City, Slicker

A 1940s Japanese comic gets the high-tech treatment in grand style.

Though not specifically inspired by the 1927 Fritz Lang sci-fi classic of the same name, Metropolis is based on source material that feels almost as distant -- a Japanese manga (comic book) from the period immediately following World War II. As a result, what may have been run-of-the-mill thematic material at the time -- the plight of the working man in the face of increased mechanization -- feels strangely quaint. Since the backgrounds are rendered in state-of-the-art computer animation and the characters are drawn as they were then, similar to such old-school comic strips as The Katzenjammer Kids and Popeye, what we get is almost like the anime equivalent of Moulin Rouge, visually speaking. The movie even begins, like Baz Luhrmann's film, with what appears to be old sepia footage from cinema's early days, this time of Charles Foster Kane wannabe Duke Red pledging to build the largest skyscraper ever seen. But since the footage in question is actually computer-animated, the effect is strange. Adding to the retro feel is a big-band score, featuring the film's director Rintaro (Astro Boy, X) on bass clarinet. Jazz music generally drives me up the wall, but in this instance it works well, furthering the overall temporal distortion.

Rintaro is out to dazzle us, and he succeeds beautifully with his rendition of this eye-popping, multilevel dystopia that should finally put to rest the false notion that Ridley Scott invented the concept with Blade Runner. Chances are that Akira, for one, was more inspired by Metropolis (and Astro Boy) creator Osamu Tezuka's original concepts than by anything Scott did; after all, Metropolis screenwriter Katsuhiro Otomo also created the Akira comic and directed its big-screen adaptation. Of particular note is a scene set in an oversize office where a giant aquarium stands between desk and window, containing a massive, photorealistic red-eyed fish.

But sooner or later, one has to get to a plot. It's a little confusing at first, since many of the principal male characters wear identical mustaches, but bear with it; things soon clarify. Basically, we're following a young boy named Kenichi (voiced by Kei Kobayashi) and his uncle Shunsaku Ban (Kousei Tomita) in their search for a missing scientist named Doctor Laughton (Junpei Takiguchi). To assist in their quest, they rent out a robot detective amusingly decked out in classic film-noir trench coat and fedora. The robot becomes a source of tension, as are all robots in a city where the workers are losing their jobs to machines. Even the most minor positions, like dog-walker and birthday clown, have robots for the job.

Taking things to extremes are the Marduk party, a red-shirted fascist movement bent on militant action against all robots, and a less-organized gang of underground Marxist rebels equally opposed to robots but placing the blame where it belongs -- on the industrialists who hire them. Both, unwittingly, are pawns in the power struggle between President Boon (Masaru Ikeda) and billionaire Duke Red (Taro Ishida), whose giant building promised in the beginning is actually a secret superweapon.

But Red, who not-so-secretly funds the Marduks, has a soft spot: He's actually getting Laughton to work on the most realistic robot yet, a surrogate daughter capable of loving him as a father and replacing his dead child (this plot point and many of the robot designs are very reminiscent of A.I., causing one to wonder if Spielberg ever reads Japanese comics). Unfortunately for Red, his adopted son, Rock, is a hardcore Marduk and hasn't been informed of this plan (nor does he accept it when it becomes clear), so he proceeds to layeth the smacketh down on Laughton just as Kenichi discovers the good doctor's whereabouts. When the memory-wiped robot girl, named Tima (Yuka Imoto), encounters Kenichi and starts to fall for him, that's where all the trouble begins.

The plot does falter a little during the second act; it doesn't help when we switch from the mind-blowing vistas to subterranean tunnels that are a lot less visually engrossing. Things come together for the climax, however, which, given its images of collapsing skyscrapers, could possibly be accused of having a resonance it doesn't deserve, until you think about the number of skyscrapers that must have collapsed in Japan in the '40s.

It's also odd to see such cartoony characters in as detailed a setting as this one. Anime viewers are used to a certain degree of stylization in character design, but this is more extreme than usual and may make it harder for some viewers to get into the material. Hardcore Otaku (as anime fans call themselves) will get the most out of Metropolis, and might possibly catch the vocal cameos from the likes of Devilman creator Go Nagai. But don't let that stop you: Roll with any stylistic difficulties you might initially have, and prepare to be awed.