"The human is no match for the doll, in its form, its elegance in motion, its
very being. The inadequacies of human awareness become the inadequacies of
life’s reality." -- Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence
Nine years on the heels of Mamoru Oshii’s wildly popular and often imitated
philosophical anime landmark Ghost in the Shell comes Ghost in the
Shell 2: Innocence, a grim investigative procedural that takes a page from
Bladerunner in telling the story of a half-human futuristic mercenary on
the trail of some murderous androids.
Set in an unspecified Asian city circa 2032, in a nightmarish society aided
by vast technological advances, civilization has "progressed" to a state where
humans and non-humans cohabitate with little distinction. The world is
predominantly populated by cyborgs and dolls. Cyborgs are machines with human
spirits inside, while dolls are cold machines with no inner "ghost." Lingering
among them are a precious few organic humans.
Batou is a cyborg employed by a governmental anti-terrorist operation to
track down a defective female robot—designed for sexual pleasure—who has killed
her master. Joined by human sidekick Togusa, they descend into a dark world
existing at the intersection of corporate corruption, violence and danger. Batou,
still haunted by memories of a long-lost love, comes face to face with a world
where humanity has all but been extinguished, providing the film with much
social philosophizing to chew on. And it’s here that director Mamoru Oshii’s
ambition gets the better of him.
The film is often rigorously intellectual, even literate in its approach to
the big questions that plague Batou (and Oshii): Why are humans so obsessed with
recreating themselves? Where does human arrogance and deceit begin? Are all life
forms—humans, animals, robots—equal? What effect does a society of unease and
detachment have on humanity? What role has technological overload played in
moral bankruptcy?
There’s a soaring sequence in the center of the film that is truly visionary,
involving an Asian street celebration that plays like an exotic, ornate Eastern
Mardi Gras. These visual moments are frequent in the film, but as they pile on,
one after the other, something odd starts to happen: a cold, static, empty,
lifeless and remote gloom falls over the film. Maybe that’s part of the point.