The Absurdity of Totalitarianism - The Red Spectacles (1987)

"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing." Shakespeare’s Macbeth (Act V, Scene 5)

Mamoru Oshii’s (Ghost in The Shell, Patlabour) The Red Spectacles (1987), a film set in a totalitarian cyberpunk future, focuses on three ex-members of the vicious anti-crime unit Kerebos. A heavily armoured police unit clad in “Protect Gear” known for being ruthless in pursuit of “criminals”. Named after the three-headed watchdog of hell these Kerberos units are particularly reminiscent of Nazi Germany’s SS, individuals with absolute power able to dish out any sentence they seem fit, in the name of “control” and “order”. Oshii makes a point of not glorifying this kind of power, instead looking to question the individual's complicity in it. The Red Spectacles seeks to ask the question of what is a dog with no master.

Our protagonist Kōichi Todome, along with squadmates Washio Midori, and Sōichirō Toribe go rogue. They refuse to disarm in the light of controversy after a fellow “wolf” murders a civilian for a minor misdemeanour. On the run and cornered, Midori, suffering a wound to the leg, and Toribe, one to the stomach, command Kōichi to leave without them. After an initial refusal, he makes his escape, tail between his legs, telling his comrades he will return for them.

When we return, the colour has dissipated from the screen, now a sepia black and white, Kōichi has come back, but three years have passed; this town is not the same. The streets are empty and have seemingly fallen into disrepair, plastered across buildings is a poster of a woman draped in a hood, looking directly at the camera.

We learn that Kerebos was disbanded and his friends arrested for dissent, there is a new group founded to replace Kerberos, and ex-members of the unit are relentlessly hunted down and brought to “justice”. Despite being untouchable as a Kerebos as soon as it is beneficial to the administration members are blamed for their acts, stripped of titles and unceremoniously disavowed. Kōichi is a killer and as such should not be above the law, Oshii seems to not be excusing this but more so questioning the method, in a world where there is no impartiality who gets to decide what is just?

Upon his return, Kōichi is faced with increasingly strange and surreal events, almost as if the whole city has turned against him. The film’s antagonist, Bunmei Muroto, stalks Kōichi throughout this labyrinth along with a group of “cats” (they seem to be a new kind of Kerberos, unarmoured, slender and more secretive). Bunmei has this omnipotent quality throughout the film, preempting Kōichi’s every move, almost as if the whole world bends to his will. No matter where or when Bunmei is there, infiltrating every aspect of Kōichi’s life. Whatever administration is pulling the strings they appear to have a level of control and surveillance unbeknown to Kōichi. Navigating this dark neo-noir city, Kōichi tries to come to terms with his past. He tracks down his old squad, but instead of a heartfelt reunion, Midori and Toribe have turned their backs on him, even selling him out to Bunmei. Midori and Toribe appear to have no other option, either acting out of hatred or coercion ; it doesn't matter much, as for them this seems more a matter of survival.

Once Kōichi is captured, the film becomes even more absurd. Kōichi awakens strapped to a dentist’s chair, as he comes to, a door opens, rolling towards him are Bunmei and his hitmen, sitting on a sofa with wheels being pushed along a track. One such hitman now sporting what looks to be a 16mm Bolex, intimately trying to capture Kōichi’s confession, following his every slight gesture, barely looking up from the finder. After a brief interrogation, the “torture” begins, which is being forced to drink alcohol, something which Kōichi doesn’t seem to be all too uncomfortable with.

What is odd about this sequence is the kind of uneasy, uncanny feeling it produces. Almost as if Kōichi is being toyed with, the absurdity of an all-knowing power, it doesn’t matter to Bunmei how long it takes or by what method, as he is assured that he is in full control.

I think this is what is most effective about the world that Oshii creates, the humor and surrealism, while funny, it only exemplifies the level of control and power held by the film’s antagonists. Kōichi, with all his 80s action hero bravado, is a clown, and is portrayed as such, just one man who thinks he can stand up to the regime. The anti-Schwarzenegger, Kōichi isn’t portrayed to be the strongest person in the room, only that he thinks he is.

In the final act of the film, Kōichi is pursued once again by these Bunmei but this time, instead of betrayal his old friends assist him. The world begins to fall apart, all the locations in the film are revealed to be part of the same building as Kōichi runs from door to door looking for escape. Faced with no other option he tears down the film set around him, even now he does not recognise the situation’s fabrication.

He ends up inside a taxi, the driver quoting Shakespeare “How many times shall our lofty scene be acted over?….In states unborn and accents yet unknown” Kōichi responds “Time simply stands still, and only we change.” and proceeds to recount what happened the day he abandoned Kerebos. The driver interrupts with a different version of events to that we saw in the films opening. The driver saying that it was Kōichi alone who deserted, stealing a set of protect gear and ran off into the rain as a coward.

Bailing the taxi, Kōichi runs off into the night. For the first time Kōichi is melancholic, walking with his head bowed along the streets he used to call home. Seeing glimpses of the woman from the poster he follows her to an abandoned building. First seeing the woman then someone standing in full protective gear. Kōichi appears to confront himself, his shadow wearing the Kerberos protective gear, glimmers of crimson looking down at him as the rain batters against the metal helm. Kōichi then kneels before his shadow as he begs for death.

In this world, there is no longer a use for a dog like him.

The film closes on the woman Kōichi seemed to be following, the hood we now can see is the same crimson colour as the “Protect Gear”. She is sitting in a Taxi riding out of the city, perhaps a symbol or hope, perhaps one of peace.

Kōichi’s resistance is futile; perhaps it’s his inability to accept his past, or his compliance in the regime, the reason isn't important as it is all meaningless in the end. He was always going to die; it was just a matter of time. Oshii’s vision of a totalitarian future is full of despair, but it can be hard to see it in the film; Kōichi doesn’t. Instead, Kōichi is swept up in his grand moment on stage, his chance to right his wrongs, unable to see the situation around him, with his final grand gesture being witnessed by no one except his own shadow.

Oshii creates a world in which rules do not apply, a nonsensical town where the reach of those in power transcends what we deem physically possible. This setting portrays a regime which is endlessly intertwined with reality, much like Orwell’s; there is no escape, trust no one, not even yourself.