The opening shot of "Metropolis", with its flurry of lights, Dixieland jazz, and a
low angle shot of an enormous floating ship, emphasizes that it is the city, not the
individual characters, who is the star of this film. "Metropolis" has a strange feel to it,
being retro-fitted in a seamless imitation of Tezuka Osamu's classic 1949 manga. It evokes a
feeling akin to coming across old textbooks or magazine articles that make eccentric, and very
erroneous predictions about human progress in the future. But Tezuka succeeds in creating a
heavily populated world weathered by use and upheaval.
According to the program for the film sold in the foyer, the animators had a very difficult
time realizing Osamu Tezuka's trademark mob scenes. Tezuka often opens his manga with a splash
page featuring a multitude of characters in action. Transplanting this into a traditional
animated film would have necessitated a prohibitively thick stack of cells. But by combining
analog and computer animation, the animators were able to pull off the mob scenes with panache.
And although this too they describe as a hellish procedure, the seamless blend of techniques
in the film divulges no hardship.
Visually, "Metropolis" is a Byzantine milestone of the sci-fi cinema (a la Ridley Scott's
"Blade Runner"), which is both the film's strength and its weakness. The rococo alloy of CG
and analog imagery and the mix of modern story telling with a flood of philosophical and
political questions make this film difficult for any single character to embody completely. And,
consequentially, the human element becomes diluted by the onslaught of expression.
However, those who bewailed the lack of ideas in Spielberg's "A.I." will be more than sated
by the profusion of concepts in "Metropolis". All of the major themes regarding artificial
intelligence are covered - ownership, rights, rebellion, and the relationships of parents and
children - which makes wanting to be "a real boy" seem trite by comparison.
Audiences will also be surprised by the grounded political context of the film, which
discusses very earthy problems such as labor disputes and poverty. "Metropolis" also tackles
questions about the nature of love, and fortunately, unlike in "A.I.," the answers are far more
realistic. In Spielberg's film, the simplistic dynamic demands that a boy as unlovable as Martin
Swinton eventually be one-upped by his infinitely more pleasant, albeit artificial, brother.
"Metropolis" displays this same truth via the jealousy of Rock, the human son of Duke Red, whose
all too humanly, underachieving character keeps him from gaining his father's love. Writer
Katsuhiro Otomo does a far better job at equalizing the debate between the artificial and the
organic by having Rock be, not the Duke's biological son, but his adopted son.
Unfortunately, Tima shows far too little substance to make her truly sympathetic until
the film's cataclysmic and wrenching climax. Even then it's puzzling why Kenichi chases after
her at great danger to himself. But the distressing scene, accompanied ironically by Ray Charles
"I Can't Stop Loving You," gives the film the emotional impact it sorely needs at that
penultimate moment in the story. It is an ending that sneaks up on you, and, unlike "A.I.," it
makes sense.
