Sky Blue
(2004)
Dir: Moon-saeng Kim & Park Sunmin
I went to elementary school with a girl named Ming. She was foxy and hip. When she ran for class treasurer, her posters read: “Vote for Ming or you’ll get Stinged!” There was a headshot of Sting right below this. I don’t remember what music I liked in sixth grade, but I sure as hell had no concept of Sting. Ming was also a student of martial arts. After high school, she moved to California and did a couple of ads for Hook-Ups, Jeremy Klein‘s graphically-perverse skateboard company. This made her a celebrity by suburban standards.
Sometime later, I was drinking with my friend Greg in his mother’s basement when the phone told us that a couple of girls we knew were coming over, and Ming was coming with them. We must have been nervous because Greg and I really started pounding the shit. The shit being McCormick’s. We decided to watch Ghost in the Shell while we waited. We really liked that movie, but it was a foolish move because it always put us to sleep. This night was no exception. We both made it through the exhilarating intro, but as soon as the pretty drawings started talking about the nature of consciousness, we lost ours.
When I finally woke up, my friend Rebecca was shaking me and calling out, “wake up, dipshit.” Ming was standing just behind her looking a little frightened. I got up off the floor and quickly turned my attention to Greg. I began rattling his shoulders, but he did not stir. So I resorted to an old EMT trick. I brought my fingers to a point and began drilling into his sternum. This did the trick. Greg’s immediate reaction was to punch whatever force was dragging him out of his blackened state. I dodged the first few swings, but the fourth caught me in the ear. I kicked him in the side and he leapt to his feet. Greg looked like a crusty wino, his hair was matted and damp with cold sweat. I was sure I had a similar glow. What followed was a bit of wobbly toe-to-toe action, as we circled one-another. Luckily our machismo quickly waned, and we went about preparing fresh drinks. Thoroughly unimpressed, and likely a bit concerned, the girls left after about ten minutes. They didn’t want to watch Kingpin with us.
Point being, the main problem with anime films is that they are dramatically overblown sandbags. Ninja Scroll is the only one I can think of that didn‘t make me drowsy. Ghost in the Shell is totally gorgeous, but it’s too talky and self-important; and more potent than Valium (and dude, Akira is cozier than a sleep-number mattress). Sky Blue doesn’t break this great, sleepy tradition. The storyline is ridiculously complex, the dialogue is Shakespeare-in-the-park, and soap-opera elements are puffed out of control. Complicating matters further is the fact that all of the settings and vehicles are computer animated, while the characters appear hand drawn. Nothing fits. It’s uncomfortable, like trying to impress celebrities with binge drinking.
