And now for something completely different, I’m going to be writing about an animated movie this time: Satoshi Kon’s 1997 masterpiece Perfect Blue. Writing about visual storytelling in animated films is different on a basic level because everything the audience sees is constructed in a way that does not happen with live action films. Appearing simple at first, Perfect Blue is a dizzying trip in the spaces between reality/unreality and madness/sanity.
In 90s Japan, young Mima Kirigoe is a popular idol singer in a trio called CHAM. Mima wants to transition from being a singer to a serious actress. But not everyone is happy with her decision, especially her unknown stalker. After she films a rape scene in the Silence of the Lambs-like crime drama she’s on, Mima begins seeing a doppelganger of herself. As fears of her doppelganger grow, and the stress of working a dark show, Mima begins to lose track of what’s actually happening to her.
If the concept of Perfect Blue sounds familiar to you, you’re not wrong. 2010’s Black Swan is very similar to Perfect Blue, with the general plot, multiple shots, and motifs being shared between the two films. While Black Swan director Darren Aronofsky denies that he borrowed from Perfect Blue, he does own the copyright of a live action adaption of the film. However, this was done so he could include a shot for shot of Mima screaming in the bath in Requiem for a Dream (2000).
What makes Perfect Blue work?
For a dialogue heavy film, visuals are important here. Colors, cleanliness and their cultural significance in Japan add that one final push in characterization, especially for Me-Mania and Doppelganger Mima. Mima’s double is always shown in a bright white light. White, as in many cultures, represents purity in Japan, the double torments Mima over her perceived loss of “purity” due to her own internalized sexism after she films the rape scene.
As for Me-Mania the stalker, the audiences’ view into his bedroom makes him even more unsettling. A negative view of the life of an otaku, Me-Mania’s room is shadowy, full of hundreds of copies of Mima’s magazines, and his wall is covered with posters of her. Said posters talk to him sometimes… At a glance, viewers know that his room is messy. In Japanese culture, cleanliness is associated with goodness. Me-Mania is dark and dirty, the visuals another signifier to viewers that he is bad.
Perfect Blue’s horror is effective due to it letting viewers feel safe at the start. My first time watching it, I remarked to my friend that I couldn’t imagine the story being messed up. The numerous establishing shots of the environments show the audience what is normal before the plot and scenery go off the rails. I think that all good horror/thriller films need to set up normalcy, without it the encroaching danger does not have the same effect. For example, Kon shows the audience what Tokyo looks like outside Mima’s window. Like Chekov’s gun, the establishing shots pay off during the climax.
One topic that I want to cover more in this series is how editing can make or break a film. Screenplays can offer suggestions of how scenes should be edited, but not to the degree of a finished film. Perfect Blue has fantastic editing that builds upon the unreality of the plot. Various moments of time are edited together in anachronistic order in the film, helping the viewer feel as confused as Mima.
There are many moments were its unclear if we are watching a scene from Perfect Blue as a whole, a scene from the crime drama Mima stars in, or a scene that never existed in reality. There’s no music change or color schemes to tell audiences that something is off. The uncertainty makes the film fall deeper and deeper into the uncanny valley. Everything in Mima’s world is familiar, yet unfamiliar, and that is what makes it so frightening.
One recurring motif of Perfect Blue, that Black Swan would later memorably use, are reflections. Throughout the film, reflections reveal fears and truth. Mima’s reflection, like the doppelganger, gives voice to her insecurities. But reflections in mirrors and windows tell the truth during the film’s climax. The real big bad is actually Mima’s benign manager Rumi, who has gotten lost in the delusion that she is the real Mima.
Rumi brings Mima back home to her apartment, only for Mima to realize that it is a duplicate of her bedroom that Rumi made in her own home. This is the moment where all the establishing shots of Mima’s bedroom pay off. The audience knows what’s supposed to be there and we feel the creeping awareness our heroine is in danger as we notice what’s different.
Rumi ultimately puts on a Mima costume and tries to murder her. Mima, still trapped by her own anxieties sees Rumi as herself. The Rumi-as-Mima gracefully leaps after her prey, but when she goes past a shop window, the audience sees the truth in the reflection. Instead of a young woman in a tutu, Rumi is an out of breath sweating maniac in a poorly fitting costume.
Along with all of the ways listed above, there is one other way that Perfect Blue keeps up its dread: the soundtrack. One song in particular sends a chill down my spine, “Virtua Mima.” With its humming vocals and repetitive sounds, “Virtua Mima” is one more way to distress the audience.
Not to sound terribly biased, but Perfect Blue will always be one of my favorite movies. The story is engaging, and the criticism on the pop cultural consumption of women is even more relevant today. It has a high rewatch value, and I notice something new every viewing. Kon’s film made such an impact one me that I wrote my senior seminar paper on it in college.
See, loving a film to pieces can change your life.
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