Essential Films: Akira (1988)

After the opening credits in Katsuhiro Otomo's science-fiction film Akira, the first thing that we see is a small, blinking sign outside of a restaurant-- this is what I consider to be the true "first shot" in the movie. I'm placing a temporary emphasis on this shot in particular, because when I saw this movie for the very first time, for some strange reason, this image floored me. Because, up until this point in the film, everything that we've seen has been on a scale of the grandiose-- a city being blown up by an atomic bomb, a massive crater, and a new city growing out from the ashes of the old one. But here, we see for the first time the camera focusing on small space: and we see the film show us in one condensed moment the exact level of detail and naturalism that we're going to be immersed in for the rest of the movie. Immense care is taken to portray the texture in both the stone walls and the plastic casing on the sign, as well as the rust trailing down and staining the wall, while a soft glow diffuses around the object in the specific way that you'd naturally expect it to. Of course, I'm dwelling on a personal experience, because this one magnificent shot is actually one of the least impressive shots that you'll see throughout the film.

I guess what I'm trying to say here is that Akira is the kind of film that is centered around stunning you, and around taking your breath away. There is a sense of profound mystery that pervades it, and it's a kind of experience that is very difficult to describe, especially considering how words like "awesome", "amazing", or "stupendous" don't really carry the weight of their original meaning anymore. "Overwhelming" is a better word, but it fails to capture both the terror and wonder felt at the images and ideas that this film presents, that feeling that comes specifically from the genre of Lovecraftian horror, where you're forced to reckon with something that is beyond reckoning, like, for instance, some kind ominous force or power that reaches into the furthest limits of space and time and makes you so horribly aware of how small your life, your world, and the scope of your understanding is. In Akira, this is the situation that the characters, (and by extension, the audience) are presented with. Therefore, the only adjective which I believe can truly encapsulate this film is "devastating".

Watching a film like this, then, can something of a challenge for viewers-- there's a particular level of endurance that is required, firstly, because of the level of violent and grotesque imagery that the film uses to enforce its themes of the cataclysmic, and secondly, because of the film's difficult presentation. The plot of the film has been aptly described by The Guardian as being "straightforward to some, impenetrable to others".¹ Akira has not one, but three protagonists: Kaneda, the leader of a teen biker gang; Tetsuo, his best friend and sidekick; and Kei, an agent of a secret organization planning to rebel against the government. The central story kicks into gear when Tetsuo is captured by the government and subjected to some weird experiments, whereupon he gains psychokinetic abilities and goes power-crazy-- meanwhile, Kaneda teams up with Kei to rescue him. Seems simple, right? But the film goes through a very roundabout way of presenting this story, often trailing off to follow side-characters or introducing us to people, places, and concepts that we're in no way familiar with. Instead, it slowly drags us into the world of the story. It's for this reason that some audiences of today may have an initially negative reaction to it. Akira doesn't spell everything out for you, and it's unlikely that you'll be able to mentally tie up every single story thread on the first watch. In this way, you're placed in the shoes of the central characters, who find themselves tangled up in a complicated government plot with no idea what's going on-- you get this sense that there's a much larger world surrounding the story that you're only seeing a small part of.

So, how do we respond to all of this? I believe that if you approach this film with patience, you'll be immensely rewarded. Why? Because this film is one of those rare movies which exists in a specific time and place, representing the culture from which it came so perfectly that it can almost be considered a historical artifact, but also presenting themes and ideas so universal and yet so unique that they tap into a special place in the human subconscious, producing a feeling that you're seeing something that is both foreign and yet strangely familiar at the same time. Some movies define their cultural contexts, and some movies transcend them, but this film somehow achieves both, and that's something to be explored. So let's take a look at, one by one, the ways in which Akira does this.

First, let's talk a little bit about the movie's cultural legacy. Since its release in 1988, Akira has rapidly achieved cult classic status, and hence has a secondhand impact on the world of sci-fi today through the long list of American pop culture artifacts which it inspired: this includes films like Chronicle, Looper, or Dark City, and... Kanye West? Yeah, apparently. The film is also a touchstone example of cyberpunk, a genre defined by both its roots in films noir and its portrayals of technologically advanced dystopias. Along with Ridley Scott's Blade Runner, which debuted in American theaters only six years earlier, Akira could be considered one of the biggest film influences in shaping the aesthetics of the genre. But more importantly, Akira was a film which broke barriers. While Disney was in the painful struggle of its dark age period, Akira presented an alternative to the child-oriented sentimentalism that dominated other animated films at the time. "Led by Akira, anime expanded the idea of what animation could be: violent, abrasive, radically stylized, thoughtful and above all, adult."² Akira accomplished what earlier filmmakers like Ralph Bakshi and Martin Rosen had tried to do with their films: it introduced mainstream culture to animation for adult audiences, and in doing so, it led to the massive surge of American interest in anime that took off in the late 80s to early 90s. Some critics even go so far as to say that this film was largely responsible for bringing anime to western audiences.

But what was it about Akira that made it so distinct from most other anime films up until that point? Well, first, there's the matter of craft. One of the first things that's noticeable about Akira is its grandiose and epic nature-- at just over two hours, it remains longer than most animated films today, being comprised of over 2,000 different shots. The film is based off of Otomo's 2000 page manga of the same name, as well as 2,000 additional pages of notebook material that Otomo sketched for the film specifically. Akira draws inspiration from eastern and western influences in equal measure; it was particularly shaped by the aforementioned Blade Runner, as well as the manga series and accompanying anime Tetsujin 28-gō. Over 70 animators were employed in the film's production, making use of several complex and cutting-edge techniques, such as the breathtaking array of colors that are used in the film. 237 different colors were used, 50 of which were "new colors" developed specifically for the film. Furthermore, Akira was animated on ones, which in animation means that the film runs on 24 frames per second, as opposed to the usual 12. But perhaps one of the more noticeable differences that this film has from most other previous anime is that the dialogue is pre-recorded: granted, having the character's mouths match up perfectly with the dialogue is something that you don't quite get with the English dub. But the movements of the characters are much more realistic than those of previous cartoons because the animators are working around the inflections in the actor's voices, meaning that the heads and bodies of the characters are always moving, as opposed to the relatively static figures of earlier Japanese properties such as Speed Racer. It's no surprise, then, that this was the most expensive Japanese animated film ever made at the time. Craftsmanship and attention to detail seep out of every corner, whether you're looking at the glowing trail of light that follows the bikes, or a small streak of water left on the floor by a glass rolling across a carpet. Here, the phrase "every frame is a painting" takes on a very literal meaning.

But, getting back to the key idea, let's take a look at the cultural context of Akira and how that relates to the film's atmosphere of devastation. Rewinding back past the flickering sign which I discussed earlier, images of catastrophe and desolation are imminent even within the opening credits. The first image we're shown onscreen is 1980s Tokyo, obliterated by a massive explosion. Fast forward thirty years and a bustling metropolis has sprung up from the ashes of the former city. We then see the crater from the original explosion and the film's title: we are, from the very beginning, warned that history will repeat itself. This first explosion that we see is no doubt a metaphor for the bombs dropped on Nagasaki and Hiroshima: fast forward thirty or forty years from that event and you have what was to the film's creator present-day Japan, hence Neo-Tokyo as shown here is not just a hypothetical reality, but a direct mirror to the world that the director saw around him. In the film, Neo-Tokyo is an illustration of a society embroiled in chaos. Teen angst dominates the screen, as we see parentless youth run renegade through an impoverished dystopia, wreaking havoc on civilians. Meanwhile, corrupt businessmen and insurgent military leaders compete for power in the equally decadent upper class. By infusing its narrative with such levels of destruction and energy, Akira unveils the inner tension hiding beneath the surface of a culture so oriented around the ideas of structure and civility.

In her essay on Akira and postmodernism, Dr. Isolde Standish of the University of London writes that "the film makes disjointed references to politically unstable historical periods to create a dystopian view of the future."³ Within Akira, both past, present, and future are explored simultaneously, creating an environment which is not so much representative of one specific moment in Japanese history, but rather of an evolution in the collective mindset taking place over a long period of time. This evolution is presented through the metamorphosis of the film's antihero Tetsuo: though Tetsuo enters the story as an underling, he soon develops powers at a staggering pace, until they eventually escalate beyond his control. This presents a direct parallel to Japan's status as a country. With the end of World War II launching them into the modern world, Japan faced massive changes in the form of cultural, technological, and economic growth. Tetsuo's final transformation is grotesque beyond words, but it stands as a representation of the explosion of industry that Japan was experiencing at that time and an expression of deep-seated fears about the invasive and dehumanizing potential of modern technology. Take note that the finale takes place in the ruins of the Olympic stadium, a structure which was, at the time, a huge symbol of Japan's prosperity. But why does Akira choose to dwell on the apocalyptic? Well, this may have to do with the symbolic significance of the atomic bomb. For Americans, the atomic bomb is a symbol of victory, but for the Japanese, it has become a symbol of rebirth and reconstruction.⁴ In Akira, the only way that Tetsuo, (and by extension, the city) can find redemption is through death and rebirth, and it is this gravitation towards cleansing through catastrophe that makes the film so powerful and yet at the same time, so unnerving.

So, now that we know a little bit about the film and its historical context, why should something like Akira be appreciated today? I've already addressed the fact that it's beautiful, massively influential and historically significant. But the one base that I haven't covered yet is the relevance of this film for today's audience: well, particularly a modern western audience. To explain this, I may have to get a bit personal again, but, as a member of the modern western audience, I feel my experiences with this film may fall in line with those of many of my peers, though certainly not all of them. I love this film because it is awe-inspiring. It's jaw-dropping. It's spectacular. But... whereas other films may achieve this on a mere entertainment level, this film is on something of a different scope. It begins as a simple action film, and then goes on to address the mystery of life's origins, and the vast scope of the universe, portraying creation and disaster on cosmic scales. It is a mystifying experience because it points to the universe within us, to the secrets that can be buried within dreams and long-lost childhood memories.

And what's more, it's tragic. The themes of corrupting power run rampant through this movie as Tetsuo begins the film marveling over Kaneda's bike: a bike that will serve as the metaphor for authority and power within the film-- the "prize to be won", if you will. Tetsuo constantly laments that he has always been the sidekick and the underling within his own group of friends, and yet he only remains in that position because he perceives it to be so: his chains are imaginary, and his pride is his undoing. When he escapes the hospital, the first thing he does is ride Kaneda's bike. When he later develops the power to destroy entire buildings, the first thing he does is head back to the old bar and ask where Kaneda's bike is. Thus, he's still a weakling psychologically, and when he finally hopes to awaken the source of his power, it only follows that his hubris should lead him to disappointment. And yet, amidst all of this, there is hope. While the vast and powerful forces that lay beyond the grasp of human comprehension can bring great terror, they can also bring healing and resolution to the story, reminding us that no one really knows what great things might await the human race in the future.

Sources:

¹O'Neill, Phelim. Akira - review. Rev. of Akira, by Katsuhiro Otomo. Guardian. 23 June 2011. Web. Retrieved 9 July 2016.

²Hoad, Phil. "Akira: the future-Tokyo story that brought anime west." Guardian. Guardian, 10 July 2013. Web. Retrieved 9 July 2016.

³64 Standish, Isolde. "Akira, Postmodernism, and Resistance". The Worlds of Japanese Popular Culture: Gender, Shifting Boundaries, and Global Cultures. ed. Martinez, Dolores. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. 64. Print.

⁴Richie, Donald. "Mono no aware: Hiroshima in Film". Hibakusha Cinema: Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and the Nuclear Image in Japanese Film. ed. Broderick, Mick. London: Kegan Paul International, 1996. Print.