I've talked about seminal classics of Japanese animation (or Japanimation, if you remain steadfast on keeping yourself married to 1990 or so), from Cowboy Bebop to the more obscure but stylish, like Jin-Roh. But for the next couple of reviews, I'll take a look at two films that, for better or worse, have languished somewhat--but share the common feature of absolutely insanely gorgeous art styles. And, in today's case, one of them happens to be one of my top favorite animated flicks of all time. Think Wacky Races hopped up on crack, think Death Race guzzling pure nitro, think Fast and Furious with all semblance of sanity absolutely annihilated--it's Takeshi Koike's Redline.
With a production of seven years, with a look inspired by European scifi comics like 2000AD and Metal Hurlant, and with a director fresh off producing a short for the Animatrix, there's one feature of this flick that stands out immediately--that being that it's absolutely gorgeous. Everything is given a nice inky outline that gives real solidity to the machinery zooming around, and the colors are like an acid trip--the hand-done feel helps avoid the overly shiny computer-assisted look a lot of current anime has. There's no lazy shortcuts--for instance, when you see a crowd, they're not just still cutouts like in lesser productions, but always cheering, jumping around, doing all sorts of ridiculous dances. If you know what this actually entails for the animators, you'll know it's insane. But Koike did it anyway--and the passion bleeds through every cel.
In the opening of the film itself, it sells everything it has to offer--there's incredible sound design, right down to the chassis-crumpling thud of an impacting missile, and the tripped-out distortions of one of the racing vehicles involved activating a boost (which here, basically involves them going to damn near warp speed). I like the little touches they throw in, like the way each vehicle spasms out on the spot before zooming off at Mach 40. Each background character has its own design, and each vehicle, even the minor ones you see for a matter of seconds, has a distinctive look that'd fit right in with a Sega Genesis game. And the best part is? It's just getting started. If you think it peaked too early, Koike's already grinning and cracking his knuckles.
I guess I need to talk about the storyline--which isn't the most complicated in the world, but neither does it really need to be. In the far future, racing punk 'Sweet' JP stands out by being the only one to race a normal-looking (if souped up beyond all reason) TransAm car in a world where everyone else is driving a turbo-charged behemoth of a vehicle. His ambitions are held back by his debt and involvement with an organized crime syndicate; but by sheer stroke of luck, he happens to qualify for the most dangerous racing event in the galaxy: the Redline. Which in this case, happens to be held on the cyborg-inhabited planet of Roboworld, which is effectively North Korea by way of Nazi Germany. And the Roboworlders aren't happy about this. So, while getting ready to race in an effective warzone, JP also has his heart set on one of the other racers--childhood sweetheart Sonoshee McClaren. While still having to think about the cyborgs, mutant gorillas, and bounty hunters he's competing alongside.
Is it absolutely silly? Oh yes. Is some of it cliched? Yeah, I guess. But by the time the titular race kicks off, when all the racers are dropped to the starting point from high altitude while under anti-air fire, discharging sidewinder missiles at each other, and all the time surviving an onslaught of hyper-speed mecha and jets, are you really going to care? Before long, we've got orbital death rays straight out of Akira being unleashed, and rampaging psionic kaiju, and, well, if I'm to gleefully describe every escalating instance of insanity here, I'll be around all day. By the end of it, when everyone has decided to consign such silly things like the sound barrier to irrelevance, and it all comes down to every ounce of speed they can summon, you'll be on a high of adrenaline and color like no other.
But that's not to say the film doesn't make any effort in the way of characterization either. Most of is fairly broad strokes--JP isn't exactly the most memorable protagonist in the world--but even the side characters are given their own little stories and motivations, so you're able to still care when they're tossed into the lunacy at the end. There's a couple of subplots beyond the race itself, like JP's partner Frisbee struggling between loyalty to his pal and the syndicate, and Roboworld military leader Volton doing all he can to put an end to to the madness unfurling on his homeworld--so either way, there's enough to keep a viewer invested.
I could talk more about the production--like the pulse-driving soundtrack that makes you want to push the limits of vehicular speed and preferably break them like a wet twig. But ultimately, what puts Redline near the top of my animated favorites is the way it honors its medium so well. Animation is ultimately about conveying what is beyond the practicality of your standard live-action piece, creating new sensations and visuals with an unlimited canvas--and with every frame, Redline oozes its devotion to this notion. Perhaps it doesn't boast the strongest script or storytelling, but for inspiring enrapturement in the same way a majestically daubed painting or comic art could, I can think of few that rival it. Or, to put it in less pretentious terms: you don't necessarily have to be 'good' to be fucking awesome.
So do I like Redline? Yeah, just a little. If you want something that'll heighten your senses and blow you away at the end, give it a shot. It's a cult classic of the medium that could deserve a little more nods, and when you see it, you'll know why.
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