A Critique (more than a review)

The watching of Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade recalls themes from many great films—from Orson Welles's vain flight through the under-city tunnels in The Third Man to the social upheaval of Akira's 21st Century dystopia. Yet director Hiroyuki Okiura's film recalls nothing so much as it does the greatest tale of espionage and intrigue to ever grace the cinematic screen: John Le Carre's The Spy Who Came in from the Cold.

First the mood. Jin-Roh wallows in that otherworldly and dismal gloom that is so native to the life, and ultimate doom, of Le Carre's undercover protagonist, Alec Leamas. Nearly the entire experience of Jin-Roh occurs through a sort of visual fog. The animation is dulled—as if by its muting, Okiura seeks to drag the viewer into the same ethical mire lived day in and day out by his world's inhabitants. Their lives are grim. Their morals are questionable. Even their history is estranged from reality, a disquieted image of that which might have been. This is a re-envisioned Japan of the early '60s. Social and political battles are the only joys of the malcontented throngs. Violence seems an ever-present spectre.

Next the characters. Okiura's protagonist, Fuse, like Leamas, stands in the employ of a government who cares little for him more than his disposable use as a pawn in its greater games of intrigue. Both immersed in life's futility, Fuse and Leamas have cut themselves off from the world of emotion around themselves. The two men stalk through their respective worlds as animatronic utilities, seeming to exist merely for the sake of existence itself. When they are finally confronted point-blank with love and futility, with the potential for lives beyond their lives and the realization that such lives would be meaningless, they do react differently. But not so dissimilarly.

Finally the story elements. Jin-Roh is steeped in the same hand-biting, back-stabbing realm of counter-intelligence as is The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. Okiura's tale bleeds that same spirit of guesswork and political ambiguity that stagnates and festers in Le Carre's work. To catch a mole, you must create a mole. No one is who he seems. And when he is, you expect him to be otherwise. There are no heroes in these worlds. There are no happy, faery tale endings. In the end, there is only the vicious beast of depraved humanity. Man's nature is unmasked—and it is lupine.

Jin-Roh succeeds on many levels: as a turgid tale of social defiance; as a political thriller; as anime succeeding as honest-to-goodness cinema; and even as a tale of romance. The subdued animation and dreamy tint elicit the perfect mood for such a tale of vain circumspection. In fact, so perfectly does the visual aspect of Okiura's work draw the viewer into its ambience, that though the bursts of action and dialogue are sparsely paced, this tale of a wolf in man's clothing never seems to lag. It is only unfortunate that more fitting musical choices could not have been made; for though Okiura excels in gratifying the eyes, Jin-Roh lacks any sense of that aural storytelling that weaves so trenchantly throughout Wong Kar-Wei's In the Mood for Love (a film that similarly uses cinematic technique rather than exposition to build atmosphere). For the most part, Okiura succeeds in achieving a film of resonance and subtle power.

Its failure, however, is marked. Jin-Roh's primary theme, intended to weave throughout the film's circuitous route, is a metaphor drawn from the gruesome folk tale, "Little Red Riding Hood." Called by its originally published title, Das Rotkäppchen, the tale serves as a broad matrix for understanding the two key figures: government bad-man, Fuse, and his love interest, Kei, sister of an anti-government terrorist. Fuse, though disillusioned and seeking something more to life, is portrayed as the Wolf, ferocious, untamable, and ultimately corrupt. Kei, consistently seen wearing a red-hooded cloak, is the innocent Red, wanting only to love and be loved in return. The imagery, though occasionally striking, is more often heavy-handed. The viewer is beaten down with the fact that this man (and perhaps all mankind) is the Wolf—Okiura would have been better served in trusting his audience's acuity and grasp of his intent.

In short, seen as a political thriller following in the footsteps of giants, Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade is a wonderfully grisly tale of love, intrigue, and the futility in which all such lives must subsist. The poor use of the faery-tale imagery, however, thwarts the film from rising to its potential height. Regardless, Okiura crafts well and his future projects should bear deserved scrutiny.