Modernization of Stories

I have to admit to being a fan of Rumiko Takahashi; she tells some of the best stories in the manga genre and in general, I have to admit that her series are some of my favorite romances, period.  There's typically a fantasy element in each (time travel for InuYasha and shapeshifting in Ranma 1/2) and it either adds to the danger or comedy in the stories.

This is where Maison Ikkoku totally threw me for a loop.  There is no fantasy element at all; there's no martial arts.  Indeed, there's no physical danger at all, unless you count the hero, Godai's, bicycle riding.  It's a sweet little romance about Godai who has fallen in love with his widowed manager, Kyoko, and how both of them consistently drop the ball.  Throw in three drunken meddling tenants, a frustrated boy and a big dog, and you've got a regular sitcom.

It is a grownup comedy, and I say that not because of subject matter (there's nothing worse here than there is in the rest of her stuff; it's almost tame in fact) but because I see a lot of kids getting bored with the story.  No action or slapstick; it's about normal people living normal lives; their biggest struggles is unfulfilled longing, embarrassment, misunderstandings, and never enough money.

(Sounds a lot like my life, in fact.)

But what has had the most of my attention, and it's been on my mind the last couple days, is the telephone.  There is only one telephone in all the apartments and that is in the manager's room.  It becomes a big deal early in the series when they get a pay phone in the front hall.  All that could come through my mind was how much this dates the series.  You can tell it was written the Eighties.

This just wouldn't happen in this day-and-age, because the cell phone and the internet went and ruined it all.  There were some chapters in the manga where I found myself shaking my head and thinking, This story would never exist if it were written today.  I mean, the story where Godai and Kyoko end up in two different restaurants for their first date and both constantly run back-and-forth trying to find the other.  Today, they could've called each other's cell and gotten the whole mess straightened out in thirty seconds instead of the three hours they actually took here.

It's how much a difference thirty years makes.  And it's scary, too.  Thirty years and Maison Ikkoku is starting to feel like an historical romance; at the very least, dated.  And if that doesn't make you feel old, consider how we'll end up dated in another thirty years.  What happens when the internet is no longer cool?  The thought chills the blood.