Lupin III

Releasing prior to 1974 and Space Battleship Yamato, Lupin III commits fully to its episodic format. Apart from the introduction of two side characters, it has essentially zero enduring changes that occur within its overarching story, allowing it to focus on refining its episode scripts with no secondary concerns. It takes these circumstances of production to a conclusion of pure chaos, but only for roughly its opening 9 episodes, after which point its main director was fired and replaced by Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata, whose approach does not substantially reconfigure the character of the series, but it does eliminate the anarchic energy that it ... held previously for something more plain.

The disconnect between the two halves of Lupin is best encapsulated through its opening. The first opening utilises freeze frames and timing its action in tune to the music to economically convey a feeling of momentum, and its stylisation is further recognisable through the use of a split-diopter shot and rapid-cutting psychedelic imagery. The psychedelic influence also bleeds into the overall soundtrack, with music clearly influenced by the emergent, experimental developments in rock from the 60s, but without the production value to really follow through. Although simplistic and sometimes repetitive soundtracks for older anime are quite standard, the lack of production value in Lupin's case is evidenced by the fact that all the songs (including the OPs) have the unifying quality of not having any ideas for lyrics beyond just repeating the show's title.

For any series, not just one constrained to the budgets of the 1970s, Lupin’s animation is significant for carrying an unprecedented level of monumentality via its commitment to a pure level of mayhem, which is really its principal goal as a series. Compared for a moment to most heavy hitters within the shonen genre, which concern themselves with questions of psychology and morality, Lupin is a refreshingly simple construction. It does not ask questions of morality, it makes an unwavering, declarative judgement: Guns are cool, cars are cool, and its singular intention is to make full use of the fluidity and dynamism of animation to demonstrate these principal truths.
The Western genre was upended by Sam Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch in 1969, which, as with Lupin, did not invent any new ideas, it only found the force to push those relentless aspects of the genre’s most chaotic institutions to new heights. Similarly, Lupin did not find new ways to direct a car chase or a firefight, but it does have a unique strength in highlighting the intensity of these items, through a great emphasis on movement, rather than landscapes and orientating establishing shots. Accentuating the humour with this approach, whereby characters will have guns seemingly materialise in their back pockets at a moment’s notice, it commits to the intensity and emotional investment of its action sequences in a manner that might not be edited in an unusual manner, but through framing its action in a way that prioritises its intensity over any conception of ‘sense’, it has more commonality with its psychedelic and experimental musical inspirations than one may otherwise expect.

It is in full view of this stylised direction that the series’ latter half seems comparatively dry. The two openings implicitly reveal this change, as they both share a shot of Lupin running while under fire, allowing for a direct comparison. In the first opening, this is taken at a close-up, giving a view of Lupin’s facial expression and better emphasising the speed of the action, while the bullet holes are punctuated both with sound and visually. In the second, it’s taken at a medium distance, which gives the animators far less opportunity to highlight any aspect of his character, and instead of the more involved perspective of a low, Dutch angle seen in the first opening, it is completely flat, lacking in detail. The episodes themselves follow through on this de-intensified approach, treating its subject matter with a procedural distance. This is not to suggest that the later episodes approach anything close to being boring, mostly on account of the fact they are still working from the same original story, and retain the same episodic format that allows for an appropriate focus on action.

As a comprehensive entity, Lupin is always sharp in its direction, and its willingness to commit to a discontinuous, anarchic brand of action, closer related to Spy Vs Spy than something like Yamato, is precisely what allows it to remain consistently gripping across all of its episodes. But the change in tone that comes at the halfway point is one that lessens its most powerful qualities, aligning it closer to any standard TV production, rather than fully embracing its own unique strengths. The directorial style of Miyazaki and Takahata may work better for finding an emotional centre in a feature-length film, but within a singular, contained episode, the premise of Lupin works at its best when it operates under a currency of loosely defined moments of pure, distilled action and chaos. From their direction, Lupin establishes itself as a series with consistently adequate direction, animation and writing, which happens to have a few audaciously poignant outliers within its first half.

Lupin III – My All-Time Favorite Anime

I’ve watched a lot of anime over the years, but nothing has ever topped Lupin III (1971) for me. There's just something about it, the vibe, the characters, the music that hits exactly right. It’s one of those rare shows that feels effortlessly cool without even trying.

Lupin himself is the definition of a charming rogue. He’s goofy, brilliant, unpredictable, and somehow always one step ahead, even when it looks like he’s totally blown it. The chemistry between him and the rest of the gang Jigen, Goemon, Fujiko, and poor Inspector Zenigata is perfect. Whether they’re pulling off wild heists ... or just getting into trouble for the fun of it, it’s always entertaining.

What I really love is how every episode feels like its own little adventure. Some are lighthearted, some are surprisingly dark, and some are just plain weird but they all have that unique Lupin energy. And the animation, while definitely old-school, has so much style. The character designs, the expressive faces, the chaotic chase scenes it all works.

And don’t even get me started on the music. That jazzy, brassy soundtrack? Iconic. It gives the show so much personality and helps set a tone that no other anime really captures the same way.

Sure, it’s from the early ’70s, so it’s rough around the edges in spots, but honestly? That’s part of the charm. It feels raw, creative, and full of life like it was made by people who just wanted to make something fun and cool, and absolutely nailed it.

This show kickstarted one of the most beloved anime franchises of all time for a reason. And for me, it’s not just a classic it’s the favorite.

10/10 – Nothing else even comes close.

Given the success that Takahata and Miyazaki would achieve following their work on this series, it seems a bit superfluous to heap praise on them for their work here, but there is such a massive uptick in quality in the show the moment that they take over that it just has to be mentioned. The first few episodes of this first green jacket series are borderline unwatchable. The plots are incoherent, there is nothing intelligent or even interesting about the way Lupin and his cohorts behave, and Fujiko is nothing more than a sexy monster who serves no purpose other than to titillate viewers and ... to openly and obviously betray Lupin for God knows what reason. I know Monkey Punch would disagree with me, but the second half of this series is exactly what Lupin should be, and I loved every minute of it. As frustrating as the earlier episodes were, the latter ones made me that much more excited to watch future series and revisit the delight that is The Castle of Cagliostro.