THE IMPENDING RELEASE of the live-action adaptation of Mamoru Oshii’s 1995 anime and science-fiction classic, Ghost in the Shell, has given me an excuse to review a strange and beautiful film which I count among the best of all time, and I couldn’t miss such an opportunity.
In the near future, following the balkanisation of the world’s most powerful countries by nuclear war, a sprawling electronic network connects almost every aspect of daily human life. Most people have direct access to this network through fully or partly-mechanical bodies nicknamed ‘shells’, which contain their consciousness, or ‘ghost’ and allow them to do things far outside the realms of ordinary human ability. In Japan, which has emerged from the global conflict relatively unscathed, the pressing issues of the day are international terrorism and cybercrime. Major Motoko Kusanagi, a cyborg and the leader of a government agency which specialises in cybercrime, is charged with finding and capturing a hacker known as the Puppet Master. The Puppet Master ‘cyber-hacks’ the brains of innocent people and implants their brains with false memories, turning them into unwitting accomplices in his various crimes.
Unlike other science-fiction films of the past twenty years like Total Recall or Terminator 2, Ghost in the Shell has aged well. The now-iconic opening sequence in which Major Kusanagi strips and swan-dives off the top of a building to carry out an assassination is as breathtaking as it ever was
Unlike other science-fiction films of the past twenty years like Total Recall or Terminator 2, Ghost in the Shell has aged well. The now-iconic opening sequence in which Major Kusanagi strips and swan-dives off the top of a building to carry out an assassination is as breathtaking as it ever was, so too is Kenji Kawai’s haunting choral theme, ‘Making of a Cyborg’, a traditional wedding song which here symbolises the marriage of man and machine. Ghost in the Shell remains remarkable for its beautiful neo-noir setting and Oshii’s staggering attention to detail. Some of the shots of ‘New Port City’, the fictional Japanese city in which the story takes place, still inspire awe.
Rupert Sanders, who directs the upcoming live-action adaptation, has an opportunity to imbue his film with some of the tension and the horror that was necessarily absent from the animation. I had the feeling during certain scenes (memorably when the rubbish-collector realises his ‘wife and child’ don’t exist and when the Puppet Master first speaks) that I should have felt something more than I did, but didn’t on account of the medium through which the film is told. The action sequences, however, are as gripping as any from a film played with live actors.
But the overarching themes with which the film grapples––identity, Cartesian dualism, Heidegger’s ‘death as the key to life’––are legitimately interesting and challenging, and the deeper questions Ghost in the Shell raises about the nature of humanity are asked in subtle ways
Ghost in the Shell’s constant philosophising sometimes gets tiresome. Kusanagi and the hulking cyborg Batou, who is also a member of her counter-cybercrime team, say things to each other like, ‘If a cyber could create its own ghost, what would be the purpose of being human?’ But the overarching themes with which the film grapples––identity, Cartesian dualism, Heidegger’s ‘death as the key to life’––are legitimately interesting and challenging, and the deeper questions Ghost in the Shell raises about the nature of humanity are asked in subtle ways, such as Major Kusanagi’s conversation with Togusa over which gun he should use (‘I think stopping power is more important than personal preference,’ she says), and her lack of self-consciousness about her nakedness. You get the sense that there is always something to glean from a viewing of the film. The detached and introspective stance Major Kusanagi takes towards her physical body is typical of schizophrenia, which often involves an inability to resolve the conflict between the more mechanistic left hemisphere of the brain and the more holistic right hemisphere. Meanwhile, the exploration of the uncanny valley––reflected in the repeated imagery of dolls, glassy eyes and, of course, the name of the film’s antagonist, the Puppet Master––seems more relevant when you consider the theory put forward by Dr. Iain McGilchrist in The Master and His Emissary: that giving too much importance to the rational and the mechanistic gives rise to experiences of ‘phantasmagoria, grotesquerie, carnivalesque travesty, hallucinatory reveries, paranoia, and nightmarish fantasy’, often involving ‘dancing dolls, automata and detached body parts’––living things expressed as mechanisms.
Ghost in the Shell is as complex and opaque as it ever was, which is why it remains something of a cult classic rather than a film with broader appeal. But twenty-two years on, it still has all the intelligence, the moodiness, and the breathtaking visual beauty.