WCS 2006
Ghost in the Shell,
Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence | By Caleb Starrenburg

BEAUTIFULLY incomprehensible: Watching Ghost in the Shell, and its sequel Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence, is reminiscent of the time I found myself lost in Tokyo at three in the morning, having spent the best part of the evening at a Shibuya karaoke bar. Although I was rescued on that occasion by a kindly taxi driver, wandering lost through Tokyo’s striking neon maze was a paradoxically disquieting and exhilarating experience. In much the same way, I’ve become so immersed in the aesthetic wonderment of Mamoru Oshii’s films, at some point I’ve stopped caring I have no idea what’s going on.

I first viewed Ghost in the Shell when I was about 17-years-old, having recently been introduced to the anime genre by way of Akira. Back then I was awe-struck by the film’s animation, although I struggled to follow the often-bewildering plot and its philosophical diatribe on the convergence of man and machine. Almost a decade later I’m still in awe of the film’s cyber-punk aesthetic, while Oshii’s ramblings remain as delightfully pretentious as ever.


As far as I can tell, the plot of Ghost in the Shell revolves around a shapely cyborg called Motoko Kusanagi, a member of a secretive government intelligence unit called Section Nine. During a routine operation, Kusanagi’s section comes into contact with The Puppet Master, an elusive foe trying to hack into government databases. Kusanagi becomes obsessed with the Puppet Master and pursues a plan to jack into his consciousness before he can be destroyed.

Essentially, Kusanagi’s hunt for the Puppet Master mirrors her hunt for her own identity. The ‘shell’ in the film’s title refers to Kusanagi’s artificial body, while the ‘ghost’ is her personality, or soul. Through a succession of ridiculous soliloquies, Kusanagi, who is treated as human even though she is mostly machine, begins to question her existence. Are her memories artificially implanted, or are her experiences truly her own? What if a sentient entity is defined only by its capacity for self-analysis, reproduction, and death?

In the end, who really cares? Just how seriously can you take Oshii’s ponderings when they’re channelled through a character who must take off her clothes before she can get all bad-ass on people? Fortunately the film’s meditations are framed by a series of stunningly rendered car chases and gunfights, and set against the backdrop of an exquisitely reimagined Hong Kong. A true landmark of the anime genre.


In Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence, Oshii ratchets up both the eyeball-melting visual spectacle and the philosophy-spouting existential tirade.

This time around, the plot focuses on Batou. Batou, Kusanagi’s partner in the first film, is a Dirty Harry-esque counter-terrorism cop, charged with investigating a series of murders committed by gynoids: female androids designed as sex toys. What sounds like the storyline for a sordid anime-exploitation film is really just a platform for further repartee on the nature of humanity and technology.

Referencing Ridley Scott and John Woo one moment, quoting Descartes, Asimov and the Bible the next, Oshii's movie is more absurdly impenetrable than its predecessor. Where Ghost in the Shell 2 really excels is in its visual extravagance. Oshii pushes the limits of animation in all directions, his future-noir vision ranging from ornately photorealistic to nightmarishly surrealistic.

If Ghost in the Shell is indeed one of the chief influences of The Matrix, then Ghost in the Shell 2 sometimes feels like the movie the not-quite transcendent Matrix sequels wanted to be. At other times it feels just like one of the dire Matrix sequels.

For his unique vision alone, however, Mamoru Oshii deserves to join Katsuhiro Ôtomo and Hayao Miyazaki in the pantheon of great anime artists.

» Ghost in the Shell @ World Cinema Showcase 2006
» Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence @ World Cinema Showcase 2006