IT’S HARD TO deny that the adaptation of the 1995 anime masterpiece Ghost in the Shell––itself an adaptation of the Masamune Shirow manga of the same name––is a pleasure to look at. The pan-Asian metropolis that’s part-Hong Kong, part-Shanghai and is, as in the original, the setting of the story, is a sprawling neon nightmare of tightly packed and highly stacked buildings, and rising up between those buildings are nightmarish holograms so large that they could look Godzilla in the eye. At street-level, the suffocating advertisement-filled world conceived by director Rupert Sanders and concept designer Monika Bielskyte calls to mind the dystopian Los Angeles of Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner. These visual flourishes, however, are no substitute for substance, and Rupert Sanders’ film is, ultimately, a shallow copy of its predecessor. You might say that it’s a little too ‘shell’ and not enough ‘ghost’.
In a dystopian future, and in a neo-noirish Asian city, the cyborg commander of the government counter-cyberterrorism task force Section 9, Major Mira Killian, is tasked with investigating the hacking of artificial intelligence belonging to the Hanka Robotics corporation. In this world almost everyone is at least partly cybernetically enhanced, but the Major is the first person to have an entirely synthetic outer body or ‘shell’, which gives her superhuman abilities. She and her team, which includes the hulking, white-haired Batou (Dane Pilou Asbaek) and the completely human Togusa (Singaporean actor Ng Chin Han) set off to find who or what is behind the hacks.
The many flaws of the film are apparent right from the beginning. Admirers of Mamoru Oshii’s original––and the original Ghost in the Shell is one of those films that inspires a quasi-fanatical degree of devotion or nothing at all––will tell you that a large part of its appeal is its opacity, which Sanders and writers Jamie Moss, William Wheeler and Ehren Kruger in the remake begin to do away with in the preamble
The many flaws of the film are apparent right from the beginning. Admirers of Mamoru Oshii’s original––and the original Ghost in the Shell is one of those films that inspires a quasi-fanatical degree of devotion or nothing at all––will tell you that a large part of its appeal is its opacity, which Sanders and writers Jamie Moss, William Wheeler and Ehren Kruger in the remake begin to do away with in the preamble. Any hope afterwards of retaining a modicum of mystery is swiftly crushed by dialogue that far too often inspires embarrassment even when the characters aren’t trying to sound thoughtful. The repeating line ‘I am Major and I give my consent’ springs to mind. Some of the most awkward pseudo-philosophical musings in the ‘95 film––Kusanagi and Batou’s conversation on the boat, for example, though there are a few instances––seem subtle in the context of this remake.
The writers seem to have taken various elements of the original––the chain-smoking scientist of the second GTS; the acrobatic fight in the ankle-deep water of the city’s bay; the body-horror of the battle with the spider tank (one of the better scenes of the film)––and reproduced them in the remake without consideration for the film as a whole. Consequently Ghost in the Shell ‘17 feels absent of feeling, and Clint Mansell and Lorne Balfe’s score—which, incidentally, has a hard act to follow in the haunting orchestral music of Kenji Kawai—suggests a depth and emotion that the actors fail to convey on the screen. The sequence in which a rubbish collector learns that his son and wife, whose perceived betrayal drives him to carry out a criminal act, do not exist, should be overflowing with emotion in a way that the scene in the animated original necessarily couldn’t be. Instead the scene comes and goes and carries even less emotional weight than the original did.
The sequence in which a rubbish collector learns that his son and wife, whose perceived betrayal drives him to carry out a criminal act, do not exist, should be overflowing with emotion in a way that the scene in the animated original necessarily couldn’t be. Instead the scene comes and goes and carries even less emotional weight than the original did.
The press made much of the decision to cast the white Scarlett Johansson rather than an Asian actor in the lead role—Major Kusanagi was, after all, Asian—but putting all that to one side for the moment, her performance is uncharacteristically weak. She plays the role as part-Black Widow, part-Under the Skin alien, with a little of her performances in Her and Lucy thrown in for good measure. She stomps around in a way that is presumably a tribute to the animated movement of her predecessor but looks ridiculous and is impossible to ignore; it leads you to wonder why the mechanical triumph that is supposed to be Major Killian’s synthetic body can leap gracefully off building-tops and yet remains unable to mimic ordinary human locomotion. The Major also communicates none of the rising detachment from her body in the way that Kusanagi does, nor the vulnerability that her doubts about her humanity inspire. (Consider, by contrast, Alicia Vikander’s masterful portrayal of Ava in Alex Garland’s sci-fi thriller Ex Machina). Pilou Asbaek, who’s best known for playing the cynical spin doctor Kasper Juul in Borgen, is good as Batou but veteran Japanese actor Takeshi Kitano is wasted in the role of Aramaki, who, strangely, speaks to his international team in Japanese and then hears back from them in English.
Ghost in the Shell, to return to my original point, is visually beautiful. It’s even stunning. But it bears remembering that Mamoru Oshii’s film was also beautiful and more. There are scenes in Oshii’s film which not only evoke the spiritual in a purely intellectual way but inspire a sense of the spiritual as, for those who aren’t religious, only art is able to do. Maybe that’s why I found this film, which had the potential to be a more vivid and real version of the extraordinary ’95 film, a crushing disappointment. Mamoru Oshii’s film was about emptiness; Sanders’ film is empty.