Ghost in the Shell, certainly one of the most, perhaps the most, stupefyingly intelligent and philosophically stimulating anime to have come out of Japan (and in my humble opinion blasting other contenders for the title of the best ‘smart-anime’ such as Akira and Nausicaa in the Valley of the Wind out of water), is also possibly the best cyberpunk visual fiction ever writ on a video monitor or a screen. Yes, it very much operates under the shadow of Blade Runner, and yet GS: FFV (Feature Film Version) goes off in its own unique direction, completely steamrolling over the former film’s annoyingly shallow is-he-a-replicant-or-not “mystery” (Adding to the sourness of the debate is its director, Ridley Scott, joining the fray and insisting that yes, so-and-so is a replicant and those who don’t get it are idiots!) and shows the main character Kusanagi (a cyborg with only her “software” being human) and the antagonist Puppet Master (an artificial intelligence who can create a corporeal body to house its “software” at will) reaching the kind of mutual understanding that also happens to be an evolutionary step up the ladder for the mankind.

 

When Kawai was approached with GS: FFV he, like Oshii, made some downright innovative and subversive choices that made his score for the movie (and the one for its sequel, Ghost in the Shell: Innocence) completely distinct from not only generic anime/SF film scores, but also from his own previous output. The main carryover from his previous works like the one for Patlabor, themselves far from merely slumming gigs, are the taiko drums that still serve as the backbone for the musical architecture. Otherwise the score is as avant-garde as a Takemitsu Toru piece. There are no (previously ubiquitous) techno-beats. No rock inflections. Indeed, no “action” music, period.

 

The hypnotically amazing title credit sequence, showing the process of Kusanagi’s cybernetic body being put together in a  uterian pool of water, is accompanied by a choral piece, chanting, in deliberately archaic Japanese modeled after a type of Shinto prayer known as norito, a hauntingly beautiful yet deceptively disturbing melody, punctuated by a shaking of ceremonial brass bells. The effect is that of a profound mystery, deep unease, gorgeous beauty and inexplicable sense of sorrow all at once. Listening to GS: FFV’s title music brings me as close as I have ever been to grasping one of the elusive notions found in Japanese traditional aesthetics, mono no aware, often rendered (very inadequately) as “sadness of things.” This sadness, as in mourning for the things that have been, that already are, and that are yet to be, is echoed by Kusanagi’s own difficult search for her authentic identity: most movingly depicted in an almost throwaway scene—amidst a dialogue-less "musical interlude" sequence—where Kusanagi fleetingly glimpses a young woman’s face in an office building’s window, who looks identical to herself. Could she have been the model for Kusanagi’s own body? A fellow cyborg? A flickering projected image from her electronic brain?    

 

The rest of the score is also strikingly minimalist and quasi-experimental. The track “Access," for instance, consists almost entirely of polyphonic clangings of chimes and bells (many types of percussive instruments were employed, from tubular bells, gongs to gamelan), awash in electronic drone. In “Nightstalker” and “Ghostdive,” translucent guitar riffs suddenly bubble up from the depth, giving voice to Kusanagi’s yearning to comprehend the purpose of her existence.

 

For the inevitable and expanded, but not necessarily better, sequel Innocence, Kawai contributed a souped-up version of the music for GS: FFV. The title choral tune is now more aggressive, almost angry, backed up by the masculine, smashing taiko beats. The lyrics now express coherent emotions: the sorrow, bitterness and resentment of the puppets (robots) created by the humans who give the former just a taste of life, only to take it away:

 

Saku hana wa/ kami ni koi nomu  The blooming flower/ Prays to Gods

Ikeru yo ni/waga mi kanashimo     In this world, alive/ My sadness and

Yume wa kenu/Uramite chiru         My dream, too, die/ Petals are scattered, bitter and angry

 

Aside from “Attack the Wakabayashi” track, a loud pummeling “action” piece I hope Kawai had not included in the album, Innocence soundtrack continues on the same minimalist vein, occasionally indulging in a torch song or two, to arrive at a busy and slightly overdone climax, both cinematically and musically. This climactic piece clearly “scores” the onscreen action and is a fusion, if you will, of the more ambient music of GS:FFV and Kawai’s earlier anime scores. It’s exciting enough, but I wish something more ingenious had been done. 

 

All in all, though, Kawai Kenji’s scores for the two Ghost in the Shell films are masterpieces of its kind, stunningly original, brazenly effective, and best of all, inculcating that heady and paradoxical mixture of sadness and exhilaration a Japanese art at its best can do in the viewer’s hearts.

 

In Part 3, I will be back with Kawai Kenji’s J-horror scores and other odds and ends: will see if I can get hold of Avalon and Death Note.