Personally, I don't care so much for that. I'm somewhat jaded if you couldn't tell, but even so Kon cracked this silly fanboy's facade and poured in some rain and sunshine. He made my emotions grow like wonders anew upon every rewatching and reviewing of his films. To that end, I write this retrospective as a way to excise the grief, to get it out of my system. Finally for once the parting of an entertainment figure actually meant something in my life; someone who I didn't know personally made me genuinely sad upon his passing.

So come, let us mourn together, to remember and to cherish. Let us say goodbye one last time.

For sure, these films are the same in that they pop those anime cherries like few others. I think I began tracking Kon right after seeing Perfect Blue, because it was nothing like I have ever seen before. Rather, it was the first time I've seen a true realization of that notion of bringing the live action cinematic aesthetics to the land of animation. It was something that I always had hoped to see. Perhaps films like Wings of Honneamise or the Patlabor movies conveyed a similar style, but Kon made it pop, made it beyond just mimicry of live action drama. It was as if he made the animation actually work for its pay. Plus, as some might say, rape is a great plot device if you want to get some attention. Or was that a similarity between those three films? I don't know.

Unlike TV shows, films took a long time to get fansubbed and distributed back then. Doubly so as Perfect Blue came out around the time digital fansubbing was only the beginning. I still vividly remember cuddling under a blanket while watching it repeatedly during on winter break a year or two after it first screened in Japan, trying to wrap my mind around the psychological assault it unleashed in terms of both the rawness of idol life and the surreal film that it was. Well, it didn't help that at the time I just finished watching Key the Metal Idol either.

It was with mixed anticipation that I ended up watching his next major work, Millennium Actress. Fortune would have it that it debuted at what was known as the Big Apple Anime Fest, located right in Midtown Manhattan. This was during the anime boom; people were going crazy over Pokemon and Yu-Gi-Oh. This was when the world paid attention to America's Middle-Eastern conflicts. New York was a special place; it always is in some ways, but it was hard to forget how I tailed a Filia cosplayer from Penn Station to the con hotel in Times Square, in broad daylight on a Saturday, 12 months since the 9/11 attacks.

I knew that Millennium Actress was "done by the guy who did Perfect Blue" and so did most people who filled the room at its American premiere at BAAF 2002. The screening was actually an advanced screening, ahead of the wide(r) release in Japan, and that always made me feel kind of special as a part of the audience. Still, few present at the time were very keen on who Kon actually was. To be honest, his track record up to that point, while wasn't bad by any means, was simply lacking and not marketed. A lot of people in that audience, I gather, liked Perfect Blue; but what does that mean in light of Millennium Actress's subject matter?

Well, at least the audience knew how it was like to chase an idol, and we sure did that in Millennium Actress. But unlike the psychological thriller before it, Chiyoko's life story was emotionally appealing and outright inspirational. There were quite a few wet eyes by the time the credits rolled; Chiyoko's life wore on us like fresh silk pajamas--exotic, exciting, yet providing an intimate experience.

Come to think of it, that was the moment when I first fell in love with what Kon has created. Millennium Actress remains one of my most cherished film to date, anime or not. The experience was both so overwhelmingly attractive and inspirational, I almost didn't know what to do with that wellspring of emotion after its wake. Well, besides trying to buy the special limited edition R2 DVD box, at any rate. And it was not just any DVD box -- it has a heat-sensitive lid that changes color when you put your grubby palms on it, plus a truck load of goodies.

I think I settled for the regular version of the film. The added heft and cost proved daunting at the time. It turned out to be a poor choice later on; the special limited edition contained a copy of all the storyboards to Millennium Actress, on top of the various gimmicks. I still remember that importing was a rare event for me at the time; Millennium Actress was special because it included English subtitles. Thankfully Dreamworks later released a sub-only DVD of the film in America, which then I bought a couple copies to give to friends.

At this time I would like to just pause and give credit where it is due -- Maruyama's Madhouse proved itself again and again as a great creative place, that provided quality work in the the form of transformed storyboards -- Kon's exquisitely detailed storyboards and his extensive attention to details -- as feature films. I'm not sure if "exquisitely detailed" expresses how amazing his storyboards are, but Kon's mangaka background really shows in his storyboards. It feels as if he put in that kind of effort in the storyboards he composed. As revealed through various interviews, Kon micromanaged his works, that as a director he has more than just a fuzzy image of what things look like; often times he had specified down to the very last detail. This is why he has chosen animation as the medium that he works with, in order to be able to get everything just the way he wanted.

As often the case, you can't get everything just the way you wanted when it comes to localization. Kon visited BAAF 2003 in order to promote his next film, Tokyo Godfathers. It was a monumental day for yours truly because it marked the day I managed to meet him and shake his hand. Little did I know that earlier on the same day he made a fuss about how off-kilter the US promo artwork for Millennium Actress was, and refused to autograph some of them. It added a little color to someone who at first seemed enigmatic.

For those who care to profile the famous people they like, the Satoshi Kon that we know is probably different than the Satoshi Kon that the media tends to portray -- a more eccentric and aloof creator, whose genius shines through his hard work and detailed craftsmanship, that he has something in him which sets him apart from the rest. But to me, he was more of a fan, as someone who might have been considered as an otaku when he was growing up. He was someone who watched his favorite shows, anticipated them week to week (back in the days), and was able to break down pop films and TV shows into their elements, to understand and reinvent something new when it was his turn.

To me, that was Tokyo Godfathers in a nutshell. If Millennium Actress tried to get to your heart through your tear ducts, then Tokyo Godfathers was trying to do it through your lungs when you gasp for air in between bursts of laughter. Unlike its Hollywood template, though, Tokyo Godfathers was perhaps a bit too much, too intricate, and crammed too full of goodness for mainstream appreciation. I remember walking out of the theater after seeing it for the first time, and I really had to think pretty hard to make sure I got all that I was able to see. There is so much packed in his movies, in general, that it makes subsequent reviewing almost a must.

In some ways, this trait was perfected in Paranoia Agent, Kon's next major project. At that point people had largely homed in on this bright beacon of hope in a sea of commercial television cross-media franchise. Kon's work reached abroad and all over the world. And of course, Kon was witnessed by three films, and it was proof that something really special was brewing.

Paranoia Agent threw things in a loop. By all means, it was a TV series with all its trappings. It was also signature Satoshi Kon, from Hirasawa's bombastic sounds to the nonlinear blurring of nightmare and reality. Unfortunately, the challenges of a TV series lies not only in the end results, but also managing the production. Maybe Kon was truthful in his last words, because Kon confessed that his project did have a tough time wrapping up, story-wise. It was probably a mess.

At the same time, Paranoia Agent was probably Kon's most outspoken piece of work. By that I mean Paranoia Agent spoke directly to a wide palette of social ills that Kon saw, from the whole kuuki-kei versus sekai-kei debate to things like corrupt politics and comments on why TV anime are so rushed! It was a joyride; while it is unruly, it was fun.

Meanwhile, when most of us were sort of just cocking our eyebrows at the fun TV series, Paprika was the one thing that really lifted in another round of awards, recognition and fans for director Kon. It was a masterful adaptation, and it captured part of the playfulness from Paranoia Agent. Lifting key players like Megumi Hayashibara back into the mix made it a little more exciting for a slightly older fan like myself, but I was rolling and laughing when that "interview with the director" scene came on during my first viewing back in 2007.

In light of the progression of these films, it felt, to me, that creating anime is more than mere artistry. It is a commercial enterprise, a feat where the leaders of a project have to pull together hundreds and thousands of other people, each doing their part in the greater whole. At the same time, it goes to show how special Kon was, how his projects distinguished themselves from his peers'. It was surgical in how Kon balanced the exuberant, fanboy-ish elements of his work with good sense for a serious audience.

Still to me, Kon was not just an artist or animator, but also a fan. He had opinions on issues that concerned the otaku. During his retrospective talk in NY back in 2008, Kon did not shy away from all the tough questions. People asked him about the rape in Perfect Blue, the production crunch in Paranoia Agent, and even the then-recent Akihabara stabbing. Being able to come up with some fairly insightful answers to a bunch of random but relevant questions, I thought of Kon as a man who thought about the things that was relevant to him and his work.

The retrospective in NY was partly motivated by promoting Paprika's Blu-Ray and DVD release, plus a chance to demo some of Kon's artwork. That included, for example, delicious cover to the BD version of Perfect Blue (someone bring it over to America please?) as well as promo artwork to Dream Machine, (aka Yume Miru Ikiai). All of that brings together a eventful decade where Kon's work moved cinema fans all over the world.

When I was reading Kon's now-buzzing last words, it read to me that in some ways, Kon treasured his own eccentricities, that he wanted to be somehow different than the norm. At the same time, his last words were filled with apologies, which seems just all too typical for a Japanese man who was unable to finish his project at work. It was filled with treasured words for his good friends and praises for his wife. Just what is so unusual about that?

As I was recalling my notes and encounters with director Kon over the years, it hit me: that sense of abnormal/normality was how he saw the way how otaku should integrate with society. It was a simple idea that even as an otaku, as someone obsessed with something driving his life, he has to behave as a member of society, that he has to take care of his responsibilities. Perhaps that was the counterpoint to his artistry, that he was both beyond us and yet among us; that he was able to channel his rare talents, yet still able to connect with each one of us.

And so to answer my own rhetorical question: naturally, the most unusual thing about Satoshi Kon, his career, and his last words, were how it moved us.