Global Fandom Jamboree Conversation: Yiyi Yin and Susan Noh (Part One)
/Yiyi (respond to Susan):
I would like to thank Susan for the fascinating introduction about the English anime fansubbing and especially the emergence of fan-ripping. Sadly I have not done any research on fan-subbing myself, so that I might not be able to provide many critical thoughts. However, as a Chinese anime fan, I grew up receiving translated anime content provided by online fan-subbing groups, and I’m now seeing a similar landscape where the grass-root fan-subbing groups were largely declined. For me, it is particularly interesting to see how the traditional distinction between the competitive camps, namely the speed-subbers and quality-subbers, has been challenged by the existence of fan-rippers who can distribute the official translated version of anime most rapidly. Fan-subbing can be a very good case indicating how fan practices and engagement might react to the shifting media industry and the formal media distribution portals. As Susan also mentioned, fan-subbing served primarily for accessibility in the earlier days. Similarly, in my interviews with Chinese ACG fans, they recalled that they were simply “fed” by the fan-subbing groups in the late 1990s as there was nothing else to consume. Today the problem of accessibility has been replaced by the difficulty to consume media content from different streaming services, and the fan-rippers emerged to solve the problem by downloading and distributing the content.
One thing I’ve been curious about throughout the reading was: Who were the fan-rippers? More specifically, to what extent were they also fans? I ask the questions because the ripping seems to require much less labor the time than translating and subbing, which somewhat makes the fan-ripping less a “fannish” practice but more “commercial”. For example, there are several non-official video sites and Apps in China that do similar things as fan-rippers, as they rip the content from streaming services and distribute it onto their own sites. Unlike fan-subbing groups, these ripping websites gained profit from advertisements and low subscription prices. These websites and Apps are very popular among common audiences and consumers (partially because the accessibility remains a problem to Chinese audiences), but fans would rather embrace the version released by fan-subbing groups to consume the content with better “quality”. As Susan emphasized, the “quality” remains as the important cultural capital of fan-subbing groups not only because the text type or special effect was necessarily needed by fans, but also because it indicated the distinctive time and effort dedicated by fans. Consequently, in China, the conflict between fan-ripping and fan-subbing was always paralleled with the binary of fans/non-fans, or true/fake fans. To some extent, fan-ripping seems to be recognized by fans more within the formal economy rather than the informal economy in China. I’m thus particularly interested in how fans and the fan-rippers themselves consider their identities, and how they might share the content in specifically different ways.
Another topic that interests me is the blurring boundary between formal and informal economy, as Susan mentioned that the co-option of fan-subbing groups was not likely to happen in the English-speaking anime fandoms. A quite interesting observation for me is that in China it is the platformization of fandoms that progresses this kind of co-option, in which the platform exploits but also saves the fan-subbing groups by hiring them as “professional fan-subbers” to distribute the content with the quality that fans need. For example, the video site Bilibili, the largest video platform for ACG content and subcultural fans in China, began to collaborate with fan groups and fan-subbing groups recently. In some cases, Bilibili purchased the license from the distribution company and collaborated with the fan-subbing groups to produce the subtitles. The subtitles usually include special text type and animation, especially during the openings/endings and special scenes such as charm spelling. The subtitles might also include extra information for fans or for the common audience to learn when watching the anime series. This kind of co-option can now be seen also in the cases of English drama and film fandoms. In its recent release of The Lord of the Ring, Bilibili worked with the fan group “LotR Chinese Wiki” to produce the official version of the subtitle with the beautiful translation of poems in the background soundtrack.
In the case of Bilibili, the co-option happens when the platform, which purchases the license from the content distributor and needs to translate it, tries to snatch the fans from fan-subbing groups. The “quality” still plays a significant role that justifies the survival of fan-subbing groups and distinguishes fan-subbing from either official or speed-subbing works. However, the “quality” is also becoming the means for industrial players to exploit labor within the formal economy. I’m thus interested in how platformization and digital capitalism might influence fan practices such as fan-subbing. From the case of Bilibili, I think the platformized fan labor might be the way that the declining fan-subbing groups reenter the neoliberal market. Yet, the underlying ideology within the informal economy that “quality as the proof of love” has been largely replaced by the social media logic of visibility or popularity in van Dijck’s term.
Susan (respond to Yiyi):
An interesting point that Yiyi brings up in her response is this perceived divide between the commercial, formal economy of media distribution and the fannish shadow economy, which helps to sustain a wider web of interest. Indeed, as Yiyi has accurately pointed out, fan-rippers often help to bridge the gaps between franchises that are split apart due to digital platforms vying for popular media titles. Particularly for Japanese anime, narratives can expand to multiple seasons, movies, remakes, OVAs (original video animation), and more. These wide-spanning franchises are often fractured in their distribution along the lines of streaming networks. For example, for the enormously popular Neon Genesis Evangelion franchise, Netflix currently streams the original anime series and two films in the United States, but Amazon Prime distributes the newest filmic remakes, as well as a documentary series revolving around the series creator. Unless one has the economic means to legally access all of this content through streaming subscriptions, which is often not the case for younger viewerships, fansubbed and ripped content continues to be the primary means in which fans can gain access to all of the fragments of a media franchise. As part of my own research, I engaged in an online survey of anime fans within the United States regarding where they got their content and why they chose the particular routes that they did. Unsurprisingly, not being able to afford all subscriptions to legally gain access to their desired anime content was one significant reason why fans continued to turn towards ripped and pirated content.
Certainly, these dynamics may continue to change as fans witnessed announcements in 2021 of the consolidation of two major anime streaming portals, Funimation and Crunchyroll, in the North American anime streaming scene. This merging may help in further centralizing a formal access point for fans. Further, as anime industry related news regarding the challenges and hardships of industry laborers continue to travel from Japan to the rest of the world, fans may also reconsider where they decide to source their content along the lines of personal ethics.
Returning back to the divides between fansubbing groups, rippers, and formal streaming services, it should be noted that an antagonistic relationship between fansubbers and services like Funimation and Crunchyroll need not have necessarily been a foregone conclusion. As a case in point, Crunchyroll began as a pirating site for anime fans, before they changed their branding and models of operation in order to collaborate directly with Japanese anime studios. Because of the streaming service’s legally questionable beginnings, gaining the trust of Japanese studios was an uphill battle for the founders of Crunchyroll. Becoming a more legitimate global distributor required purging fansubbed content from their catalogues, which drew critique from both formal industry players and fansubbers alike.
Instead of the rather antagonistic route that formal North American anime distributors and tertiary anime companies took towards English-language fansubbers, there is also an alternative tactic that could have been engaged, where industries co-opt fansubbers’ talents and help them to professionalize, fostering a potentially more harmonious relationship. There have been moments where fansubbers and formal distributors have collaborated successfully with one another, and these collaborations may be seen as a source of pride by fansubbing groups due to the legitimacy and testament to quality that is implied in such relationships. For example, one fansubber that I interviewed enthusiastically recounted how the popularity of their group’s fansubs influenced the studio behind a widely-known anime series in using the group’s naming conventions within the formal subtitles. However, it seems like these moments remain unlikely exceptions, particularly when considering the punitive measures that have been taken against anime piracy within the United States, as well as the rhetorical strategies that have been leveraged against fansubbers in order to try to delimit their practices. For example, on June 8, 2003, Anime News Network released an article titled, “A New Ethical Code for Digital Fansubbing,” which sought to encourage the formation of some ground rules for fansubbing groups. For example, suggestions included ensuring that a fansubber always aims to minimize their impact on the commercial sphere and that motivations for doing such labor should never be for personal fame or profit. Of course, these rules tend to go against the ethos of fansubbing, particularly in the contemporary moment, when fansubbing tends to differentiate itself through discourses around quality, as well as a more personal interest in learning the technicalities and artistry behind the trade. Far from not attempting “to match or better the quality of a professional DVD,” fansubbers continue to push the limits of what fansubbing can do or be both in technique and artistry. For example, productive fansubbers have programmed scripts that help to automate certain steps of the process in order to ease the labor of their fellow fansubber, as well as make the communication processes between fansubber and their viewerships smoother. Given this ethos of constant self-improvement and exploration that characterizes the industrious fansubber, it is no surprise that fansub groups did not fall in line with these ethical codes that were outlined for them.
While I would argue that fansubbing is not necessarily “dead,” we are certainly witnessing a moment when former motivations that once encouraged individuals to pick up the labor of fansubbing are no longer so prevalent. Challenged both by streaming services and ripping groups alike, the existence of fansubbers are intimately connected to the whims of digital platforms and portals. Contrary to the “social media logic of visibility or popularity,” fansubbing is seeing a decline in returns for both factors, as content hungry fans are more likely to default to what is most convenient and available fastest (simulcasting or ripping), as opposed to what is arguably of better quality. In this manner, perhaps the current state of English fansubbing reflects an exception to this rule that Yiyi has stated at the end of her response.
