Welcome, readers, to Late to the Party , a column that's right on time when it comes to catching up on anime everyone's already watched. This column addresses a universal truth in regard to being an anime fan: an anime backlog is quite the powerful beast. Many of us have one, where we amass more and more content we have designated in the "planning to watch" category. How and why it takes so long to actually address this task varies from person to person, but the gratification of finally allocating the time is really quite splendid. Occasionally, it’s by watching a classic anime from yesteryear that you’ve had your eye on for quite some time. In other instances, it’s a more recent premiere that just slipped by. This month, I wanted to go back. Way back. Like, way, way back, to watch an anime that premiered almost an entire year before I was even born. I can’t tell whether that makes me feel less old, or somehow even older . But I digress. My Oldest Anime Studio: APPP ( Golden Boy , Fist of the Blue Sky , Roujin Z ) First aired: July 1987 (almost 38 years late to the party! That’s a new record for me, I’ll have you know.) If you’ll allow me a moment’s indulgence, I have something of a shameful admission to confess. Despite the wealth of anime I have partaken in over the years, I am woefully clueless when it comes to the formative era known as the ‘80s. Back when I was a kid, the only ‘80s anime I watched were Dragon Ball and Dragon Ball Z — and of course, at the time, many of us in the western world weren’t even aware that they had been around for over a decade — to later be consolidated with such essential viewing as Akira and the timeless tales of Studio Ghibli. I’m doing the best in my adulthood to atone for my ignorance, one staple at a time. And this is how I landed upon Robot Carnival , by far the eldest anime I have covered for this column so far (claiming the title from 2003’s Kaleido Star ). Often Whimsical, Sometimes Confronting An anthology of nine short films from various heavy hitting directors of the era, Robot Carnival could be best described as an exploration in imagination, in a manner that is often whimsical, sometimes confronting, and always in a manner that warrants further discussion. As notional as that summation might look on paper, the reason behind it is that all but two of the films are entirely devoid of dialogue. This places the emphasis on animation to express a feeling or idea, spawning worlds that are rich and alive. Needless to say, then, each film has been handled with utmost care, boasting character designs that are filled to the brim with personality. The nearest comparison I could draw is Disney’s seminal Fantasia , though it’s not exactly a 1-to-1 comparison, with Robot Carnival having a much heavier focus on narrative. Perhaps a more apt descriptor would be a series of extended music videos, seamlessly marrying sight, sound, and story. Quite quickly, I took note of something that I had only subconsciously realized from viewing the aforementioned Akira; and that is how this style of animation was capable of creating mechanical creations that are wonderfully dreadful and foreboding. It’s so mean, so unpleasant, so immediately eye-catching with its dangerous appeal. RELATED: How an 80s Scifi Movie Changed the Destiny of Anime And right from the opening segment, this juxtaposition of the “wonders of technology” is made apparent in striking fashion, with the eponymous Robot Carnival plowing through a village. It sends people and animals scattering in its wake, while its mechanized dancers whiz about in oblivious fashion. A garish display of brutality, symbolic of the sinister nature of heartless devices. And yes, I will circle back to that core concept more than once, so please bear with me. A New Sense of Curiosity From segment to segment, you’re met with a new sense of curiosity, leaving yourself asking whether this is a celebration of technology, a warning of its dangers, or simply an exposition on what could someday come to fruition. Whether it’s in the way a mad scientist brings his creation to life, or a robotic wizard wreaking havoc in Tokyo, even the most upbeat tales here carry an underlying caution that is so damned refreshing in 2025. To wit, in 1987 we were witnessing storytellers crafting worlds wherein robots are leading to the downfall of humanity. In 2025, there are people incapable of constructing a simple email without relying on AI throughout — dystopian in its own way, albeit decidedly less violent. But don’t let my own agenda sway your opinion. Whether you choose to explore the nuance or not, you’re certainly going to find something here to your own tastes. There’s the charming love story of Star Light Angel , the gripping battle of good and evil found within Deprive , or the chilling deviance of Presence . Then, there’s my personal favorite, Cloud , which depicts a lone little bot wandering through time and space. The latter does so much with so little in the way of an explicit narrative, likely the most abstract of the nine pieces. It’s a perfect meld of stunning visual design and a pristine soundtrack — which is as good a time as any to mention Robot Carnival ’s musical score, helmed by the legendary Joe Hisaishi. Just as the films run the gamut between quiet contemplation, high octane action, sweet infatuation, and occasional unabashed silliness, so too does the auditory accoutrement. It doesn’t matter whether you’re after classical piano pieces or exquisitely ‘80s pop rock, it’s all there and it’s all glorious. A Deeply Introspective Piece of Cinema At one point during my viewing session, I paused the film to make dinner, and it was only at this point that I realized just how hooked in I had become; as if returning to the normalcy of real life was jarring after partaking in this deeply introspective piece of cinema. It’s something that really left me thinking, both during and after its runtime. As I’ve alluded to, in many ways Robot Carnival is a celebration of the cyberpunk uprising, in the same vein as Daft Punk or their more recent successors, such as the Canadian electro-funk band, TWRP. RELATED: When Leiji Matsumoto Met Daft Punk, the Result Was Anime History In other ways, it feels more like an artistic remonstrance to a catastrophic future that we somehow managed to careen toward, regardless. In our fascination to create, we have potentially robbed ourselves of the ability to think independently, and one can only wonder where things will progress from there. Technology once employed to replace processes is now being wielded to replace people , and quite frankly, that terrifies me. But once again, my somewhat alarmist interpretation need not be the only one worth mentioning, and such is the nature of good, worthwhile art. You may see something far more optimistic, after all. I just urge you to give it a shot and reflect upon where you land in the discussion.
