Theater program of the animation film AKIRA directed by Katsuhiro Otomo
PAMPHLET DETAILS
Publisher: Toho
Release date: 1988-VII-16
Language: Japanese
Number of pages: 24
Size: A4
Retail price: ¥400
AVAILABILITY
Amazon JP:
http://amzn.to/1zuzaQ1
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INTERVIEW
The Birth of AKIRAAt first, I intended to draw a light science-fiction story.
For a while, there was a period when I was drawing nothing but strange manga. I was always thinking about ways notto turn things into conventional drama, or about having the characters create the story entirely through improvisation. Those were the kinds of approaches I kept using. Once you look at reality, the ordinary way of constructing drama stops being interesting. I had been drawing stories about reality, but I got tired of that too. So I thought it was about time to return to ordinary manga and draw something that was more manga-like—a real manga story. And, of course, the kind of pictures I wanted to draw changed over time. At first I wanted to draw strange-looking human faces, but then I started wanting to draw things with a greater sense of scale. At the time, there were things like Star Wars. That kind of scale, and the feeling of things going “whoosh!”—that feels good, you know? In AKIRA, I think that comes out in the destruction of things. There’s something great about images of things being destroyed.
The first time I drew that kind of science fiction was “FIRE BALL” in Action Deluxe. It was a story about psychics fighting a computer, and I named the computer Atom—after Osamu Tezuka’s Tetsuwan Atom (Astro Boy). Then, in Dōmu, the psychic girl was named Etsuko, after Etsuko Sarutobi from Shotaro Ishinomori’s “Okashina Okashina Okashina Ano Ko”. So when I was about to do AKIRA, I thought, “There’s only Tetsujin 28-go left…” In a way, it was about paying respect to those who came before me—or maybe it was a parody. But simply calling him “Tetsujin” would have been too obvious.
The name Tetsujin itself gives you the image of something frightening. When it appears, everyone is terrified simply because it is there… In other words, it’s something huge. But if you have something huge, and you keep escalating it, you can only keep making it bigger and bigger. So I thought that, rather than that, a small child might actually be better for telling a story with a sense of scale. So I gave him the name of a small child. I like children and old people, too.
About the Film
I want the film to have a cluttered, complicated feeling all the way through. Rather than showing one particular scene with a big “bang,” I want to put details into even the smallest places. I want all those accumulated details to form something like a mosaic, so that when you've finished watching it and step back a little, you can see the whole shape.
That’s why I created the city of Neo-Tokyo. I hope that, taken as a whole, it will become the work called AKIRA. In that sense, although the title is the name of a person, it’s not really a matter of having one particular protagonist. Everyone is a protagonist, and everyone has their own drama. They intertwine with one another while creating the story.
That is the kind of structure I want. As for the ending, it is basically the ending I had intended to do in the original manga. From quite early on—from the very beginning, actually—I had the idea that it would end with Kaneda and Tetsuo reminiscing about the past.
Of course, in the manga, the protagonists move around on their own, so I don't know what’s going to happen. Once something has gotten moving that far, it’s actually quite difficult even for the author to stop it. You have to prepare for it quite a long time in advance.
What I found difficult about the film was the transitions. I could visualize the major events at the screenplay stage, but I struggled quite a bit with the less glamorous parts—how to carry everything through to the ending, and how to connect everything organically.
And then there was the flow and the pacing. You have to do everything within a limited running time of about two hours. That means there can’t be any unnecessary cuts. With manga, things are a little rougher, so it’s okay if you take a slight detour. But with a film, if you go off course, it becomes an incredibly long, drawn-out thing.
When I was drawing the storyboards, I worked on them with animation in mind—thinking about what I could probably make move myself, and what kinds of techniques could be used to handle particular things. Even so, it may have been pretty demanding. In particular, there are a lot of rather understated performances, such as someone simply walking toward you from a distance, so I imagine those will be difficult. On television, you can just cut off the legs and things like that, but in this film there are quite a few places where you have to portray human movement properly—someone’s feet actually touching the ground, someone turning around, and so on.
Really, I think the seemingly insignificant parts are going to be the difficult ones. The scene toward the end where Tetsuo transforms is a dynamic sequence that could only really be done through animation. But I think making that look realistic depends on how realistically you draw everything around it. If you have manga-like characters appearing from the beginning and then have them do something spectacular at the end, there’s no sense of reality. No matter what you do in animation, it simply won't be frightening—it becomes something ordinary, something you take for granted.
If you want to properly portray things like psychic powers and other spectacular moments, you have to start with ordinary acting and give as much realism as possible to even the most uneventful parts. That is the only way to create a sense of reality in the destruction of things. We also talked about the art and the colors in terms of how to create that sense of realism.
I think that's true of all films. Because actors are performing something that is made up— if you're told right at the beginning, “Those are actors,” or “This is a made-up story,” then it's over. You have to create a kind of reality appropriate to the story, don't you?