In some of his early reviews, Roger Ebert spoke of motion pictures that gave him what he called “the out-of-body experience.” By that, he meant movies that seemed to close the gap between the viewer and the projected celluloid and create an experience that engulfed the viewer. Recently I had that kind of experience. The film that induced is Paprika.
The plot of Paprika is almost deceptively simple. A Tokyo electronics firm has developed the DC Mini, a psychotherapy machine that allows the user to insert himself into the dreams of an individual engaged in REM sleep. In the hands of trained professionals, this amazing device can be used to benefit mankind; in the wrong hands, it is deadly.
Someone has stolen one of the four DC Mini prototypes and is using it to drive certain individuals insane by implanting in them a bizarre dream, in which things from refrigerators to classical Japanese Torii parade through the landscape. So the DC Mini’s development team is tasked with finding the lost DC Mini and halting this abuse. That team includes the brilliant but grossly overweight and insecure Tokita (Toru Furuya); the short and irritable Shima (Katsunosuke Hori); Osanai (Koichi Yamadera), a man with a terrible secret; and our main character, the somewhat chilly Atsuko Chiba (Megumi Hayashibara). Chiba, though, is living a double life, secretly running clandestine DC Mini treatment sessions as her alter-ego, the infamous “dream terrorist” Paprika.
Paprika is basically everything Atsuko is not. She is the vivacious teen with a thirst for adventure, as opposed to Atsuko’s much more professional scientist. We see this most clearly in her scenes with her client Konakawa (played by Akio Otsuka at his most Mifune-esque), who is confused about which woman he loves, Atsuko or Paprika. As the lines between the real world and the dream worlds blur, the lines between Atsuko and Paprika sharpen, until they are completely separate entities with contrasting personalities. This wouldn’t make any sense at all if it weren’t for Hayashibara’s performance. It is the best she has given in some time and clearly shows a lot of effort, especially in scenes that show a woman talking to herself as though she were—because she actually is—two different people.
Much of the film’s success, of course, has to be attributed to director Satoshi Kon. Working with screenwriter Seishi Minakami from a novel by Yasutaka Tsutsui, Kon creates what might be his magnum opus. It has all those elements we’ve come to know from his works: psychological splits, ugly men, and strong women. As a result, the film forms the third element in a loose trilogy that includes his earlier Perfect Blue and Paranoia Agent, as it covers a lot of the same thematic ground. But Paprika has a more grandiose execution. It is the film where all those themes Kon’s been playing around with come to the surface and erupt like a volcano.
At the screening I attended the audience broke into applause four times, a record for any movie I’ve ever seen, and decisive evidence for how good this picture really is. I seriously recommend it to anyone.
