Science fiction surrealism In every sense, Peter Chan’s avant-garde work is a brilliant example of highly intelligent animation. Japanese anime cartoons of the “golden age” (whose visual rail “AEon Flux” was certainly addressed in many ways) boasted an impressive graphic side (however, and this is controversial; cut from the American “Blade Runner” setting “Akira” to the eyewitnesses), sometimes – the extreme frequency of the frame (”Ghost In The Shell” to Mamoru Oshii, and, again – already called “Akira”), but were invariably imprinted with the yoke of feeble-minded plots. Same 'Ghost in the Shell' Oshii played on the field of cyberpunk, an American invention, and narratively addressed the “philosophical” question of the boundaries between man and machine (Isaek Asimov, Arthur Clarke, Ray Bradbury), which has long been taunted with nothing but rabies. And these are also ‘cult’ illustrations; vaudevilles like ‘Genocyber’, ‘Angel Cop’, ‘Cyber City Oedo’ or ‘Biohunter’ cannot be remembered without toothache.
Bold experiments with a complex plot like Jin-Roh (authored by Mamoru Oshii), despite the reference action choreography, remained unclaimed by the mass audience, once again confirming its plebeian status of interested in pyrotechnics and liters of blood, generously poured on popcorn. Yes, and don't fuck with me.
Who would have imagined that the American product would be much better and certainly more original than the Japanese conveyor?
The first two seasons of AEon Flux are a set of short sketches, while the third forms a complex story that sheds more light on the not effortlessly survivor of a disaster, the world of the series represented by two enclaves [Bregna and Monica, respectively].
From the first episode, Eon Flax proves that great stories can be unfolded in four minutes; that is, ten (!!) times shorter than the forty-minute Japanese OVA, a truly ‘sprint’ stretch. And it even played into the hands of Chan’s project, forming some kind of poetic aesthetic in it.
Through the cold corridor of a futuristic structure, a woman dragging herself into BDSM latex with the addition of either a gymnast or ballerinas rushes, and mows hordes of attackers in welding techno masks on the run from submachine guns. The viewer is instantly imbued with sympathy for Aeon; and then, with a change of frame, sees those dying opponents of the agent crying in agony in the ocean of blood. One of the figures, not without difficulty standing on his feet, approaches the body struck by bullets. Throwing off the mask of the dying man, he reveals the human face crossed out by suffering; these are two lovers whose fate is now determined by the mutual gunshot wounds from Aeon [Season 1, EP01 ‘Pilot’].
And in the next issue, Chan repeatedly, using only visual narrative, binds the viewer to one or another character, consistently dying in the name of a bright goal; protecting his child or saving a loved one [Season 2, EP01 ‘War’]. The hero is active for only a minute, and during this time Chan will have time to imbue him with sympathy; and then, in the menopause of action, the protagonist will replace another; a delightful mockery of the cliches of Hollywood “one-sided experience” and a beautiful moralizing about the supreme beauty of life, how it is valuable – and all without a single word!
Mutants, amputees and aliens who have a connection with the title characters, appearing as if from the paintings of David Cronenberg, complement this world of painfully high technologies, schizophrenic medicine and an acute lack of resources, in which equally gutta-percha, toasty people are opposed to each other - surprisingly similar in appearance, but with different ideologies (the essence of the contradictions between them will deliberately be vaguely clarified in the series). Behind the layering of exaggerated, on the verge of outright comic sexuality, a window opens into complex characters that, behind their impressive originality, can be overlooked - and for nothing. Flax, who seems to be an unbending manipulator, actually respects the true feeling [Season 3, EP02 'Thanatophobia'], and despises men who 'selflessly' juggle women blindly in love with them. And it is no coincidence that somehow in his own way loves (absolutely mutually) the head of Brenna Trevor Goodchild, also shedding tears when he really hurts.
The strange mutual attraction of two absolute individualists, where neither will agree to concede, became one of the main decorations of the series. Goodchild and Eon sprinkle barbs, break scripts with each other, and sex with numerous creatures and people is used as a double-edged irritant – but never cross the line beyond which there would be a risk of actually killing the “partner”.
Their cooperation and opposition sometimes unfold on tablecloths of total surrealism, with hallucinating stories and special equipment of hilariously indistinct purpose. And this method of narration paints a unique futuristic reality, where technology and science have stepped so far forward that what is happening is sometimes difficult to explain from the perspective of the viewer, secretly “peeping” behind the world of the future (which, undoubtedly, was one of the main tasks of the authors of the series).
The universe of heroes creates situations, creatures and artifacts, the purpose (or origin) of which is deliberately clarified in a chaotic way; so the world of AEon Flux creates dilemmas and tasks for the characters, and for the viewer - projects the reality of a truly fantastic, very distant future.
Peter Chan, the architect of the series, himself confirms my analysis in an English-language interview with the Monican Spies community in the livejournal [2006]:
The outcome in any work of fiction is arbitrary. It's at the whim of the author. What is not arbitrary is the form. You can't cheat form. Form is not a vehicle for content. It is the content. The point is in the structure, the relationship of parts, the endowment of meaning to events through the context. It is not the role of the author to moralize or to pronounce judgment.
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I was very aware from the beginning that the stories I wanted to tell were unconventional, experimental, nonliteral. They are based on personal experience, observation, insight. They are not meant to make the viewer feel comfortable, reassured or familiar. The types of stories I tell are the only kind that seems right to me. They're not linear because life isn't linear. Linearity is reductive.
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All this is combined with ingenious humor, crystallizing in the form of absurd grotesque situations and acrobatic pirouettes, subtly ending in the best sense with idiotic dispositions [see Season 3, EP03 ‘A Last Time For Everything’, 02:09 – 02:25]. And this “schematrix” works on the canvas of unsurpassed graphic performance – perhaps borrowing a little from Japanese, but certainly not copying a single gram from the anime.
AEon Flux is the gem of adult animation, many times surpassing the superb attempts to play the psychology of Japanese projects [except, perhaps, ‘Perfect Blue’, ‘Paranoia Agent’, ‘Ghost In The Shell: Standalone Complex’ (with its good story about the Laughing Man), and some other titles].