Hello folks, and welcome back to Wrong Every Time! I’ve got a couple choice film cuts for you all today, as we explored an old American classic, and a more recent anime one. I’d been meaning to get to Tekkonkinkreet forever, and while I loved the film, I’m a little annoyed that watching it has only left me with even more homework, as now I must read everything Taiyo Matsumoto has ever written. Additionally, we’ve hit the second act break in Wano, which I’ve decided is a fine opportunity to take stock of the journey so far. And before you even ask, no I have not yet seen the final Evangelion movie, but I will as soon as possible! Believe me, you folks will be the first to know, so long as I see it on a Tuesday night and don’t talk to anyone else before my Wednesday post goes up. In the meantime, let’s break down some films!

First up this week was 12 Angry Men, a classic courtroom drama centered around the twelve jurors of a murder trial. Tasked with potentially sentencing to death a young man who allegedly murdered his father, all but one of the jurors are initially certain of his guilt – but that one dissenter holds out, and over the course of his arguments, reveals the true complexity of truth and justice.

12 Angry Men takes place almost entirely within one single chamber, and yet it feels as dynamic and thrilling as any globetrotting adventure. Each of the twelve jurors have a distinct personality and manner of presentation, and with Henry Fonda leading them as the lone dissenter, they embroil themselves in a dazzling series of debates and deductions. The mechanics of the case are illustrated gracefully over the course of their arguments, and each juror Fonda convinces feels like a distinct, hard-earned victory.

The film succeeds brilliantly as a page-turning thriller, owing both to the vivid interplay of the juror personalities, as well as the masterful structural work done to construct a clear narrative arc out of informal debate. Each separate juror is essentially an “antagonist” in their own right, and as the film proceeds, each new vote call offers a rush of momentum and elation. Watching Fonda vary up his tactics to dismantle his various opponents is a delight; you really feel the momentum swing with each rhetorical victory, as he traps opponents in logical loops of their own making.

As well as its success as a straightforward thriller, 12 Angry Men also offers an intriguing reflection on the fundamental nature of justice, and the distance between our socially assumed and personal values. Over time, fault lines like the jurors’ disparate class or racial background offer new wrinkles in the interpretation of allegedly “objective” evidence and testimony, and the film’s own characters readily acknowledge that most desperate defendants don’t have a Henry Fonda to support them. Justice is an ephemeral thing, and the film’s arguments consistently demonstrate how our judgments cannot help but reflect our entire life story. Even the American dream is put on the stand, as the contrasting values of the jurors illustrate the differences between “American justice” as it is conceived and practiced. 12 Angry Men is a gripping drama, an efficient collection of character studies, and a pointed reflection on justice, society, and identity. I highly recommend checking it out.

After that, we checked out an anime film I’ve been meaning to get to for years, the dazzling Tekkonkinkreet. Based on a manga by the reliable Taiyo Matsumoto, Tekkonkinkreet introduces us to Black and White, two young boys who serve as the self-appointed guardians of Treasure Town. You could describe Treasure Town as Tekkonkinkreet’s third protagonist – the town is an awe-inspiring tableau of ramshackle markets and apartments built on top of each other, a sprawling tribute to the beauty of urban decay. With this magnificent city threatened by a real estate developer, Black and White must fight back to defend their home, even as they come to understand this life of freedom cannot last forever.

Tekkonkinkreet is exuberant and melancholic in equal measure, as comfortable bounding above the roofs of its city as it is languishing in Treasure Town’s gutters. The film is brought to life through a remarkable fusion of CG and traditional animation that still looks excellent today, and features plenty of ambitious tracking shots and other tricks of cinematography. It’s an ingenious work of technical prowess, but its cleverness always works in service of its fundamental artistry – the film’s painted backgrounds are gorgeous from start to finish, and the animators here have brought Matsumoto’s loosely defined art to life with incredible personality.

It’s delightful simply to spend time in Treasure Town, coming to understand the various alliances and local hot spots, and peering down alleys so vividly painted they feel almost alive. The film isn’t really an action movie, but its moments of violence are electrifying in their own way – bodies move with a remarkable sense of solidity and speed, making for a sharp contrast with the film’s more fanciful elements. And of course, Matsumoto’s idiosyncratic style of dialogue and characterization offers a poetic counterpoint to the visual beauty, emphasizing both the clumsiness and the necessity of Black and White’s bond. I felt the last act had to rush through some material that wasn’t properly set up by the first half, but otherwise don’t really have any complaints about this exceedingly generous film. Another easy recommendation!

After that, we veered back into horror with The Sacrament, which can accurately be summed up as a found footage interpretation of the Jonestown Massacre. The film follows two VICE journalists, who accompany a third friend as he attempts to extract his sister from a cult known as “Eden Parish.” Flown by helicopter to a remote settlement, the three are initially impressed by the community they find, until an ominous interview with the community’s “Father” (Gene Jones) and a frightened little girl clue them in to something darker under the surface.

As you might expect, The Sacrament is a long, anxious walk towards a grotesque finale, with our understanding of the ending to come doing nothing to diminish the intensity of its execution. The film isn’t really interested in the substance of these people’s lives – it’s largely just atmosphere building into exploitation horror, but succeeds well on both those fronts. The Sacrament’s greatest asset by far is Gene Jones’ performance as the leader of Eden Parish; he exudes a tremendous aura of paternal authority and deeper menace, and his presence dominates the second half of the film. The film can be a lot to handle, but I found it to be an altogether effective twist on found footage convention.

Meanwhile, we’re still doing our best to ration the remaining One Piece, an experience I recently documented over on Crunchyroll. In spite of this, Wano is vanishing fast; we just recently passed the end of Act II, putting us on track to be caught up in just a few short weeks.

I still haven’t come to terms with that yet, but in the meantime, holy shit Wano! As I mentioned before, One Piece experienced a dramatic shift in visual style as we transitioned to this latest arc, embracing thicker linework, aggressive lighting filters, and richer colors to commemorate this feudal Japan-themed adventure. Along with these fundamental stylistic changes, the show has also substantially enhanced its quantity of top-tier action cuts, and gained a greater fluidity of motion, purposefulness of cinematography, and lushness of background art in basically all circumstances.

As you might expect, these substantial improvements to basically every element of One Piece’s visual execution have made Wano a real treat to experience. For most of One Piece, the show’s visual execution was fairly dubious, and essentially just a downside I tolerated in order to enjoy the closest thing anime has to long-form fantasy literature. With the Wano upgrades, One Piece is now one of the better-looking action anime out there, offering genuinely astonishing action cuts every few episodes, and filling in the space between with sturdily executed drama and lots of dynamic storyboards. Oda’s storytelling ambition and ability have grown with every new arc, and Wano is no exception – it’s delightful seeing these characters wind away from and back towards each other, as a dozen sub-conflicts and thirty distinct perspectives topple over each other.

The three act structure almost feels like Oda flexing at this point, a winking acknowledgment that he is now a master of narrative form, who knows where every piece will go before he even sets pen to paper. Wano possesses a confidence of intent and clarity of scale that would seem impossible for a story with so many moving parts, offering satisfying “ah, of course!” moments at every opportunity. And Wano’s significance within the larger One Piece world has been so firmly established that you can palpably feel the history-making significance of each major turn, as these leaders grapple for supremacy of the New World. Among its many, many strengths, One Piece’s ability to portray an entire living world makes Wano feel as desperate and climactic as it should. We have at last reached the point where Luffy’s actions might either save this world or destroy it.