This theme may seem a small piece in the whole, but when viewing the film with a set pattern in mind and in your sights it takes on a much greater meaning, existing on many forms that sources not just from the characters and the story but from its creator and his inspirations. There is an underlying feeling permeating from actions and motivations that rage, feelings of helplessness and injustice at one’s own plight and past pain, define the carnage and despair swirling around the screen. That something so simplistic is transplanted to a hellish near future dystopia and represented by world changing telekinetic psychics, near God-like in their powers, only serves to reinforce and highlight the message; the most destructive thing a human being can face isn’t an atomic bomb or a bullet, it’s the unquenchable fire of their destructive anger which consumes all. It would churlish to suggest that the film is simply a stylized portrayal of one young man’s fiery mental meltdown and consequent killing spree, but it’s not too far from the truth.
And this is merely the backdrop, the setting for the real story. Amidst this suffering and attrition, we meet our protagonists, childhood friends Tetsuo and Kaneda. They fit in to a time-old archetype for the troubled cinematic anti-hero; the abandoned. Whiling away their mostly empty lives with violent clashes with rival bike gangs, they survive by a sparkling but familiarly lop-sided camaraderie. In a suitably symbolic choice, they are both orphaned, raised without parents and without wisdom. The James Dean factor means they enjoy a great deal of popularity and attention from women, but there is clearly a void for both of them. The differences that separate the pair, however, define proceedings and in may ways act as a catalyst. In a classic Alpha-Gamma male dichotomy, Kaneda is clearly the dominant male and in many ways isn’t just the big brother but the boss. His easy going casualness and self-assurance, clearly a well adapted tool of coping as revealed by flashbacks, means that not only does he dominate the group, he dominates himself. It does not give him time to think back or to think truly at all. This, unfortunately, creates an imbalance in his friendship with Tetsuo, who is under his thumb. Clearly more prone to his emotions, Tetsuo naturally falls foul of the plot and, in turn, his rage.
This is probably the most revelatory side-effect of his pervasive, self-harming psyche. Since he has been abandoned and left in the shadows of a cruel world, he chooses to perceive all around him in the negative even when they are not. The image of Kaneda’s red super bike, an iconic visual for the anime and the magna, is not just one of style but of thematic substance too. It represents everything that Tetsuo’s festering anger has made him hate about his friend; the cool bike is Kaneda being better, stronger and more impressive than he. His fury at constantly being ordered around, treated like a child, leads him to believe that Kaneda is only his friend because the latter knows he can play top dog without fear of reprisal. In fact, Kaneda asserts himself on Tetsuo because he knows he has to. It is not just a dynamic that comes naturally and works well, it is a deliberate effort to ensure Tetsuo’s safety. It is done not out of exploitation and self-aggrandizement, but out of deep lying care and necessity, since Tetsuo clearly cannot take care of himself alone as it will see him fall into a cycle of masochistic self-punishment and, ultimately, self-destruction. Tetsuo cannot see this because, frankly, he is too centered on his own rage.
This all comes to a head when he is transformed by the Colonel’s experiments into the next earth shattering telekinetic psychic. Had Kaneda befallen the same fate, the outcome would have been completely different, likely creating a Dr Manhattan-esque figure. The combination of limitless power and unrestrained hatred makes Tetsuo a monster. His apocalyptic travail across Neo-Tokyo in search of the mysterious Akira, ending countless lives in the process, is the culmination. It even leads to a showdown with Kaneda, who has followed him through the rubble in a desperate effort to somehow save him for his greatest danger; himself. It doesn’t work, of course, because by now it is far too late. When Tetsuo learns the truth about Akira, his predecessor, it is yet another defeat for him; he sees it as a signal that he is nothing to anyone, and that his new found powers merely make him a scientific subject of research, organs to be harvested and buried underground. It is fitting that, after breaking foundations with his battle against the authorities, he chooses to use his abilities…to sit alone in the Olympic Stadium, self-exiled and isolated.
Tetsuo chooses this life, this solitude, because of the angst and pain that has brought him to this point, not because of some noble desire to protect others. The thing that makes him so dangerous, his inability to fully control his abilities, is the very same thing that makes him so hateful to all, even those that care. Kaori approaches him at the stadium, looking for the hurt boy under the maelstrom, but finds only reproach. Kaneda, still convinced he can save his best friend, is likewise spurned as a foe. In a great show of symbolism, his state is at a complete polar opposite to the previously sinister ‘kids’, the trio of similarly strong psychics who have more reason to be angry than Tetsuo but instead adopt their childish innocence and ultimately selfless morality. While the Colonel talks in terms of destroying Tetsuo, the kids see it as saving him. This, of course, comes to fruition when Tetsuo is finally pushed far enough to completely slip over the edge and combust in an astonishing and disturbing explosion of physical metamorphosis. Naturally, Kaori is caught up in this mutation, the final and most profound expression of his rage, and dies horribly. His anger, quite simply, is too much and kills her. In finality, it kills him too, his soul perhaps the only thing to be salvaged by a sacrifice from the Zen-like kids. It may all defy the laws of physics, but is hauntingly familiar to therapists and survivors of troubled pasts.
It’s a well worn platitude that the trick to storytelling is combining fictional scenario with genuine emotion, and this is likely the gambit that has ensured Akira keeps its place in cinema history as a benchmark for fused genres and styles. While embarking on a unforgettable and visceral rollercoaster ride of imagination and spirit, it also retains a beating and brave human heart in order to convey a simpler, purer story everyone should listen to. Inspired from the ruins of history both world and personal and by the pen of an artist comes fable one part escapism, two parts cautionary tale, a simple story of anger and release. And a masterpiece at that…
This has been a Strange Interpretation…