ADDED TO 'GREATEST FAVORITES': Akira (1988)

Directed by Katsuhiro Otomo

“Neo Tokyo is about to explode.”

So boasts the famous tagline for Akira, and it couldn’t be more appropriate: futureless juveniles zip throughout the streets on their motorcycles as urban decay, political corruption, and civil unrest terrorize the city of Neo Tokyo. Only miles away is the apocalyptic rubble of Japan’s capital, a bleak backdrop masked by decaying urban squalor masked by gaudy neon lights. Such circumstances have planted a gravid combustion of shattered dreams, hopelessness and nihilism, especially among the youth, all of which becomes manifested in a blubbering, corpulent mass of flesh and technology once known only as Tetsuo. It’s only natural to say that Neo Tokyo’s ultimate demise is inevitable.

1988 was a defining year for Japanimation, with three of its most iconic films of its kind seeing a release that year: My Neighbor Totoro, Grave of the Fireflies, and, of course, Akira, and the release of the latter, ironically, triggered an explosion of sorts in life itself. Simply put: there was pop culture before Akira, and then after. Over 30 years later, Akira assertively stands as not only landmark in adult animation alone, but one of the finest achievements in the art of 2D animation, and very arguably the most iconic film in the world of Japanese anime, one that was enough to spark an entire generation’s interest into the world of anime.

The city of Neo Tokyo is the result of a world desperately trying to put its broken pieces back together, a mold of civil normality shattered by Tokyo’s obliteration in 1988 (an event which provoked World War 3) by a phenomenon known only as Akira, its existence of which is only known by the government. Here we are in 2019, and some of the pieces have been put back together, albeit rather crudely. Teenagers Kaneda and Tetsuo are products of the Post-Akira world. Apathetic toward their studies in vocational school, the highlights of their life consist of late-night mischief with their biker gang, popping pills in seedy pubs and getting wrapped up in violent skirmishes with rival gangs.

It’s a night like any other with these ruffians when things take a sharp turn: after a collision with a mysterious child, extraordinary powers are awakened within Tetsuo, who is promptly abducted by the government for research purposes. As events unfold, the very powers Tetsuo possesses are identical to that of Akira. Meanwhile, after another run-in with the law, Kaneda teams up with not only a member of a local resistance force, but also a trio of psychic children (one of which was the cause of Tetsuo’s collision), who prophesize that with Tetsuo’s abilities now harnessed, it is only a matter of time before said powers grow beyond his control, which will lead to Neo Tokyo’s destruction.

It sounds like a mess of ideas, and Akira indeed feels like it could go off the rails at any moment, especially considering the film is a tightly condensed adaptation of the then-incomplete manga series, which would not conclude until 1990. I must admit that I am yet to read the manga (it is certainly on my reading list now), but whatever omissions were made were for the best in terms of a movie adaptation, and it makes sense why. Behind the film adaptation is the author of the manga himself, Katsuhiro Otomo, who was wise to helm this film – after all, nobody knows the source material at heart level like the original creator.

Akira may not have been made for the explicit purpose of bringing anime to the west, but it had the perfect myriad of elements and influences to introduce us to the form. Blind-sided viewers of Akira in the early 90s were undoubtedly made right at home upon first viewing, fondly reminiscent of Blade Runner’s cyberpunk metropolis and Mad Max’s frantic motorcycle action, elements of which are clearly present in Akira. We are given exactly what we need to be bought into Akira’s world when Otomo begins giving us the insanity, one plot point at a time, but never giving away too much too early, but just enough to keep us interested and enthralled.

Watching this for only my second time in my life, and my first in over 10 years, I was struck by just how bleak Akira is. Dystopian futures are difficult to pull off without some kind of fetishization of their imaginations (lets admit it; the future of Blade Runner looks pretty damn rad). Very, very few films of this caliber remain grounded in their portrayals of doomed futures, and Akira stands out as one of those few (the only other that immediately comes to mind is The Terminator).

By the time Akira peaks to its climax, one so bizarrely mesmerizing it compares to nothing else, we are out of breath and can only gawk at the screen, only to conclude on a note of open-ended profundity (though this open ending was done in part to give no clue to the manga’s future). Did we scratch our heads in bewilderment? Absolutely, but Akira was such a spectacular experience that our lack of understanding didn’t matter. We witnessed something truly special, and we wanted more like it, and so the west’s love for anime truly begins.

While I am in no way the most well-versed in the world of anime, I’m no stranger either, but even among its peers then (let alone now), Akira still stands out, particularly in regards to animation. Anime has always been characterized by a sort of choppy stiffness in the animated portions, particularly amongst characters (notice in many animes how characters cease movement when talking). Akira, meanwhile, had the biggest budget for its time ($9 million), and not one penny went to waste, as Akira boasts animation like few films. Character movement is startlingly fluid through each and every interaction, but where Akira really shines is it backgrounds: the cityscapes are expansive in scope and scale, monolithic in a way that few animated films were at this time. Not only that, but they are rich in detail and breathe prominently with life – Akira is the kind of movie that rewards repeat viewings, shining a light on certain details not previously noticed before.

Furthering the bewilderment is Akira’s score, which sought to expand on the film’s maddening effect. In research for this piece, I turned to a retrospective video on YouTube by one Oliver Harper (one of my favorite YouTubers), whose own research revealed that Akira’s composer, Geinoh Yamashirogumi, was also a scientist who wanted to experiment with ultrasound and hypersonic effects on the mind.Assembled with kinetic use of various exotic instruments and a particular emphasis on heavy breathing noises, and other such vocal usage, the final product sounds nothing short of a noh play from hell.

Akira is one of those movies that has laid its fingerprints on countless pieces of various media for years to follow. It would define the overall setting for a number of animes into the 90s (Dragon Ball Z’s cities feel like a cleaner version of Neo Tokyo), and its cyberpunk atmosphere would influence countless imitators that could never quite match up, Ghost in the Shell being perhaps the most notable example (which feels more like a bloated pilot for a series rather than a movie). But the influence goes much further than just Japanimation; parallels in a number of movies (Chronicle), video games (Final Fantasy VII), and TV shows (South Park, with a hilarious parody – you know the one) can be seen all over the place, whether in major influence, or subtle references peppered in. Anime is sometimes maligned as being outrageous to the point of hilarity, but Akira is nothing short of master-level Japanimation, and with the seismic effect that followed its release, its truly one of the greatest animated films ever made.

ADDED TO 'GREATEST FAVORITES': Vertigo (1958)

Directed by Alfred Hitchcock

Early in Vertigo, as Scottie tails Madeline all across town, observing her curious behaviors, the streets of San Francisco adopt a quality that feels a touch labyrinthine. Indeed, at this point, a maze is being entered, not just by Scottie in his obsession with this woman, but also by us, as we become drawn into his world. Subsequently, we don’t realize just how lost we’re getting into his world, and by the time Scottie goes mad, having lost his ideal woman as well as attempting to recreate her, the tension of being lost in this maze becomes unbearable for not only him but also the audience, because at the end of this maze is a pitfall, and the question of Scottie reaching that point is not “if” but “when”, and it’s a key element to the thrills that ensue throughout Vertigo.

Perhaps ex-detective John “Scottie” Ferguson (James Stewart) was destined for that pitfall, considering he’s already got a few of the proverbial screws loose, as he is handicapped by acrophobia, only made worse after witnessing a colleague die as a result of Scottie’s condition (albeit, inadvertently). Forced into early retirement, indifferent about the inertia of retirement, Scottie finds purpose once again when he is approached by Gavin Elster (Tom Helmore). Elster wants Scottie to follow and observe the activities of his wife Madeline (Kim Novak), whom he believes to be in danger for superstitious reasons. Scottie agrees, tailing her all over San Francisco, eventually leading to Fort Point, where she attempts suicide by jumping into San Francisco Bay.

It is an attempt that is thwarted by Scottie’s presence – fortunate for Madeline; unfortunate for Scottie. They commence a strange romance, one that ends in tragedy when Madeline yet again attempts suicide, this time successfully when she jumps from a bell tower. Due to his acrophobia, Scottie was unable to intervene, and undergoes severe depression. That is before crossing paths with Judy (Kim Novak, again), who bears some physical resemblance to Madeline. Via Scottie’s desperation, they engage in a relationship, this time on the foundation of Scottie’s attempt to fully transform Judy into Madeline.

It gets even more complicated, when it is discovered that Judy was, in fact, the Madeline that Scottie had been tailing – in reality, Judy was Gavin’s mistress, and her posing as Madeline was part of a conspiracy to get the real Madeline killed. Or was it?

In reading about Veritgo, the term “dreamlike” pops up over and over, and it is certainly an appropriate descriptor. With a soft, thin haze that permeates throughout and a robust and intimate color palette (all complimented by an incredibly score by the one and only Bernard Herrmann), one feels like they’ve entered a completely different world, and it is this dreamlike style that is fundamental to Vertigo’s power (David Lynch certainly took a ton of notes watching Vertigo): without it, the film could be overcomplicated and indulgent; with it, Vertigo frequently makes the viewer question if we really are in reality, as it becomes difficult to trust Scottie’s perception of the world – frankly, I find the conspiracy subplot quite fishy, and I can’t help but wonder if Scottie concocted this story in his head in denial of Madeline’s ultimate fate.

Vertigo is certainly Hitchcock at his most personal and confessional. It’s been brought up many times before, but it needs to be addressed here to continue this piece: Hitchcock certainly had a type when it comes to the women in his movies, with their stark blonde hair and a demeanor that seems suspiciously detached from the world around them – for Hitchcock, women so perfect they cannot be comprehended. From a filmmaker, one so notorious for being controlling and fetishizing, to come forward with the subjects in Vertigo, a film that sympathizes with both Scottie as well as the women in his is maddened grasp, is not only courageous but audacious, as these are personal plights we can relate to in some way, and contemplating Vertigo becomes internally confessional for the viewer as well. We may not all fancy blondes but we’ve all got our ideal type. While unhealthy habits should indeed be called out, it’s difficult to blame any man for trying to manifest their ideals and fetishes into their partner, especially if that perfect woman was once in their world so intimately as Madeline was in Scottie’s.

Not in a million years would I have believed Stewart to be the perfect choice for Scottie. Stewart, for me, is one of the most lovable actors from that time, with a humble and patient demeanor and a voice with a subtle nervousness that I would usually consider quirky. Stewart, and all of these defining traits, was certainly no stranger to Hitchcock, having starred in three other films of his prior to Vertigo. In knowing Stewart so well, Hitchcock uses those very traits against the viewer (not to mention utilizing Stewart’s eyes in a way I’ve never see before), and this bait and switch is startlingly well-executed. In short, I never thought I’d be terrified by James Stewart.

Of course, Vertigo demands discussion less in its technical merits than in its themes, but Vertigo is as technically captivating as it is narratively. Of course, there’s the legendary stretch-shots that convey Scottie’s acrophobia – 60+ years later, it’s still an effective visual. I’ve already covered the dreamlike atmosphere that defines the film, but this is further bolstered with cinematography, lighting, and shot composition that makes everything just a touch off, as if nothing is quite what it seems (the photography during the first museum sequence, in particular, is fascinatingly shot). When Judy first emerges as a fully realized Madeline, with the green neon reflecting off of her, giving her a ghostly aura, is an image that is simultaneously breathtaking and mystifying.

Modern consensus hails Vertigo as not only one of Alfred Hitchcock’s finest films, but one of the very greatest films ever made, alongside the likes of Citizen Kane and 2001: A Space Odyssey. It is such an endlessly layered film that a simple retrospective review cannot do it justice, and I may not have anything new to add to the topic, but not one Hitchcock film has been discussed on Red Eye. Being an involuntary shut-in during the COVID-19 pandemic has led me down the Hitchcock rabbit-hole to pass the time, including a revisit of Vertigo, and it is time to pay my respects and add it to the canon: Vertigo is indeed a masterpiece, not only an arresting mystery that takes you by the throat with a slow but unbreakable grip, but one of the most piercing depictions of sexual fixation ever made.