Some cinema fans, like my fellow staff writer Chris Core, simply cannot appreciate films that don’t fit within Hollywood’s cookie-cutter blockbuster formula.
For fans of cinema that want something a little more challenging, influential and meaningful than a superhero beatdown, the 1988 anime masterpiece “Akira” is a much better pick than every lazy film nerd’s favorite movie.
In the film’s opening seconds, ’80s Tokyo’s serene cityscape is disrupted by the sudden appearance of a white dome of light, rapidly expanding and consuming everything it touches.
Instead of portraying the explosion with the overbearing score and sound effects of a lesser film, director Katsuhiro Otomo allows the audience to sit petrified in a suffocating, eerie silence.
Even if you don’t recognize by this point that you are watching a masterpiece, the film’s 172,000 frames of painstakingly hand drawn animation will make its significance indisputable.
For comparison, Disney’s “The Lion King” contains 119,058 individually colored frames of film according to the film’s production notes.
Delivering a gripping story with overwhelming visuals, efficient direction and breakneck editing, “Akira” made the world pay attention to Japanese animation for a reason.
Based on his 2,000-page manga of the same name, Otomo’s first feature film tells the story of two teenagers in a biker gang in an alternate vision of 2019 dystopian Neo-Tokyo.
The violent and aimless lives of these boys change when devastating and unpredictable psychic powers awaken within Tetsuo and Kaneda must stop him before he destroys himself and everyone around him.
This science-fiction tragedy takes place in a world which seems simultaneously alien and disturbingly familiar and Otomo flawlessly establishes Neo-Tokyo’s sense of place with unforgettable details.
In between shots of a thrilling opening motorcycle chase, “Akira” cuts away to show moments of miserable everyday life in Neo-Tokyo, from militaristic police abusing protesters to oblivious civilians getting caught in the wreckage from a conflict between two biker gangs.
In telling “Akira’s” massive story, small details in Katsuhiro Otomo’s direction elevate small details into highlights.
A cut from smiling dogs on a television to vicious police dogs chasing down their prey not only creates a seamless transition, but demonstrates how detached the media in the city is from the reality its citizens live.
The film’s editing in general is spectacular, using quick cuts on action to keep the viewer engaged while maintaining the film’s fever dream tone.
The visual palette of “Akira” is striking as well, with neon lights and ominous shadows fill in overwhelming establishing shots of the city’s looming architecture.
Geinoh Yamashirogumi’s soundtrack adds a fantastic atmosphere, pairing moments of action with tribal rhythms, apocalyptic destruction with gothic organs and the aftermath with drums.
All of “Akira’s” individual elements make the film seem completely dark and depressing, but the film’s core story resolves with surprising comfort and beauty.
The central relationship between Tetsuo and Kaneda is perfectly set up in the film’s opening, where Tetsuo’s need to prove himself leads him to resent Kaneda, despite their friendship.
That resentment turns violent as soon as Tetsuo starts to lose control of his new psychic powers and Kaneda sets out to kill him before he can repeat the destruction of the film’s opening.
The beauty of the film comes from the fact that in its climax, when Tetsuo finally recognizes that he needs his friend’s help to not destroy himself, Kaneda dives in to help him with no hesitation, even as a dome of light consumes Neo-Tokyo just like in the film’s opening shots.
The fact that not even the end of the world could taint the character’s friendship gives faith in the human spirit that is inspiring
and contagious.
If you have still not seen “Akira” in the 30 years since it paved the way for global appreciation of Japanese animation, it is just as groundbreaking and beautiful today as it was then.
