Daily Streaming Classic: Paranoia Agent

Episode 1

I'm trying to go into this as blind as possible, but there's only so little context you can have.

As the single television anime by legendary director Satoshi Kon, Paranoia Agent has a lofty reputation and casts a long shadow. Kon works tend to do that - I recently watched Perfect Blue to get a bit more context for this series, and couldn't help but notice how sequences from that film were directly lifted by Darren Aronofsky (the bathtub, the staring photos), or how ideas presented there would reoccur in later shows like Psycho-Pass (who defines the reality of a public figure online?). Neither of these things are particularly surprising - Kon is fantastic at what he does, and his works have a strong visual vocabulary and some very pointed ideas.

Paranoia Agent doesn't disappoint on either of those fronts. Even in this first episode, it's clear we're dealing with fraught thematic territory. The show starts with a demented opening song, a howling cry as the cast laughs straight into the camera, framed against first a modern city and then the shadow of a nuclear bomb. So, that's a choice. The title “Paranoia Agent” seems to imply a seed for modern paranoia, and this first episode largely supports that assumption. After the opening, the first cuts of the series are all of workers arguing and lying into their cellphones, living and falsely representing themselves in disconnected private worlds.

So, distrust of the modern age? Well, maybe not so directly. As the episode continues, we're introduced to Tsukiko Sagi, a character designer who's famous for her cute mascot Maromi-chan but is now being hounded for a followup hit. Her coworkers despise her for her success, and she lives alone in a small apartment. On her way home from work, she runs into a strange old woman, and then senses someone following her. Running into her parking lot, she trips and spills out her designs, and then is struck from behind by a mysterious attacker.

The rest of this episode proceeds in semi-procedural fashion, as two skeptical police officers and the scummy tabloid reporter Akio Kawazu attempt to investigate the mystery of her assault. Tsukiko's own memories are vague, but through a series of clanging, migraine-inducing flashbacks, she remembers details one at a time. A glint of metal, a short figure. Likely a young boy, in fact - riding on inline skates. A bent bat and a crooked smile, all beneath a faded baseball cap.

One cop thinks she's lying, while the other talks of “peeling her like a peach.” Akio is both less trusting and more lecherous, hounding Tsukiko as she flees on a crutch (and eventually meeting her attacker himself). Newscasters warn of juvenile delinquency, the results of a repressed society, and how “we have to teach children the difference between the real world and virtual world.” In contrast, kids themselves talk of how the attacker is a loser, and that people should “keep the violence in videogames.” An older generation is contrasted against a younger, and then this contrast is revealed to simply embody the biases of each; meanwhile, technology remains an uneasy facilitator of engagement, and that nuclear shadow lingers in the mind. Easy answers aren't forthcoming, and Tsukiko herself is far from a reliable witness - after reading a series of awful online messages, she's comforted by her own mascot, who comes to life through some wonderfully creepy animation. Paranoia Agent proceeds like a mystery, but there's an underlying sickness here that goes beyond who swung the bat.

In spite of this narrative and thematic density, it'd also be easy to describe Paranoia Agent purely in terms of its success as a mood piece. The city portrayed here is a vast and alienating place, full of impersonal technology and repulsive people. Awkwardly intimate closeups and sagging, detailed character designs make for an intentionally off-putting combination, and Tsukiko's fear and paranoia are strongly evoked through the show's purposeful sound design. There's little music here; instead, the show is driven by the static babble of too many cellphones, the rattle of a jackhammer, or the clanging of a train crossing as the monster approaches. One scene of heavy stress contrasts shots of Tsukiko hyperventilating, her drink perspiring, and Akio's lips smacking and slurping on a cherry; the scene of her attack flips from the bat descending to her coworker's pens scattering on the table, intentionally translating a sense of unease from the overtly dangerous to the mundane. Nothing is safe here, no person or idea can be trusted.

As you may have gathered, I was definitely a fan of this first episode. So far, this is a rich and engaging story told with great skill and personality. I'm eager to see what horrible happening comes next, and will have to accept that that makes me just as much a voyeur as any of this show's own ugly sinners.

Rating: A

Nick writes about anime, storytelling, and the meaning of life at Wrong Every Time.