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Rarely does Rintaro, whose films have a notoriously abrupt and choppy quality, produce a masterpiece such as Metropolis. This full-length animated feature, based on Osamu Tezuka’s manga and Fritz Lang’s 1927 silent classic of the same name, is incredibly enthralling and polished – likely this much-maligned director’s best work to date. What’s so magnificent about Metropolis? Read on.
Metropolis is set in a world of towering skyscrapers and Art Deco chic, breathtakingly rendered in almost perfect CG. By all appearances, this industrial city is heaven on earth – a paradise of steel and plastic where humans live a life of ease thanks to advancements in science and technology – where robotic hirelings do all the heavy lifting.
Metropolis - A magnificent art deco city where everything's right with the world. Or is it? Enter Shunsaku Ban, an old fashioned detective from Tokyo and his nephew Kenichi, hot on the trail of the elusive Doctor Laughton, a wanted organ smuggler. Initially dazzled by the grandeur of Metropolis, they soon begin to witness its many flaws. The city is not quite all it seems – it’s rotten beneath its pristine veneer, and this heaven-turned-hell is falling apart at the seams. Rebellion is fomenting amongst the lower classes - laborers displaced by their mechanical counterparts, while a fascist group polices the streets, hunting down robots that have strayed from their designated tasks and areas with reckless abandon. Add to that the mysterious and enigmatic female protagonist Tima and a conspiracy to take over the city at the highest level, and it’s an explosive mix that can only lead to tragedy.
Shunsaku Ban, the detective with the drooping moustache, his nephew Kenichi, and their robot guide Pero
Rock guns down a robot that has strayed away from the underground world of Zone-1 Suffice to say, Metropolis is a feat of storytelling, with a nuanced story that paints a picture of the classic Tezuka-esque class/racial divide with amazing depth and panache. No pulled punches here. The parochial snobbery of Metropolis’s upper crust denizens, the conflicting feelings of loyalty and a desire for self determination amongst its robotic workforce, the misplaced jealousy and obsession of Rock, Duke Red’s adoptive son, and even Duke Red’s own megalomania are portrayed in a way that is unsurpassed.
Tima - enigmatic, mysterious, deadly. But let's not give the game away Despite its heady themes, the film has its lighter moments. Ban, clumsy and bumpkin-like, is an endearing character, and there are enough self-referential digs and Disney-esque sight gags that audiences can laugh along with. In fact, the Disney-esque, cartoon quality of Metropolis, with its bright, tinsel colors and retro character designs play complement to the story’s gritty, noir feel. The juxtaposition is surprising, but not jarring, and enhances the overall viewing experience. Fans of the late Tezuka’s works will also recognize this as homage to his style. One of the strongest elements of the film is the music. There is never a crucial scene without jazz accompaniment, and these strains of Dixieland music are especially apropos considering the film’s overall presentation. The film’s dramatic opening is accompanied by Cab Calloway’s “St. James Infirmary Blues”, and its closing, with Ray Charles’s "I Can’t Stop Loving You" is especially poignant, especially against a disastrous backdrop of explosions and crumbling skyscrapers. Metropolis is unarguably Rintaro's magnum opus, a deeply touching work that has everything you can want or expect out of a full-length animated feature. Its polished visuals, kickass storytelling, and Rintaro’s surprisingly clever directing set the gold standard for the industry, and it continues to hold its own close to a decade on. If you're a sucker for awesome like me, then you can't miss Metropolis. Watch it, and be prepared to be blown away.
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