Jin-Roh

The Thrasher's Word

Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade

Format: Movie (98 minutes)
Genre: Political, Drama, Romance, Psychological
Studio: Production I.G.
Director: Hiroyuki Okiura/Mamoru Oshii

Ask any serious follower of the more high-brow of anime to name the most significant anime films of the last 20 or so years and the list they’ll come out with will remain more or less constant. “Akira,” “Ghost in the Shell,” “Ninja Scroll,” and an assortment of Studio Ghibli films will undoubtedly make an appearance; the more learned might mention “Perfect Blue” and “The Wings of Honneamise,” depending on who you ask. One which is consistently not brought up is the oft-omitted, Oshii-written, 1999-released treatise on the personal ramifications of military life, “Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade.” To my mind, this is a glaring, gaping, nigh-on unforgivable omission. Why? Because “Jin-Roh” doesn’t deserve to be forgotten or neglected the way it seems to be; far from it, it deserves a place on the highest pedestal which anime has to offer. This is not just another throwaway piece of pulp-fiction, the likes of which are too often associated with our beloved subculture; rather, “Jin-Roh” represents proof, just like the acknowledged great works of Otomo, Oshii and Miyazaki, that anime can rather be a thing of unrivalled artistic merit.

“Jin-Roh” is actually an instalment into Mamoru Oshii’s ongoing series, “The Kerberos Saga,” a politically charged drama which has spanned over 20 years of Mr. Oshii’s life and has appeared in various manga, anime, live-action films, radio dramas and probably other media I can’t remember at the moment. I’ll admit straight-up that I’ve never come across any other instalments in this convoluted, chronologically disjointed series besides “Jin-Roh,” but that doesn’t really matter; it holds up just as well as a stand alone story. Set in an alternative vision of the 1950s, Japan is in economic decline after World War II, and social unrest at the recession has manifested itself as an underground group of guerrilla freedom fighters in Tokyo known as the Sect. Formed as a counterpoint to the Sect are the Capital Police, a heavily armed and armoured paramilitary group. As is demonstrated to us in the film’s brutal opening scene, these two factions turn the streets of Tokyo into a battlefield.

In the middle of this sorry mess is Kazuki Fuse, a new initiate into the Capital Police, who, in a moment of compassion towards a young member of the Sect, screws up his unit’s operation and is unwittingly made a scapegoat in a political power play. More shockingly, he becomes romantically involved with the dead girl’s older sister, Kei. The two are caught up in a political scandal, made unwillingly into victims of a clandestine coup d’etat, trying to survive in spite of each other, trying to maintain their love in the midst of a society which demands they remain enemies.

The “Wolf Brigade” part of “Jin-Roh’s” title is drawn from its use of the story of Little Red Riding Hood as a running motif, with the image of the wolf, a hierarchical animal, as an allegory for the military mindset, wherein one must remain indifferent to others, defining them in terms of friend or foe and suppressing personal opinions or feelings. “Jin-Roh” is a serious, adult film, which makes a serious, adult point. It’s also worth pointing out that the Little Red Riding Hood referenced isn’t the Grimm Brothers’ sweetened-up, family-friendly version, but “Rotkäppchen,” the much darker, original Teutonic version where Red Riding Hood gets what’s coming to her. That should be a hint as to what to expect; “Jin-Roh” is dark. It’s brutal, harrowing, and uncompromisingly bleak. And what’s more, it’s unremittingly powerful.

The narrative here is of course labyrinthine. Political drama, dual motives and plotlines that resemble nothing so much as a bowl of spaghetti are pretty much standard in any anime aimed above the eight-year-old demographic, and “Jin-Roh” is by no means the first, nor is it even the best, in pulling it off. What sets it apart is that here, the winding narrative winds not for its own sake, but rather to create a masterful sense of powerlessness and desperation in our hero and heroine. The more Fuse and Kei (and we, the audience along with them) learn, the more their confusion builds, the more their perceptions of each other and their environment disintegrate, the more exquisite is the sense of despair that “Jin-Roh” inspires. Watching these two’s flight from the various organisations looking to turn them to their own ends is like watching a train wreck I slow motion; neither we, nor those involved can know who will emerge unscarred or even alive. All we can do is watch, transfixed, hoping against hope that the characters we’ve come to care about will have the happy ending they hope for.

And what characters these are. Developing a cast of characters as subdued and (almost without exception) deceptive about their motives was doubtless a daunting task, but one that Oshii and co. have pulled off expertly. Fuse in particular fits the bill as a monosyllabic hero, but whenever he does speak, his words have a context and resonance that serve to elevate him far beyond any cliché. Furthermore, the use of imagery (look out for one particularly harrowing dream sequence where Fuse sees a pack of wolves hunting… never mind) gives us the very convincing sense that we’re coming to know and understand his melancholy personality. Seeing him contrasted with Kei, an optimistic and quietly joyful character, we come, almost unknowingly, to care for the two of them; to hope for, and even to believe in, their future together, making the subsequent events all the more poignant.

Looks-wise, “Jin-Roh” is fairly straightforward; while perfectly solid with three years in production, and with arguably some of the most convincing and lifelike animation you’ll see this side of “Akira,” it lacks the visual scope and flair of, say, “Ghost in the Shell.” One aspect that is noteworthy is its marked lack of traditional anime stylisation; environments and characters are made to look as realistic as possible. One might almost expect that it could be translated frame for frame into a live-action film without losing any of its effect. Look closely though, and you’ll see that the medium of animation has been well utilised. The pale colour palette gives the film’s vision of 1950s Tokyo an ethereal, faintly Orwellian vibe, and the character’s faces are subtly expressionistic in key scenes. One thing you won’t miss, however, is the absolutely sublime soundtrack performed by Gabriella Rubin. Understated though it is, it works wonders for the film’s ambience; if your heart doesn’t skip a beat for the ending theme over the closing credits… well, you’re a replicant. It’s the only possible explanation. Turn yourself in to the authorities.

When it all comes together in “Jin-Roh’s” climax, you will be shocked. You will be horrified, stunned and distraught. You definitely won’t be getting a good night’s sleep. It forces you to contemplate, to ponder, to ask questions of its characters and the incredible dramatic scenario you’ve just seen play out. And that is why “Jin-Roh” succeeds. It is a powerful, poignant, mature work of subtle emotional nuances and moral ambiguities. And as rarely as I give out that all-important fourth asterisk, here I feel compelled to. “Jin-Roh” is not only a great anime, but a genuinely great film under any categorisation; a woefully underrated work of art. It is – and I do not use this term lightly – a masterpiece. Watch it. And then watch it again to take it all in.
-Thrash ‘Til Death

LAA Rating: ****

Rating System:

* - Horrible
*1/2 – Very Bad
** - Bad
**1/2 – Good
*** - Very Good
***1/2 – Excellent
**** - Masterpiece

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