![]() In contrast, Sanders’ characters wear their emotions on their sleeves, conveying quite passionately and quite frequently what exactly they’re feeling and why. Through half constructed buildings, we understand her identity. On rain-streaked windows, we see her tears. In murky canals, we perceive Major’s confusion. Instead, he displays those emotions by juxtaposing the characters to the color, light and motion around them. Even when delivering dialogue as on the nose as, “I feel fear, cold, alone … sometimes I even feel hope,” Oshii doesn’t allow his actors’ vocal performances to betray too much melancholy or longing. The lead characters of Batou and Major especially are made inscrutable in the way that Oshii animates their eyes: The former’s are constantly covered, and the latter’s are almost always wide and blank. Nearly every one of his characters is emotionally detached, keeping the aforementioned concepts from feeling pretentious and the characters’ explorations of them cloying. Instead, that unnatural strength and inhuman agility only forces us to focus on that character’s undefined humanity and nebulous identity.Įven while both films’ design work and style impressively display Ghost in the Shell’s intellectual concepts, the aspect of Oshii’s that elevates it most over Sanders’ is the emotional current with which he surrounds them. In them, we and Major alike aren’t adrenalized by her cybernetic body’s ability to quickly dispatch her enemies. Even his action sequences replace speed and forward propulsion for an unnerving grace and haunting beauty. From the opening to closing credits, the director never rushes, inviting us to ponder the moment more than expect an outcome. In the anime, instrumental to the effectiveness of each of these distinct visuals is the pace that Oshii doles them out. From there, however, as the character blatantly disregards her own body, unfazed by ogling eyes and destructive bullets, the pedestal on which we’ve placed our bodies begins to fall. If every part of our natural shell can be altered and synthetically replaced, then that which defines beauty and identity must go deeper. Both versions open with a near-nude Major, instantly making us aware of how much we obsess over our own shells not only are they a measure of our beauty, but a mark of our identity. Even while the live-action version, to keep its PG-13 rating, opts to clothe the lead character of Major in a skintight suit, the intention and effect is quite nearly the same. While on the subject of the shell, the use of nudity in both films cannot be overlooked. ![]() The design is admittedly cool to look at, but also stunts the same sort of musings. Unlike with Zack Snyder’s Sucker Punch or Sanders’ Snow White and the Huntsman, however, every ounce of Oshii’s stylization is used to serve his story and its themes, instead of the other way around. His visual flair, even more than dialogue, is what communicates the film’s cerebral and philosophical ideas.īy designing the humans’ and cyborgs‘ bodies/shells to be indistinguishable from one another, for example, the filmmaker is visually asking, “Are then their souls/ghosts indistinguishable?” It’s a shame, then, that the design for a pivotal character like Kuze, from Sanders’ film, as compared to the Puppet Master in Oshii’s, is made to look so cybernetic. ![]() Even those who’ve not seen the original film will likely recognize a number of its striking visuals, many of which have been repurposed in such films as The Matrix and Dark City: a moody, intricately designed cyberpunk Hong Kong a nude, gun-wielding policewoman line after line of green tinted computer code. And those who have watched the entire anime know that every one of its 82 minutes is stuffed with enough additional detail to make even Terry Gilliam envious.
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