In the not-too-distant future, somewhere in time and space, half of the Earth's population has been wiped out by continuing global non-nuclear war. Out of the resultant mess, little pockets of civilization have begun to bloom, and serve as beacons of utopian lemony-freshness to those still alive; many of whom are still fighting, despite having forgotten why they started in the first place.

Chief among these is Olympus; a sprawling mass of shiny goodness, governed by a pair of titanic supercomputers (Because that's always a good idea. Remember that virus I mentioned earlier?). In addition to this machine governance, humanity is further discouraged from shoving a grenade up its own rectum again by the presence of Bioroids: idealized human clones who have had their capacity for icky negative emotions either excised altogether, or at least greatly reduced. Cyborgs-war survivors who've had various bits replaced by artificial facsimiles-complete the heady concoction that is this future society.

At the center of it all is Deunan Knute: former soldier, present policewoman, and all-around cute-as-a-button ass-kicker. And, in my falsely-humble opinion, a shining example of a heroine done right. On the physical side of things, yes, she is unsurprisingly hotter than a two-dollar pistol, but in an unobtrusive, believably-proportioned sort of way. Personality-wise, she seems to exist within a contradictory but very relatable triangle deliniated by recklessness, nonchalance, and vulnerability; generally trading off dominance, but occasionally manifesting all at once. Much more importanly, she does not behave in the manner of a petulant three-year old, has not had one or both of her arms replaced with hydraulic testicle-squashers, and never, under any circumstances, says any phrase beginning with "Girls" and ending with "too! Tee hee!"

Now, I may be beating a horse skeleton, considering that crotchety old rants of this same type have popped up many times prior to this - many of them written by me - and that the antiquated heroine-type I'm disparaging - that is, female characters who are labeled as "strong" and "independent" by apparent virtue of their constant, obsessive need to weigh themselves against the nearest man - is just that, and conversely, characters like Deunan are becoming less and less rare, it's just that I never get tired of stressing how delightful I find heroines who feel compelled to compare themselves to no one but themselves.

Something troubles me though. In the preceding paragraph and gigantic run-on sentence, I'm noticing an unsettling amount of maturity and sensitivity on my part. This wouldn't normally be an issue, as I would in all likelihood just be trying to wend my way into someone's good graces, but I'm afraid I actually meant it in this case. And we all know who Mr. Maturity and Mr. Sensitivity live next door to, don't we kids? That's right: Mr. Gayness.

So, in light of the fact that my every thought and deed is governed by piercingly-intense homophobia, I would just like to reiterate that I only like stupid, weak-willed women with nightmarishly-huge breasts.

Okay, crisis averted. Where was I? Ah yes, characters. Occupying the other lead role, or the highest-ranking supporting role, or whatever, is Deunan's partner/fiancee, burly man-machine Briareos, flexing his cyborg-pecks for the ladies. See, Briareos was jacked up something fierce during the war, and has had just about everything save for his brain robotified as a result of his injuries.

This provides arguably the most pronounced underlying tension in the whole place, as Deunan and Briareos are all to heck in love, with Deunan occasionally planting smooches on the approximate point where his mouth would be if he had one, but awkwardness arises as a result of Briareos being 90% metal, and having rabbit ears and a face consisting almost exclusively of eyes, and maybe not having a pee-pee anymore.

The situation is further complicated by the arrival of Tereus - an experimental combat bioroid cloned from Briareos' DNA - who bears a striking resemblance to Briareos circa his pre-bunny-bot days - a time when he was apparently almost chick-beautiful- and who more than likely does have a pee-pee. Deunan avoids him like the plague at first, due to the fact that, by her own admission, he makes her feel confused in her girl-zone (maybe not in those exact words).

However, the three of them have to learn to get along, on account of there's a crisis that needs addressing. The city's cyborg population has started to go ape-feces, and despite having the tastiest anti-hacking measures around, Briareos is also acting a bit wonky. But wait, now the regular humans are going weird as well! What the heck could be causing this? Certainly not the Connexus; a widely-used PDA-esque contraption consisting of what appears to be a pair of bluetooth douche-beans that project a holographic HUD visor across the eyes, allowing its user to surf the web, check e-mail, and totally turn into a zombie.

Seriously, this is the only part of the plot that bugged me a tad. It is so painfully obvious to anyone with eyeballs and a pulse that the Connexus is a tool of the devillll. Immediately upon its introduction, everyone in the audience age six months and older will have it pegged for a naughtiness-maker. It's like the writers didn't even try to be subtle about it at all. Or perhaps they didn't think they had to be, because they didn't count on the fact that most of the viewers will have also seen that episode of Star Trek: TNG with the VR game that has tornado-sex with your brain.

Anyway, things ensue, and Deunan and co. go streaking off in their Landmates (Heinlein-esque powered suits designed for doing coolness in), eight million explosions happen, and there is a ton of super-sexy gunplay. You may have noticed that John Woo is the producer? Yeah, you don't want me to try and relate to you the nerd-plotz that happened when I found that out. I would watch a two-hour reel of cat poop rolling down a hill if John Woo produced it. No lie.

So, now that I've made my review all huge and ugly with the big, unwieldy plot synopsis that you just had to have, I've got to wrap up the recommendation portion in a hurry, and the best way I know how to do that is with a creepy metaphor: I would like to turn Appleseed: Ex Machina into a cream and rub it all over my body.

For a less revolting point of recommendation aimed specifically at non-anime fans, allow me to present my dad, who was in the room during my review-viewing, and was heard to remark at the end of it all, with an obvious note of dismay in his voice, "I came dangerously close to getting what was going on."

He brings up an excellent point. That being, that enjoying and understanding Appleseed: Ex Machina does not require any sort of degree from the University of Japanese Weirdness. So now none of you have any reason not to see it. The mental image of my salve-caked blubber-golem self compels you!