Crime capers come in different hues and flavors. Some are comparatively
light in nature, all the more so when they involve charming or bumbling or in
other ways memorable characters and the crimes portrayed don’t involve too much
overt violence or suffering. Think, for example, tales of jewel heists, and the
whimsy of the first few movies in the “Pink Panther” franchise, or the roguish
charm of the team of thieves assembled in quintessential casino-heist movies
such as “Ocean’s 11”. Others, of course, are much more dispiriting, involving
as they do not so much a cat-and-mouse game but sequences of anguishing and
senseless violence and suffering. The fact is, of course, that crimes take
different hues, ranging from the more personal in nature to those that are depersonalized,
with political and moral and cultural issues being present in different
degrees. Regardless of the nature of the crime, of course, we have stories that
incorporate different background elements, but that serve as well for
frameworks in which we question the nature (and institutional apparatus) that
accompanies such a broad concept as “justice”. Who will cast the first stone, and
who will render a verdict that surely impinges not only on individual transgression
but also on the limitations of society?
The animated feature “Castle of Cagliostro” is an early film
by famed Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki. It was first released in 1980, and it
skirts many of the issues raised above with regards to the nature not only of
transgression but of justice. It is, instead, a caper, an adventure that makes
use of memorable characters to present a quest that is, somehow, justified because
it doesn’t portray graver transgressions nor question institutional limits. It
affirms, for example, the bonds of friendship, and the chivalric notion of
lending a helping hand to the less fortunate (in this case, the imprisoned
princess), and the ideal of stealing not to change a political system or order
but instead merely to obtain a personal level of security that is portrayed in
a sense as the just reward for the intrepid. We don’t have, in other words, the
dramatization of a dark fantasy that involves the sabotage of the “Occupy Wall
Street” movement, such as is offered in the third Christopher Nolan Batman
film, nor a film that questions the basic premises behind American foreign
policy in the Middle East, such as “Syriana”. We have, instead, a “buddy” film,
where the thief, the charming Lupin from the comic book series, assembles a
team in order to undertake a new venture: solving the mystery of the
counterfeit money that was stolen from the casino, a mystery that furthermore
seems to involve peril to the innocent young princess of Cagliostro.
There is airiness in this film that is reflected on several
levels. First of all, in the nature of the quest, one that is undertaken in a
chance fashion. Lupin and his friend are on a never-ending ride through a
European landscape that seems idyllic, even if there are gangsters that rush
out of a casino in hot pursuit, shooting in frenetic fashion. This is a
landscape of leisure, not of political turmoil or poverty or failed foreign
policy intervention, it is a landscape that is immaculately manicured, with
beautiful coasts, seaside villages that are postcard-perfect, jagged mountains
and pristine lakes, and middle-class people who are engaged in perpetual
tourism. Maybe that would be the ideal way of divesting this crime caper from
any form of moral ambiguity? It is an adventure story, a quest that involves a
protagonist that captures as well an earlier sensibility, in which innocence
rather than cynicism is at play.
We have, then, an ambitious and world-renowned thief by the
name of Lupin who is forever being pursued, but whose exploits don’t represent
a fundamental threat to the stability of society. He escapes all traps through
a combination of wits, physical dexterity, charm and the use of convenient
tools and devices which are not as high-tech as those rendered famous in the James
Bond films, but that nonetheless border on the magical. Witness, for example,
the way in which he conjures up disguises and produces implements such as the gloves
and boots that enable him to climb vertical walls, the automaton that fools the
guards during the wedding scene or the special rocket engine on his trusty car
that allows him to outrun carloads of gangsters, zipping as he does in
death-defying sequences that seem more the innocent notions of a ten year old
with a set of Hot Rods playing on a Saturday afternoon than a movie in which
the laws of physical causality come into play. There is magic involved, but one that takes on
the faint veneer of scientific plausibility but without venturing into outright
transgression, and it contributes to the dreamlike aspect of a film such as
this one, that however much it stimulates the viewer with action scenes and
various instances of falls that are inevitably interrupted in miraculous
fashion (why so much emphasis on trap doors, cliffs, stars, gears, towers, etc.?),
we have an airiness that seems to defy gravity and constitutes as such a
willful suspension of disbelief and a submission to fantasy.
The plot, as well, is one that recalls an earlier age. It
involves beautiful locales (lakes, coasts, an ancient Roman villa recaptured)
that are also dreamlike and seem to have an almost scintillating quality. The
characters, as well, conform to roles that are clearly marked, and that don’t
admit to ambiguity or subtlety. We have the boyish Lupin, for example, who is
the eternal 10 year old, seduced by quests, energetic, and all too eager to
assume a posture of roguish disaffection that is easily discarded. We have,
also, the innocent princess of the white hair and the enormous blue eyes,
almost too earnest to bear, content to watch and maybe a little reluctant to
believe in the prospect of her own salvation. And we have the middle-aged
Count, the villain of the film, who wishes to marry the princess in order to
further his plans to obtain a treasure that has been prophesied will come to
the person who unites the two rings. He is sadistic, of course, and loves to
sneer, and is worldly, playing the role of the archetypical taskmaster that
would be played in fairy tales of Capitalism as the industrial manager who
whips his workers mercilessly, except for the fact that he is quite effectively
undermining this economic system by leaching off it, as well as corrupting
politicians in order to do so. (So we do have some form of institutional or
ideological criticism of the prevailing order, although it is muted.)
For the most part there is no moral ambiguity here when it
comes to personal relationships. There are the exploited and there are the
exploiters, and we have in this instance the portrayal of the thief (Lupin) as
a stabilizing agent, one who is able to work outside of the system by
reapportioning elements here and there (capturing treasures and jewels and
other valuable elements that would be too concentrated among one group) and
distributing them elsewhere, as he does in the famous opening scene where he
hurls the bundles of fake currency stolen from the casinos out the windows of
his car, mocking the instabilities of a system that also seems to be based on
an illusion. We have no tortured
characters who encounter moral or intellectual quandaries, we have only
pursuers and pursued, the plodding police detective and the sadistic Count arrayed
against the free spirit, Lupin.
We also have a plot that is straightforward, and involves breaking
into a guarded domain. There are no grander questions, just a challenge, a hero
assembling a team to carry out a famous deed, as if we had a latter-day Jason
and the Argonauts seeking to steal the Golden Fleece. And, make no mistake,
Lupin is the hero, not only because he is an out-sized figure with
extraordinary abilities, but because he charms us, and thus wins our empathy.
We identify with him because we admire him and his prowess, even if he isn’t
really like us. His ambition, which admits of no institutional restraint, is
delimited in the end by a strong note of sentimentality, which does, after all,
something that we share in common, even if we don’t have his abilities. Why is
this sentimentality so important? Because it introduces a note of familiarity
and restraint. He doesn’t take advantage of the weak, after all, the easy prey
the way our economic system takes advantage of the poorest working classes. He
goes after the big scores, those who hoard resources and treasures that they
put out of circulation, those who resist being enchanted. But it is also furthermore
ironic that, however great his powers of enchantment and seduction, he doesn’t
ultimately take advantage, for example, of the women who fall for him. If he
did, perhaps that would detract from his charm, and render him less of an
adolescent with innocent appetites and more or a predator characterized by
unrestrained lust. There is, thus, a basic prudishness in a character who is
capable of scaling any wall and entering any tower, picking any lock and overcoming
underwater obstacles, submerged as he is under the lake, but won’t have sex, an
alternative medium of currency exchange, after all.
It is, then, an anime film which is restrained, one in which
sexual tension is postponed for another age, in favor of adolescent fantasies.
How else can we view the relationship between the thief and the red-faced
middle-aged Japanese inspector, the “Old Man” who forever pursues him but who we
know, deep down, has what amount to a fatherly bond with him? Or the team of
friends that he assembles, the buddy with the Unitarian beard or the willowy and
enigmatic samurai, who illustrate the classic form of male bonding that we
associate with these quests? This is, very much, a film geared towards an
adolescent sensibility, but also, one that has many charms for older viewers.
The animation, despite the beautiful backdrops, is someone
static. We don’t have the fluid quality we see in current animation and
big-budget films such as the Pixar classics or such recent Studio Ghibli films
such as “Spirited Away” (the Academy-award winning Japanese film) or others by
Miyazaki. Also, there are no real shadowy qualities that we associate with
ambiguity, nor any real exotic or natural elements, and instead we have grand
vistas, rooftops, lakeside scenes, and even a final sequence inside a tower
that is packed with gigantic gears and that the protagonists have to traverse,
in what would seem to be an homage to Harold Lloyd and the earlier silent
films. The animation is at times somewhat jerky, and recalls the type seen in
Japanese animation of the 60s and 70s that I remember so well from when I was a
child watching series such as “Kimba the White Lion” and “Speed racer”.
It was an enjoyable caper, and it is the essence of such a
film that the world is fundamentally unchanged after it comes to an end. It is
a static film, where the villain is defeated , the victim is rescued or
redeemed, and order is restored. There is no change in the situation of the
protagonist in the end, who remains the same person. He is still being pursued
by the authorities (the red-faced father figure who wishes to control him), he
can still charm others, and he is still in search of his next big quest. And,
of course, he can still count on the companionship of his friends who will
continue to prolong an extended adolescent fellowship that views life as a
series of never-ending adventures, one quest following another.
I enjoyed the film for what it was: a paean to innocence and
an earlier age, and to the dreams of a youthful period and a child who needed
heroes. Which is that age? One we all had and we lost as we became adults and
had to settle for what we found. The rich subtlety and visual imagery as well as
personal dramas are burnished in a sentimental way, simplified like jewels that
glitter in the afternoon light of our middle age.
Eternal Observer -- ORomero (c) 2013
Copyrights ORomero 2013
Copyrights ORomero 2013
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