cinemattraction

Rarely, when reviewing a film, do I find it necessary to mention the score right away, if at all. In Paprika’s case, however, the music merits immediate attention. The horrid, intrusive, inappropriate blend of Japanese pop/electronic dance music’s only function is to grind the narrative to a halt and drain any scene of tension or drama. There. That had to be said. On to the review.

Cinema is often referred to as a dream factory. The character transformations, time ellipses and visual archetypes that constitute the art form resemble the elements of dream logic. Among other things Paprika asks if cinema merely reflects human psychology or actually plays a part in structuring consciousness itself. Heavy stuff for an unassuming animé flick.

Title character Paprika is the alter ego of serious female scientist Dr. Atsuko Chiba. Sometime in the near future, Atsuko’s corpulent colleague Dr. Tokita invents the DC Mini, a device that enables the wearer to enter other people’s dreams. The DC Mini could revolutionize the field of dream therapy, but in the wrong hands the dreamer’s personality and sanity could be destroyed forever. Unfortunately, childlike Dr. Tokita is unable to grasp the questions of morality, disturbing the natural order, and politics that surround his invention. When the lab chief begins to suffer from schizophrenic hallucinations and Dr. Tokita’s research assistant simultaneously goes missing, Atsuko realizes that something is awry. Atsuko’s enlists the help of handsome co-worker Dr. Osanai, Tokita, her “dream detective” alter ego Paprika, and Paprika’s current patient – a haunted police detective Konakawa – to search for the stolen DC Mini.

Movie buffs will appreciate Paprika’s references to well-worn genre conventions (which end up invading one character’s recurring nightmare) and the film’s thoughts on the potentially therapeutic process of filmmaking. The film soars during the visually stunning, psychedelic rendering of the dream sequences. Director Satoshi Kon perfectly captures the bizarre mood shifts and whimsically fluid logic of the dream world. Paprika also perverts the Japanese cultural worship of kawaii (or cuteness). At one point a dream parade of nationally iconic dolls and pop-culture/technical kitsch (including the disturbing cat with raised paw that you can find at sushi restaurants – eechh) goes from merely creepy to reminiscent of the fascist march of the Nazi’s – complete with salute and rhythmic chanting.

But despite the visual magnificence, Paprika’s plot and characterizations remain shallow and become increasingly muddled as the film progresses. Some of this is undoubtedly intentional since the dream world and reality began to merge under the villain’s control, but some of it just reeks of lazy scripting that plasters over plotholes with fantasy. Ultimately, Paprika’s reach just overshoots its grasp. The profound questions it raises – about the essence of cinema, the position of the spectator, the potentially tyrannical power of a director over its captive audience similar to a culture’s control over it’s people, and what individual therapy could evolve into in our technologically and media glutted society – all these ideas collapse under the sheer spectacle of the nonsensical ending. Then again, maybe that’s the point.

© 2007 Robyn Citizen. All rights reserved.

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