Mizuho Suzuki | Through the Shattered Lens

“The future is not a straight line. It is filled with many crossroads. There must be a future that we can choose for ourselves.” — Kiyoko

Akira is a landmark anime film that has left an indelible mark on both the medium and popular culture, widely regarded as a masterpiece blending dystopian cyberpunk aesthetics with potent social and political themes. Directed by Katsuhiro Otomo and released in 1988, it is an adaptation of Otomo’s own manga of the same name, adding layers of depth from its source material. The film remains a touchstone for its groundbreaking animation, complex narrative, and deep thematic explorations that resonate decades after its release.

At its surface, Akira tells the story of a post-apocalyptic Neo-Tokyo, a city ravaged by past destruction and on the brink of chaos again due to psychic powers unleashed unexpectedly on its streets. The narrative centers around two childhood friends caught in this upheaval: Kaneda, a rebellious gang leader, and Tetsuo, whose sudden acquisition of devastating psychic abilities leads to uncontrollable transformation and societal breakdown. This conflict draws viewers into a gripping tale of friendship, power, and loss.

Beneath the action-packed plot lies a rich tapestry of themes. One of the most striking is the exploration of loss of humanity through power. Tetsuo’s descent into madness as his psychic abilities spiral beyond his control serves as a visceral metaphor for how absolute power corrupts and alienates. The transformation he undergoes, from a troubled youth into a monstrous entity, dramatizes the fear of losing oneself when faced with forces that cannot be tamed. Meanwhile, the other characters and factions, including the military and resistance groups, depict varying responses to such disruptive power, from authoritarian control to emergent heroism among society’s outcasts and delinquents, emphasizing resilience in adversity.

Akira’s setting is crucial to understanding its impact. Unlike other dystopian sci-fi that glamorizes technology, Neo-Tokyo is raw and unpolished—a place of grime, corruption, and social decay. This lack of fetishization makes the depicted world more relatable and unsettling, reflecting post-World War II anxieties in Japan. The narrative draws clear analogies between the trauma of nuclear devastation and the cyclic nature of destruction and rebirth. The film and manga respectively underline how societies can be dehumanized by catastrophe yet still harbor hope for renewal and change.

The adolescent characters also embody a universal coming-of-age struggle, where uncertainties of identity, power, and responsibility mirror Japan’s own postwar societal shifts. Tetsuo’s monstrous growth and Kaneda’s protective yet rebellious nature capture the complex emotions of fear, resentment, and desire for control, making the story as much about internal battles as external ones. This allegorical layer brings timeless relevance, inviting viewers to reflect on personal and collective growth in times of turmoil.

From a technical and artistic standpoint, Akira set new standards for animation. The film’s fluid motion, attention to detail, and atmospheric world-building were revolutionary for the time and still hold up remarkably well. Otomo’s insistence on lip-syncing dialogue and meticulous frames elevated the cinematic experience far beyond typical anime productions of the 1980s. Its high-budget production values and painstaking artistry make every scene visually immersive, from frenetic gang fights to apocalyptic psychic battles.

One of the film’s most iconic and influential moments is the “Akira slide”—the flawless and stylish maneuver where Kaneda slides his motorcycle to a perfect stop amidst a high-speed chase. This scene has become emblematic not only of Akira’s kinetic energy and visual prowess but also of the potential for animation to convey dynamic motion with a sense of weight, style, and personality. The technique has been endlessly referenced and homaged in both anime and live-action works worldwide, shaping how filmmakers portray fast-paced chase and action scenes. Its balance of fluid animation, camera angles, and character flair set a new benchmark for kinetic storytelling, inspiring generations of animators and directors to capture similar moments of cool, precise motion.

Moreover, Akira’s soundtrack and sound design contribute significantly to its gritty and intense atmosphere, reinforcing the emotional beats and tension throughout the film. The score blends pulsating electronic music with haunting melodies, capturing the film’s blend of futuristic dread and human vulnerability.

Critically, Akira is celebrated not just for its technical achievements but also for its complex storytelling and thematic depth. It does not offer neat resolutions or clear heroes; instead, it portrays a morally ambiguous world where power is both destructive and transformative. The lack of easy answers enhances its emotional and intellectual resonance, making it a powerful narrative of destruction, evolution, and hope.

Akira stands among the most influential works in animation and film, a piece that’s carved its place indelibly in cultural history. Its influence isn’t just in the stunning visuals or the groundbreaking animation techniques; it’s also in how it expanded the horizons of what anime could achieve on a global scale. Otomo’s dystopian vision challenged viewers to confront uncomfortable truths about power, chaos, and societal resilience. Years after its debut, the film continues to inspire and provoke new generations of creators—each eager to capture some fragment of its raw energy and layered storytelling. Akira’s legacy is not just that of a cinematic masterpiece but as a catalyst that reshaped the possibilities for animated storytelling, making it a timeless beacon for artists and audiences alike.

Nine years after The Terror of Mechagodzilla, Godzilla finally returned to Japanese movie screens in The Return of Godzilla!

One year later, Raymond Burr joined him when The Return of Godzilla was released in the United States as Godzilla 1985.

The film’s plot is a simple one, though it does have an interesting subtext. Godzilla is once again roaming the planet and, after spending the last few years as humanity’s champion, he is once again destroying everything in his path. (This is a rare later Godzilla film that features only Godzilla. Mothra, Rodan, Ghidorah, and that weird armadillo that always used to follow Godzilla around, none of them are present. The son of Godzilla is not mentioned, to the regret of no one.) Looking to prevent a mass panic, the Prime Minister of Japan tries to cover up the news of Godzilla’s return. But when a Russian submarine is destroyed by Godzilla and the Russians blame the Americans and bring the world to the verge of atomic war, the Prime Minister is forced to reveal the truth. The Super X, an experimental new airplane, is deployed to take Godzilla out but it turns out that Godzilla is not that easy to get rid of.

Now, as I said, there is an interesting subtext here. If the first Godzilla films were all about the trauma of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, this version of Godzilla is all about being trapped between the whims of two super powers. For the most part, Godzilla only attacks Japan. At the time this movie came out, he had been attacking Japan for nearly 30 years and the rest of the world was content to allow Japan to deal with the consequences alone. However, when Godzilla sinks that Russian sub, both the Russians and the Americans blame each other and bring the world to the brink of annihilation. Japan, like the rest of the world, finds itself caught in the middle. In the end, it’s up to Japan to not only defeat Godzilla but to keep the Americans and Russians from blowing up the rest of the world. Godzilla may be bad, this movie tells us, but he’s nowhere near as bad as the idiots with all of the atomic missiles.

Of course, when The Return of Godzilla came to America, extra scenes were shot to make it clear that America had Japan’s back. For that reason, Raymond Burr returns as journalist Steve Martin. Martin is called in to share his first-hand knowledge of what Godzilla is capable of. One has to wonder who thought that was a good idea as Martin basically comes across as being a grouchy crank who just wants to tell everyone to get off his lawn. As opposed to the first Americanized Godzilla film, which was edited to make it appear as if Burr was actually talking to characters from Gojira, Godzilla 1985 just features a lot of scenes of Burr staring at a screen in the Pentagon and making ominous comments about what Godzilla is capable of doing. It’s a wasted cameo but I guess the film’s American distributors didn’t have faith that Godzilla could pull in the audiences on his own.

Fortunately, Raymond Burr’s time-consuming cameo can’t keep this film from being a lot of fun. It’s a Godzilla film, after all. Godzilla stomps on a lot of buildings and breathes a lot of fire and wisely, the film doesn’t wait too long before allowing him to go on his rampage. After spending several films as an almost comic character, this film reminds audiences that Godzilla was always meant to be frightening. Of course, lest anyone take this film too seriously, the size of the Super X changes from scene to scene, depending on which miniature was being used. Godzilla loses his temper and falls into a volcano but there’s never any doubt that he’ll be back. You can’t stop Godzilla!

Previous Godzilla Reviews: