Both Ghost in the Shell and Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence, though quite different in style and execution (and timelines?), are visually mesmerizing sci-fi anime flicks about humanity’s limits/values and life’s meaning through the eyes of cyborgs—even if the latter film is far too expository. The ’95 original follows public security agent Major Motoko Kusanagi (voiced by Atsuko Tanaka) in 2029, a cyborg part of fictional New Port City, Japan’s Public Security Section 9, and assigned to some of the city’s most violent crimes with her second-in-command Batou (Akio Ôtsuka). With their cybernetic parts and cyberbrains that allow them to access many parts of the internet (the brain being the “ghost” or consciousness of their “shell” or body), the enhanced agents have superhuman abilities, heightened senses, and much more durability, being metal instead of bone.

After a string of robotic murders, Major Kusanagi is informed that this could be the work of a mysterious ghost-hacker (where one hacks into cyberbrains to control and/or alter their realities) called the Puppet Master (Iemasa Kayumi), who has been chased after for years and assigned to his case. Kusanagi learns more about herself, humanity, and what defines life as the chase occurs. Innocence, taking place in 2032, follows Batou on his own as he uncovers a different—and much more intellectually charged—set of hacking and murder crimes directly connected to a more recent robotic manufacturer who makes new cyborgs called ginoids for household assistance. Expanding on some of the original’s core themes of humanity’s purpose, inherent flaws, and fleeting hope, Ghost in the Shell and Innocence together make a poignantly dystopian argument about the state of the world, AI and robotic dangers, and what those fighting tooth and nail for positive change must endure to survive.

Director-writer Mamoru Oshii’s Ghost in the Shell duo runs like an anime Blade Runner in all the best ways. Especially in the original, sweeping grays and yellows of a late-late-stage capitalistic, supremely wasteful New Port City bleed through as (though grayly muted) the blues, reds, oranges, purples, and the like of a seemingly infinite array of neon signs and advertisements dot an otherwise industrially barren landscape. While the CGI usage can be unnerving in Innocence, the superfluous hand-drawn backgrounds, characters, and actions in the original and for much of the sequel make them worthwhile pieces of eye-candy, demonstrative of humanity’s wasteful trajectory. Trash heaps, abandoned trolley cars, and run-down skyscrapers run amok. Although both films take place in a fictitious Japanese city, Hong Kong’s narrow streets and crammed advertising patterns permeate Ghost‘s Japanese art style and culture, elevating the film’s setting beyond an individual culture’s specificities—and the morosity of Major Kusanagi’s and Batou’s criminal and interpersonal discoveries. The latter’s CGI use can also mystify, but it does so as much as it squanders and makes things look unintentionally ugly.

Major Kusanagi is a compelling protagonist to comprehend New Port City’s depressing appearance, its few violent inhabitants, and the psychological impact of these actions (and existing in constant uncertainty). She constantly reflects internally and with Batou about the state of humanity and our species’ need for change: “If we all reacted the same way, we’d be predictable,” she tells another partner at one point, “And there’s always more than one way to view a situation. What’s true for the group is also true for the individual. It’s simple. Overspecialize, and you breed in weakness. It’s slow death.” She recognizes the human need for change and diversity—a sticking point reinforced by her very enemy later on—and sticks with it to avoid the species’ otherwise “slow death” of sameness. Such change is also evident in the city: creaky, weathered cranes demonstrate the construction of new buildings, and obvious new technological advancements are shown slapped onto older, rusted machinery, showing how society (imperfectly) changes. Oftentimes, problems are ignored in the face of change, which becomes strikingly clear from New Port City’s half-rundown, half-progressive aesthetic in correlation with Kusanagi’s introspections. As Major Kusanagi flips over cars, flying-kicks bad guys with little effort, and dead-eyes waves of them with assault weapons, watching her come to terms with humanity and her lack of relation to it becomes more than an appealing experience—it’s a dense, cryptic examination of humans and our tech-tools. Through her, viewers get a lot about humankind’s most at least historically unbreakable flaws and see what is even now, 30 years later, a world strikingly similar to ours in its metaphorical and physical wounds.

Unfortunately, as much as Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence tries to expand on the original’s sad scope and gritty outlook, it’s simply too exposition-dumpy to match the original’s neo-noir, flamboyantly flared balance. It’s depressing and too long; people talk, ramble, and vent about their lives, the city, and the ethics of human-robotic relations and the latter’s existence to no real consequence or original concept. There is still much to gain from Batou’s individual experiences—especially as he meets Innocence‘s main perpetrator who confesses “dolls [cyborgs] are an extension of the human condition” in more ways than one—but he is simply not that enticing of a character on his own, and especially not with Innocence‘s heavy-handed approach to its philosophical qualms. Major Kusonagi’s absence is felt and desperately missed, which becomes ever clearer when she finally shows up in Innocence’s not-so-innocent final showdown, and things get more propulsive than they were at any other point. Plus, both returning actors and new faces were clearly directed to remain monotone throughout, making them feel flaccid instead of intensifying the characters’ grueling experiences as was almost too obviously intended. “We got some narrow, dark stairs. What’s the plan?” Batou’s new partner and fellow ’95 film returnee, Togusa (Kōichi Yamadera), asks in an almost over-inflated, ridiculously detached tone. Some may feel the film is incredibly ‘smart’ or ‘intelligent’—speechy dialogues may be time-consuming, but they’re insightful—but Innocence‘s downfall comes from the director’s overblown exposition dumps, the narrative’s detachment from the original manga, and Major Kusanagi’s absence. Even so, there is more than enough to pontificate regarding a viewer’s own Innocence, providing intellectual challenges that can hopefully distract from the film’s uninteresting protagonist and lack of momentum.

Thus, while the second outing is not nearly as entertaining or revealing as the original, Oshii’s Ghost in the Shell duo is a feast of different ways in which to live and interpret life with a side of societal criticism to keep even the most action-oriented fans thinking. For anime fans, Oshii fans, and cyberpunk-esque neo-noir fans, Ghost in the Shell and Innocence make for a fine longer time at the movies.

Double feature screens Sunday, 5/25, 1:00 p.m. @ Coolidge Corner Theatre

Part of the ongoing repertory series: Ani-mania!