good storytelling. They clearly attempted to divide the story up over the allocated 13-episode span in a way that would provide variety and unpredictability and maintain suspense, with a different character highlighted early on, an action episode here and a story episode there, and the story gradually unfolding throughout. But the narrative merely wound up feeling disjointed and random and lacking in a cohesive central thread, and the story was not enough to support a whole series, as it could not be told in enough detail to make sense until the very last moment. I completely agree with Analog Housou that this story would have been much better suited to being told in a 90-minute TV special format.

Initially the show seemed to suggest that youthful physical and sexual abuse led to Fujiko's present day personality. It's good that that turned out not to be the case, but on the flipside, we never come away with any insight into Fujiko's personality or past. Fujiko didn't evolve out of the experience into the liberated, confident, sex-hungry lady she is today through the pain of the experience of being controlled by and overcoming her oppressor. She wasn't changed by the whole experience. She was that way to begin with. That is certainly more satisfying and less condescending than what the show seemed to be building towards, but at the same time it obviates the whole point of the story.

Ironically, filler episodes with no relation to the main story like episode 5 turned out to be the most memorable episodes in the series, largely due to the prowess of the team behind that particular episode. The moments of the show that felt best were not when the new characters like Oscar were on the screen, but when the old team dynamics began to fall into place and we could see the old characters we knew and loved beginning to emerge. The show simultaneously failed to work on the merit of its experiments, nor to usurp the musty old elements of the show. It felt like it only begrudgingly allowed the characters to be themselves, and it was those moments that shined.

The quality of the show did little to help. The animation was stolid and lacking in spark for the most part, save a few episodes or scenes where the animation stood up due to a talented person. That said, in view of the fact that they were clearly at a disadvantage in terms of schedule, I would have been willing to overlook the inferior quality of the animation, and judge them by what should have completely been in their control, namely the story. They should have made absolutely sure they had a rock-solid story even if they could not get the schedule to make each episode look perfect. The story should be the foundation. Their failure in this regard is where I can't bring myself to give the show a pass. At the same time, I can't believe that this show had that much less schedule than a show like Kemonozume or Kaiba, also one-season auteur-driven outings, and those shows were far more solid in terms of both animation and storytelling.

The big hype at the beginning of the show was that Takeshi Koike was designing the characters. That turned out to be a huge deception. I and probably others foolishly expected that he would be there behind the animation throughout the series, perhaps the way Kazuto Nakazawa was such a whirlwind force raising the quality of Samurai Champloo throughout the show. That did not turn out to be the case at all, either due to the much slower nature of Takeshi Koike's style or, more likely, because he simply didn't want to invest himself too much in the project for whatever reason. Either he was busy with other work or didn't have much faith in the project. After some work in the first episode, he was absent until the final episode, in which he drew some animation of the slo-mo bullet sequence.

The problem with the failure of the Takeshi Koike promise is that it also spelled out a failure in the animation department in general. Having his name attached led to expectations of extravagant animation, even if not of his hand, to bring alive his character designs, but the character animation was barely functional more often than not. As with many aspects of this project, enlisting Takeshi Koike seems to have been done capriciously and without sufficient thought in terms of what that required in terms of the animation, and whether his designs were appropriate to the limitations of the schedule. Obviously Redline could not have been produced inFujiko's schedule, so perhaps Koike's efforts would have been futile anyway. Basically, despite them having gotten Takeshi Koike onboard as character designer, the characters didn't feel like his because they were so badly drawn most of the time.

On the visuals side, the show did carve out its own stylistic niche, with its moody compositions, obsessive character hatching, creative flourishes like the silhouette sequence and boat ride in episode 11, and the determinedly hand-drawn feeling of the drawings. I wasn't convinced by some of the decisions, though, especially the hatching, which felt unnecessary to the end. The obsessive depiction of owls of different kinds also felt somewhat self-indulgent and artsy rather than artistic. Aside from the affected pseudo-literary writing, that's my lingering problem with this show: it attempts to be artistic, but winds up being merely sophomorically artsy.

I want to see a Lupin III that's relevant to our world today - that addresses issues of relevance to the very different world we live in. There's no point in wallowing in old-fashioned stories of the kind that were told in the 1970s and 1980s outings. I know that, even though it's those Lupin III outings that I feel worked the best overall. Later Lupin III outings felt like hollow mimicry. At least this show is no half-hearted copy of a template. It's a bold new vision, albeit a deeply flawed one. I like that this show attempted to create a contemporary Lupin III. This show seemed somehow distantly inspired by various edgy topics in today's society - from Bhopal to child trafficking - and for that I appreciate what it tried to do, although I think they were too oblique about it still. While it's not a show I ended up liking, it's a show I very much wanted to like.

I think it's commendable to have such strong women voices as Mariko Okada and Sayo Yamamoto leading the way with a show like this. There have been women directors previously, but this is one of the first shows that was clearly a showcause of an auteur vision rather than merely a workmanlike production in which feminine and personal identity did not play a part. Their personalities come through loud and clear in the material, for good or ill. I can't bring myself to let my overwhelmingly negative opinion of the show overshadow the fact that they clearly put themselves on the line with this show and tried some daring things - some of which succeeded and others didn't - and for that they command respect and show a positive example.

Lupin the Third: The Woman Called Fujiko Mine

Four years ago, back in 2008, first-time anime series director Sayo Yamamoto debuted withMichiko and Hatchin, a phenomenal television show with solid characterization and a distinct visual and aural style that in my mind seemed like a no-brainer for US release. I was certain there would be Blu-Rays and maybe even a television run targeted at the same people who watched Cowboy Bebop and Samurai Champloo. Sayo Yamamoto embodies two of the rarest traits possessed by directors of Japanese animation. The first is that Sayo Yamamoto is under 40 years old. Although many of the current veterans of the industry got their starts directing films and television shows back when they were in their 20s, such a thing is practically unheard of in the modern risk-averse economy. Even directors considered “newcomers” or “the future of the industry” like Mamoru Hosoda (Summer Wars) or Masaaki Yuasa (Mind Game) are already in their mid-40s. The second, even rarer, trait is that unlike nearly every other notable anime director whom I and the majority of people without the aid of the Internet can think of, Sayo Yamamoto… is a lady.

But Michiko and Hatchin never did come out in America, and Yamamoto’s “reward” for a job well done was to effectively be sent “back in the trenches.” I’ve noticed anime has a tendency to do that with its first-time directors who make impressive debuts on longer-form works. Takeshi Koike spent years on Redline, which upon completion spent what seemed like forever making the rounds at international film festivals before finally being released in the US a few months ago. Hiroyuki Okiura did a heck of a job on Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade, and never got tasked to direct anything again for years. Fortunately, the hope bird’s out of the box. Okiura’s second film, A Letter to Momo, was finally released in Japanese theaters (after debuting at international film festivals and remaining yet unlicensed for US release…), and while Koike’s next directorial effort is yet to be announced, he’s on board for the second anime TV series to be directed by Sayo Yamamoto: the fourth Lupin the Third television series! 

Lupin the Third: The Woman Called Fujiko Mine marks the 40^th anniversary of Lupin anime, and much like Episode 0: First Contact, this is a “right before the gang got together” tale… only this time, the main character isn’t the world’s greatest thief, Arsene Lupin the Third. In fact, in almost Mamoru Oshii-like fashion, Lupin hasn’t even shown up in half of the episodes that have aired to date! The main character this time is thief and lady spy extraordinaire, Fujiko Mine. Contrary to the old FUNimation dubs, that’s pronounced more like “mee-nay” than an explosive or a place you’d extract ore. Fujiko’s had her share of stories focused on her over the years, but her primary role is to serve as a foil to the other characters. That’s still the case here, but this is unlike most Lupin media you’re likely to have experienced. In fact, it isn’t quite like any Lupin made to date, period.

For in making this series, the approach to handling these iconic characters has been to take them back to their original roots… and in so doing, take them into brand-new territory. Chances are likely that if you’re even aware of the Lupin Gang at all, it’s due to either the Adult Swim partial broadcast of the second TV series or the theatrical film The Castle of Cagliostro directed by Hayao Miyazaki, now of Studio Ghibli renown. Nearly all of the subsequent Lupin anime made to date has drawn upon those sources as their primary inspiration regarding how the characters behave and interact, but that is not where The Woman Called Fujiko Mine takes most of its inspiration. The shadow of Cagliostro casts far, so far that there seems to be no limit to the amount of events that transpired “back when I was just starting out, before I met all of you guys” that tend to culminate in some sort of double-cross or near-death experience. But this anime takes most of its cues from two sources: the first half of the original 1970s Lupin the Third anime series set for US release in just a few months, and the original 1960s manga by series creator “Monkey Punch,” which was actually released in English a decade ago by Tokyopop in the US. 

Describing exactly WHAT aspects from the manga carry over to this series is tricky, since other than a few key visual elements and—ahem—positions, there are no direct similarities. Were that the case, I wouldn’t like this show as much as I do. I remember buying the volumes of that manga bimonthly as they were released, but after seven volumes, $70 plus tax, and roughly a year and a half of waiting for the comic to begin resembling what I’d seen in the anime to no avail, I gave up on it. The artwork was so sketch-like in places that I couldn’t reliably tell the gunslinger Jigen Daisuke apart from other characters who happened to have a beard and hat. Figuring out just what I was actually seeing was a challenge, and the lack of characterization didn’t help clear matters up in that regard either. What’s more, Fujiko seemed to get sexually assaulted multiple times per chapter. Or perhaps they were different women with near-identical faces and figures. I couldn’t tell.

Thanks to character designs and animation direction by Takeshi Koike, Lupin the Third: The Woman Called Fujiko Mine doesn’t have any of the visual communication issues I had with the early volumes of the original manga. Indeed, the look of the series makes it the standout of an unusually strong season of anime currently airing on Japanese television. Rather than inject a dose of his Peter Chung and Yoshiaki Kawajiri-influenced aesthetic, Koike’s designs of the cast is effectively a combination of how the characters looked in the manga with the original TV show. The characters are unmistakable yet have a unique edge to them, with a shading method that I can best describe as reminiscent of Gankutsuou or the original Valkyria Chronicles on PS3: the shadows—typically a series of straight, thick black lines—remain relatively static as the characters move, as if they were stenciled outlines.

The striking visuals make it easier to accept the fact that the main thing inherited from the manga by this television series is its overall tone. The humor and action are still present, but the breezy lightheartedness has been replaced by something far more callous and mean than what you may be accustomed to seeing from Lupin the Third in anime form. For instance, the very first chapter of the manga was about Lupin stealing microfilm—this is decades before From Eroica with Love, folks—from a professor who opted to hide it inside one of his daughters, if you get my drift. That specific event has yet to occur in The Woman Called Fujiko Mine, and the fact that Fujiko is now the central character means that she’s not getting routinely backhanded down before being pounced upon, but that’s the sort of space in which these stories occupy. In terms of violence the series is almost entirely bloodless, but the approach to sexuality resembles that of the original James Bond tales that greatly inspired the creation of Lupin the Third to begin with.

Most discussions of Lupin the Third: The Woman Called Fujiko Mine begin, end, and focus almost exclusively on the nudity/sexuality aspects, which are certainly present in much higher quantities than most modern television fare. That much is immediately obvious, as the opening credits are a surreal European-themed montage where Fujiko is fully nude with breasts bared a la Belladonna of Sadness, the final film of Mushi Productions’ Animerama trilogy. But this fourth Lupin TV series has been airing in Japan for roughly a month now, and quite frankly I feel there’s more to talk about here than just arguing over whether or not such content directly inspired by 1960s/1970s-era source material is acceptable for the modern era. At the same time, there’s no way around it: Fujiko Mine does indeed spend a significant amount of time with her breasts fully exposed to the camera in this cartoon. She uses her body to manipulate others and extract information in a manner akin to the female spy Mylene Hoffman from the rather overlooked 009-1, which entails a fair amount of sex and seduction. If you have objections to the handling of such content of one, then you will almost assuredly have the same objections to the other. Indeed, there is little shortage of vocal critics in this regard, and their positions are valid ones. But the inverse is also true, as both Lupin and 009-1 started in the same year and were originally published in the same anthology. The two aren’t identical, but they share some common ancestry such that it’s quite likely that fans of ones will enjoy the other too. Come to think of it, the 009-1 anime was made roughly 40 years after its series began, too! Plus, as with Lupin, you can watch that series streaming courtesy of FUNimation, as well.

Unlike fanservice-heavy anime titles such as Queen’s Blade, all of that stuff is a means rather than the end itself. Good thing, too, because the novelty factor of cartoon boobies only goes so far. What keeps a long-time fan such as me tuning in to Lupin the Third: The Woman Called Fujiko Mine each week is seeing how these iconic characters have been changed in comparison and contrast to what’s come before. Some don’t seem too different from how they’ve been portrayed in the past. Others are almost completely unrecognizable. Will the events of this series change them to resemble their iconic states? Or does it even matter, considering that the characters are ageless and all Lupin the Third stories are standalone tales without any strict continuity binding them together? Indeed, for quite a few fans that are watching the streams on FUNimation’s website, this series marks their very first time seeing Lupin, Jigen, Fujiko, Goemon, and Zenigata. They’re not riding any nostalgia wave brought on by pachinko slot machine manufacturers. They’re engaging with Lupin as a stylish piece of action entertainment set in a world slightly exaggerated from our own with content that’s a bit risqué compared to conventional fare. In other words, like how audiences back in the 1960s and 1970s reacted to it.

After four episodes, the cast has still yet to all meet one another. In the past, initial meetings between Jigen, Lupin, and Goemon arose due to assassination attempts, but for now only Fujiko has individually gotten in contact—often in more ways than one—with each member of the cast. That includes a brand new addition created for this series: Zenigata’s partner, Oscar. Oscar looks, dresses, and behaves completely differently from any other character in the series, resembling a classic shojo protagonist in both looks and demeanor. Translation: Oscar is a rather androgynous sort who is completely hostile to women while harboring implied romantic feelings for Inspector Zenigata. The ambiguous design combined with the fact that the character’s name is “Oscar” invites direct comparison to the shojo classic The Rose of Versailles, in which the lead character is born female but named “Oscar” and raised as a man. Is the same thing going on here? Why add this character to the cast ofLupin the Third in the first place? Zenigata has been paired with partners a few times in the past, but they typically don’t stick around too long for one reason or another…

New Lupin the Third feature-length TV movies have been getting made once a year since the 1990s, and while some are “fantastic” and nearly all are “enjoyable,” over the years they’ve fallen into something of a formulaic holding pattern. As decades of stories accumulate, it becomes progressively harder to remember that once upon a time, there were no “rules” or “patterns” to these tales. There didn’t always HAVE to be a young girl in distress, or a secret evil organization that’s been ruling the world from the shadows, or all that other stuff that’s now become “standard.” For the 40^th anniversary of the anime, Sayo Yamamoto et al could have easily adhered to convention and filled in the blanks, but withThe Woman Called Fujiko Mine they’ve delivered a wake-up cry that says “you don’t have to start incorporating time travel, genies, space aliens, alternate parallel realities, or the cast ofCase Closed in order to make these characters seem fresh again. You don’t have to have the typewriter-written episode titles. You don’t have to show every character doing their trademark thing every single time. All you have to do is STOP PLAYING IT SO SAFE.”

Sex is Not a Dirty Word: or, Why The Woman Called Fujiko Mine is a Great Feminist Anime

The Woman Called Fujiko Mine is both the most nudity-heavy and one of the most thoughtfully feminist anime I have ever seen. It is a damn well made piece of art from one of the most promising up and coming directors in anime, and I’ve documented my love for it fairly extensively in the past (it plays, indeed, no small part in my blog’s creation).

But all that perhaps intimidating gushing aside, it occurs to me that I’ve never really written about the show with a prospective rather than an informed viewer in mind. And while a truly in-depth discussion of the show basically requires discussion of the ending and spoilers generally, I think I can still paint a picture for curious-but-nervous viewers as to why this show is well worth your investment.

A quick summary: Fujiko is a thief, a seductress, and a woman of many mysteries. On one job she crosses paths with famed gentleman thief Arsene Lupin III, setting off a chain of events involving an underground drug cult; strange, spying figures with owl heads, long buried memories, and the men who will one day become her partners in crime. But who is Fujiko Mine…and just who is telling this story, anyhow?

There is a lot of nudity in TWCFM – at least one scene per episode shows us the protagonist nude, sometimes in scenes that seem included purely to have some onscreen boobs. It turns a lot of people off, to the point where a fair number of (predominantly male, by my count) reviewers as the show was airing actually criticized it for having too much female nudity, for being cheap or exploitative of its lead. That’s for each individual viewer to decide at the end of the day, but let’s remember that context is everything: the POV, tone, and framing of sexuality can bring it wildly different meaning upon inspection even if it looks problematic on the surface.

The one of the thorniest issues in examining portrayals of female sexuality is how the scene is portrayed, as enunciated quite well in this comic. A Strong Female Character wearing a brass bustier and blowing things up is not inherently feminist any more than a shy ingénue is anti-feminist, and puzzling out where the lines are is all in how much power the character is given in the scene: are they aware of their own sexuality or choosing to exercise it in the given situation, is the camera objectifying regardless of whether the scene is explicitly intimate (the difference, in other words, between focusing on a woman’s breasts because she’s consciously drawing attention to them and, say, having a warrior splattered with goo in battle and framing it to look like a cum shot), does the character have dimension outside of their sexuality, etc. Hazy stuff in the abstract, I know, so let’s go through some examples.

The moments of greatest focus on Fujiko’s body – i.e. when the camera pans across her or focuses in in what would be considered a typically male-gazey way – are largely centered in the first couple of episodes. The first as an establishing character moment for Lupin, since being compromised by his lust is often what gives Fujiko the upper hand on him. The second is when Fujiko has been explicitly accused of being a seductress and little else, and seems to prove that accusation right (it’s worth noting that her breasts are comically oversized in this scene, noticeably so compared to the rest of the series).

This scene is twofold in importance: both because Fujiko is playing on what is expected of her as a woman in the story context (while also proving herself adept as a thief, killer, and manipulator), and because the series itself is using a character with a very long history where indeed eye candy and betrayalwere her only points of interest (the amount to which this was true varying based on author – running a spectrum from a young Hayao Miyazaki all the way down to some stuff that would make Frank Miller proud). By addressing that perspective in the show’s pilot, the script can then move beyond it. Both the scenes of Fujiko acting as a harem dancer and as a stripper (in the second episode) were explicit cases of Fujiko performing in order to gain an advantage over her chosen mark – and accordingly, the camera focuses on the places where she herself draws attention (and the costume design goes one step beyond, giving Fujiko a wardrobe that’s fashionable but practical when seduction isn’t her immediate tactic or cover).

These stand-out “cheesecake” scenes are all orchestrated by our lead, and all take care to give her power and agency in how and why she displays her body. In fact, the cinematography goes out of its way to make the viewer uncomfortable in the few moments where Fujiko loses the upper hand or has been exposed against her will: her body is cast in shadow when her clothes are taken in the opening of “.357 Magnum,” while her skin is colored in a pale, almost deathly cast during her most vulnerable point in “Prison of Love.”

And the longer the show goes on, the more it begins to divorce the concept of nudity from an inherently sexual context. I mentioned above that the show seems to have a “boobs per episode” quota, to the point of seeming like self-parody. But while the early going is dominated by those moments of seduction, later on we simply see Fujiko in mid and wide shots while she happens to have no clothes on, sitting in the bath or sleeping naked, existing as a woman who has the power both to choose when to be sexual and when she simply wishes to exist in her own skin without shame. Even further, the script uses straightlaced samurai Goemon’s crush on Fujiko to question the myth of the “pure” woman and his struggle to reconcile the Nice Young Woman he thought he met with the sexually confident woman he’s later confronted with.

And speaking of sex scenes, the show has (sort of) two. And it takes advantage of both to paint wildly oppositional pictures of male- versus female-focused pleasure: the latter occurs entirely in abstracted silhouette, with writhing shapes that could belong to anyone (including a manga-homage of representing the penis as the male gender symbol) and a deliberately sleazy audio track with overplayed female moans; the latter is backed by a breathy jazz number and focuses entirely on the intimacy/foreplay element, forgoing nudity entirely in favor of hands entwining and soft communication. Both scenes are false in different ways, but each prove their execution to be rooted in both individual context, character desire, and smarter commentary on the part of the director (and if there’s one thing I cannot emphasize enough, it’s how much Sayo Yamamoto’s work bears watching).

One of the primary criticisms of the inclusion of sex in fiction is that it’s done thoughtlessly, or could be excised from the narrative to no great effect, but here is a series that seeks to embrace the roots of its character while also centering her in a story where her sexual confidence would feel justified and necessary. But equally important, the story expends an equal focus in not holding every other female character to the same worldview as Fujiko. The women Fujiko meets cover a range of personality, appearance, and goals (albeit within the limitations of the show being a 1960s period piece), and the show further passes both the Bechdel and Sexy Lamp tests with ease.

Last and most vaguely, given its proximity to those spoilers I was talking about, is the series’ overall focus on narrative. The opening moments tell the viewer that they are watching a story being told, and from there it presses forward in asking increasingly difficult questions. Whose stories do we tell, and how are those stories shaped? How, particularly, are women’s stories overshadowed, shout over, and outright stolen? And how does one go about taking that power back?

Any recommendation of this show comes, by needs, with a certain amount of warning, as it delves into topics of torture, mental illness, and child abuse (though the show earns them all by context and never truly feels gratuitous) alongside its very frank sexuality. But for those who feel up to the material, it is both a gorgeous and unforgettable viewing experience. The show is available on Hulu.

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Vrai is a queer author and pop culture blogger; they are required to write about a certain gentleman thief at regular intervals lest the hives start again. You can read more essays and find out about their fiction at Fashionable Tinfoil Accessories, or remind them of the existence of Tweets.

Fujiko Mine

Character profile

Fujiko Mine is an opportunistic thief and seductress, using her considerable beauty and charm to get her hands on the prize (usually the monetary kind). In order to do that, she will even join forces with Inspector Zenigata or Lupin's opponents if it is conducive to her success.

She is also an overconfident, compulsive adventuress, enjoying her career for thrills as much as for money. Her relationship with Lupin, who is totally infatuated with her, is complicated by her attitude: While she does have a certain amount of feelings for him, and usually knows that she can count on his help in a pinch, she is not above double-crossing him if it gets her closer to the money. However, she is still considerate enough to not let him suffer from her betrayals. Thanks to her beauty and charm, she has a lot of friendly contacts all around the world and can call upon even military-grade resources when necessary.

Fujiko drives a 2014 Violet Toyota Voxy, with the license plate 09-41.

[edit]Fujiko Mine in Detective Conan

Fujiko has appeared in the following crossover specials:

In Lupin III vs. Detective Conan Fujiko sets out to steal the crown jewels of Vespania before Lupin, but later aids him and the crown princess in exposing and apprehending a traitor to the royal family. Like the rest of Lupin's gang, she is well informed that Conan Edogawa is acutally Kudo Shinichi, and once they are alone together, she proceeds to "investigate" the physical effects the Apotoxin had on his body (a little to closely).

In the 2013 movie special Lupin III vs. Detective Conan, Fujiko hold a grudge against Alan Smithee for holding her hostage and sets out on a personal revenge campaign against him. She is only momentarily distracted when meeting Ai Haibara, from whom she wishes to coax the formula for the Apotoxin in order to remain eternally young; a notion which Haibara strictly discourages.