Wesley Fenlon | Not with a bang but a whimper.

Metropolis is a true work of art inspired by and dedicated to Osamu Tezuka, who was instrumental in the formation and development of both anime and manga over the past half century. Though it was completed several years after his death, Metropolis is, in essence, the culmination of Tezuka’s lifetime of work: it builds on elements from his original Metropolis manga but significantly alters the plot to mirror Fritz Lang’s film, and addresses a swath of issues that show up across the body of his creations. Strife appears within the rigid caste system, within family, and between people and their mechanical creations.  Can the spirit of love conquer all? And, ultimately: what does it mean to be human?

The vast urban sprawl of Metropolis is meticulously and beautifully animated, and the characters are pure Tezuka: simplistic and exaggerated, instantly distinct, and especially expressive for their cartoony manifestation. The most impressive scenes bustle with traditional animation and hundreds of characters. The computer-generated imagery hasn’t aged as well, but by and large it blends well enough into the picture. The music is also a delight, and the jazzy soundtrack perfectly meshes with the film’s art deco style that is simultaneously futuristic and old-fashioned.

As an homage, Metropolis is an incredible feat. But as a movie, if Metropolis has any real failing, it’s that the film simply tries to do too much. Atlas’ struggle to overthrow the upper class becomes little more than a bridge between Kenichi and Tima’s time on the run and their capture by Duke Red, and Tima’s turn to Armageddon and subsequent redemption feels rushed and confused in the film’s final moments. The plot isn’t my favorite, but Metropolis is one of the few films in which I feel like plot is a secondary concern to the spirit of the adventure, as Kenichi and Tima’s blossoming friendship is just a tiny part of a vast world that’s realized in a manner rarely matched in cinema.

And even if the wealth of characters were to be stripped away — even if the soul of the movie, realized in so many wonderful characters who each give us a tiny glimpse into some aspect of humanity, be it greed, nobility, sorrow or love — even then, I’d still love Metropolis for finding that sublime union of the visual and the aural. As the Ziggurat falls, bringing an end to the greatness and prestige of Metropolis, it is not the sound of a deafening explosion we hear. It’s not the crash of debris, the buckling of steel, or the breaking of glass.

It’s the blues. A little bit happy, full of soul and tinged with sadness, Ray Charles brings an intimate quality to Metropolis‘ final moments that’s simply, purely human.  For that, it is unmatched.

” ‘Cause love’s such an old fashioned word, And love dares you to care for The people on the edge of the night, And loves dares you to change our way of Caring about ourselves, This is our last dance, This is ourselves Under pressure.” – David Bowie, Queen

“So when the tax man calls or rent gets late or we played a show and we didn’t get paid, I think ‘well there ain’t no chainsaw-bearing clown, so what do I got to fear?” – The Lost Trailers

A lot of times, when I hear people talk about how much a band has matured, I mentally roll my eyes and nod in vague agreement.  I hear this in conversation about bands pretty frequently, and most of the time I’m not so sure what it, y’know, means.  There are plenty of bands that radically change their musical style over the years, or become more politically or socially aware.  Or maybe they just improve as musicians.  Mostly, though, it’s a way to say a band is good–or better than they used to be–while coming off as someone in the know.

But now I either have to throw out that cynical view, or lump myself in with the guys and gals who want to look intelligent and hip.  And it’s Brand New’s fault.

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The Rock Opera is an unusual and rare musical form that I can’t say I’m especially familiar with.  The Who’s Tommy is actually the only example I could name off the top of my head; and even then, the term is a little fuzzy.  According to Wikipedia, a rock opera differs from the more common concept album (a la the wonderful Sgt. Pepper’s) by being, well, operatic.  The album has to have some sort of storyline, as expressed by a singer or singers who personify certain characters in the narrative or recount their adventures.

Anyway, to the point of all of this.  Thanks to a timely Penny Arcade update, I learned of the band The Protomen.  They have recently released a demo from their new album, which I proceeded to listen to.  That was all I needed.  I was entranced, but Breaking Out couldn’t prepare me for the brain fucking The Protomen were about to give me.

The Protomen’s self-titled album is a rock opera through and through.  The story is based on Mega Man, and the immortal conflict between Dr. Light’s creation and the evil robot-ruling Dr. Wiley.  But The Protomen tells a tale far removed from the innocent 8-bit storytelling of the original Mega Man games.  It’s a dark, depressing future in which Dr. Wiley controls humanity with an army of robots.  Worse, humanity is unwilling to fight for its own freedom.  The album practically exudes George Orwell.  Hope lies with the proles, but they won’t stand for themselves…

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From my 1Up blog (10/21/07):

No, seriously, it’s extreme. When I heard about E4 six months ago and found out it was a music game that allowed you to use your own music, I was excited. The potential there is enormous, and while I don’t think E4 really matches that, it tries harder than any other music game I’ve played–though, to be fair, that’s a pretty small group.

Booting up the demo Wednesday afternoon, I was skeptical. 30 seconds in and I had no fucking clue what I was doing. Okay, so I’m…blowing up? And thing doing it again? What do these powerup things do? Why can’t I control my explosion? I died pretty quickly, and wasn’t sure how much I liked the game. But five minutes later, I was hooked.

E4 is more about sensory immersion than anything resembling the kind of gameplay you’d expect from a product in which you try to create massive combo chains via psychedelic kamikaze attacks. However, even the simplistic design becomes a fairly addictive concept as you focus on strategy and time management to collect the greatest number of powerups while constructing the longest-lasting chains. Do you break off a combo to grab a shield and nab a few quickens and time extends, thereby increasing the influx of enemies and allowing you to score more points in the future? Or do you let that chain keep on going, hoping to rake in as much as you can until it runs dry?

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