Review of Akira

[8.0/10] _____________________________________________________________________________________________________ Over one Billion Yen. Ten million dollars. This was the price the industry paid to create timeless animation. This was the toll Katsuhiro Otomo paid to adapt almost two thousand pages of his magnum opus. One which he struggled to finish. Every page taking more time than the last. Each penstroke weighing heavier on his hand. All culminating in a dinner with Alejandro Jodorowsky, director of El Topo and The Holy Mountain, as he was coming off the heels of Sante Sangre. The dinner is what eventually made Otomo close the final chapter to Akira. Yet this was two years after the release of thefilm. Two years after Kaneda's cardinal motorbike was brought to life. Screeching tires were given more frames, plumes of smoke began to move, a sound was given to still images. Otomo didn't stop there. There was no use for mere adaptation, a recreation, a facade of the real thing. He wanted to bring something original to the medium. That billion yen he pocketed was to be used. Don't cut away from the animation, don't hide the imperfections. Improve upon them.

738 pages of design were turned into over two hours of entertainment. The actors brought in didn't lip sync. That wasn't what Akira was going to be. Established norms in the industry were of no concern. Otomo was here to transgress. Pre-scored dialogue was utilized. Actors offered their full range of emotions, not just what was required for their voices to match the already animated characters. The entire film was made around that. Characters were drawn to match the actors. A symbiotic relationship between artist and art.

160,000 cells. Each one reliant on the last to complete the cut. Kaneda walks to his bike. Tetsuo grasps his capsules, as a reference to his now-defunct gang and the drugs in hand. Kinetic blasts of telekinesis showcased in smooth effects animation crack the pavement. A soundtrack by an entire collective, music that literally breathes with the film. A panting, tired chorus back-ends tension, carnivalesque, chirping vocals sting during the climax. It's all symbiotic. The sound director, Shoji Yamashiro intercut the same song cycle throughout the entire film. Each layer of the music adding on to one another creating cacophony during the third act.

Hundreds of cuts within a narrative that folds in on itself. Fades linger, yet never overstay their welcome. It's brisk, not simply to adapt the long source, but to convey a mood. The tension doesn't melt because there is no time for it too. The bike doesn't slow down, so neither should you. From one scene to the next, from laser beams to jail cells. It's all as fluid as the animation. Each cut is purposeful, the lingering fades, paused, still, like reminders from a turning page. The last glimpse of a moment in the past. Seyama's editing persists through continuity, broken only once to outline an abrupt meeting.

Take a backseat to Tetsuo and his best friend Kenada. During a usual gang conflict, Tetsuo has a chance run-in with an esper boy. Explosions, gunfire, and the military descend upon them and take Tetsuo with the boy esper. From there, Tetsuo discovers his own innate powers. Ones which he uses to rebel further, to finally take a stand for himself. He becomes a figure for the people, the same ones that want to so vigorously fight against the norm but their strength is limited. He represents the outlook of many, both fictional and real. Tetsuo finds himself, a physically weak boy always protected by his best friend, lost. Lost in the rebellion, the reform, the need to be who he wants to be without understanding the true cause of his innate desire.

Aesthetic sensibility may be subjective, but aesthetic influence is not. Akira's palette is dusky, old, and cracking. The city has spots of neon, the lights are bright, yet the story that's told isn't. We follow roaming gangs, we follow Kaneda, Tetsuo, bikers, dealers. Through delinquent schools that are of no meaning, relationships that exist from necessity, carnal desires that eat away at a society still unrecovered from the trauma of the past. The Akira. A gleaming, blinding eruption that destroyed the entirety of Tokyo, yet spurred life that forever exists as a shadow of what it was. The city of Neo-Tokyo is filled with people remembering the past. Remembering what was. Ignoring the present. Hoping for the future. Hoping for another Akira, hoping for anything, physical or not, to change their lives again.

Parallels to Hiroshima and Nagasaki are common in Japanese entertainment. The post-bomb society of Neo-Tokyo is a grim reminder that while many may like to forget, their every move is motivated as an expression of rebellion against the past. This society is a reflection of the truth behind the false visage put up by Japan. These bikers, the ones that fight and kill each other aren't of major concern to the police. This is a common facet of this society. The old city looms, both literally and metaphorically. People riot for tax reform yet the change never comes. Dystopia, cyberpunk sensibilities, these are elements prevalent in so much sci-fi, yet in Akira's case, birthed from a culture not afraid of these changes, but familiar with them.

Now we look forward. The timelessness of classic, 2D animation is on display. While Akira may have been an immensely expensive product and heavy risk for Japan at the time, it was one that so easily paid off by not looking dated whatsoever. Undoubtedly within the late-80s aesthetic, Akira breaks the notion that "old can't hold". Easily comparable to the aesthetic achievements of 2001: A Space Odyssey, not simply due to audacity and success, but due to the methods employed not being remotely commonplace. Yet, much like so many revolutionary products at the time, Akira struggled for recognition. Both in terms of viewers and appreciation.

"Unmarketable to the west." Spoken without vision, without an eye for achievement. Who else but Steven Spielberg, a visionary creator behind some of the most beloved films of all time, to say such insipid and close-minded remarks. Such an astounding, inspirational name incapable of recognizing originality and non-insular creation. Spielberg, of course, paid recompense for such remarks, not through apology but through homage. Blatant as can be. From unmarketable to marketing, Kenada's signature bike features alongside Spielberg's blockbuster, Ready Player One, in one of the most titular and exhilarating action scenes of the year. That's enough, Steven, apology accepted.

Inception, The Matrix, Chronicle, Stranger Things, all products of Akira. Each one borrowing, with love, to create their own deviations from the film. Each element taken is another expanded upon. From simple homages, such as Kanye West's "Stronger", to creating entire characters based on the concept, with Stranger Things. It's not that it wasn't marketable, it's that the market took time to recognize. So's the forever churning gears of inspiration, a budding seed to a bursting cacoon.

Take one step into an art piece inspired by many that inspires many. That's the beauty of entertainment. Kubrick may hold responsibility for some Akira, much like Otomo holds responsibility for some Midnight Special. The world design makes up for the character design, the meta-narrative makes up for the base narrative. It's the images that stick with you, the idea that style is somehow lapped by substance is ignorant. Style, in this case, is the substance. It's images that eat away at your thoughts. A bulbous, disfigured, horrific amalgamation of flesh and wires that acts like fertilizer to the roots of creatives and their eventual ideas. If there is anything to love Akira for, it's that.