Ever get that feeling that you've discovered a secret? That’s exactly what it feels like the first time you sit down with the Metropolis 2001 movie. It’s this weird, beautiful, and slightly heartbreaking collision of different eras. Imagine the "Godfather of Manga" Osamu Tezuka, the guy who gave us Astro Boy, teaming up with Katsuhiro Otomo, the brain behind the gritty world of Akira. Then, throw in director Rintaro and a jazz soundtrack that sounds like it was ripped straight out of a 1920s speakeasy.
It’s a lot. Honestly, it’s a miracle the movie even exists.
Most people hear the name and think of Fritz Lang’s 1927 silent film. That’s fair. But here’s the kicker: Tezuka actually wrote the original manga in 1949 without ever seeing Lang’s movie. He only saw a single poster of a robot woman and let his imagination do the rest. By the time the 2001 film adaptation rolled around, the creators decided to lean back into those German Expressionist roots while keeping Tezuka’s distinct, almost "rubbery" character designs.
The result? A visual feast that feels both ancient and futuristic.
The World of the Ziggurat
Metropolis isn't just a city; it’s a hierarchy. The rich live at the top in the sun, while the "proles" and robots are shoved into the literal basement of society. The story kicks off when a private eye named Shunsaku Ban and his nephew Kenichi arrive to track down a rogue scientist, Dr. Laughton.
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They find something way bigger than a criminal. They find Tima.
Tima is a "super-android" built to look like the deceased daughter of Duke Red, the city's unofficial (and totally fascist) ruler. She’s meant to sit on a throne at the top of the Ziggurat—a massive skyscraper that doubles as a world-ending weapon—to control the planet. But before that can happen, an explosion separates her from her creators, and she ends up wandering the slums with Kenichi.
He thinks she's just a girl. She doesn't know she's a machine.
Why the Animation Still Hits Different
You’ve probably seen modern anime that looks "clean," but Metropolis 2001 movie has a texture most digital films lack. It was one of the first big productions to really lean into "2D plus 3D" integration. While some of the CGI cars or gears might look a bit dated now—it was 2001, after all—the hand-drawn backgrounds are legendary. We're talking about sprawling, Art Deco vistas that make Blade Runner look like a small town.
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The contrast is what really gets you. You have these "cartoony" characters—big eyes, round noses, very 1940s—moving through a hyper-detailed, decaying industrial world. It shouldn't work. But it does. It makes the violence feel more shocking and the tragedy feel more human.
The Soundtrack Nobody Expected
If you're expecting a synth-heavy techno score, forget it. Toshiyuki Honda composed a New Orleans-style jazz soundtrack that is basically a character itself.
There is a specific scene at the end—I won't spoil the visuals, but it involves massive destruction—where "I Can't Stop Loving You" by Ray Charles starts playing. It is easily one of the most iconic moments in anime history. It’s haunting. It’s weirdly beautiful. It’s exactly the kind of "vibe" that keeps this movie in people's heads decades later.
A Story of Class and Chrome
Let’s be real: Metropolis is a pretty dark look at where we’re headed. It tackles themes that are arguably more relevant today than they were in 2001:
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- Automation Anxiety: The humans in the lower levels hate the robots because the robots took their jobs. Sound familiar?
- The Definition of Life: Tima’s struggle to understand if she’s "human" or "tool" is the emotional core.
- The Marduks: This is a private, anti-robot militia led by Duke Red’s adopted son, Rock. Rock is a fascinating villain because he’s basically a neglected child trying to win his father’s love by destroying the very thing his father created (Tima).
It’s not a simple "good vs. evil" story. It’s a "everyone is miserable and the system is broken" story. Sorta bleak, right? But Kenichi’s earnestness gives it a spark of hope that keeps it from being a total downer.
Where Can You Watch It?
Finding the Metropolis 2001 movie used to be a bit of a hunt, but it's gotten easier.
- Digital Platforms: It’s usually available for rent or purchase on Apple TV, Amazon Prime, and Google Play.
- Physical Media: If you’re a collector, look for the Blu-ray from Sony or the "Dual-Format" editions. The high-def transfers really make those background details pop.
- Streaming: Its presence on subscription services like Crunchyroll or Netflix fluctuates depending on where you live, so check your local listings.
Practical Steps for the New Viewer
If you're ready to dive in, don't just put it on in the background while you scroll on your phone. This is a "lights off, volume up" kind of movie.
- Watch the Sub: While the English dub is decent, the original Japanese voice acting (especially for Tima and Rock) captures the emotional nuances a bit better.
- Pay Attention to the Backgrounds: Seriously, pause the movie. Look at the posters on the walls in the slums and the architecture of the Ziggurat. The world-building is world-class.
- Stick Through the Credits: There’s a tiny bit of post-credits "epilogue" imagery that gives the ending a slightly different flavor.
This isn't just a "cartoon." It’s a piece of art that bridges the gap between the birth of manga and the peak of digital animation. Whether you're a cyberpunk fan or just someone who loves a good "what does it mean to be alive?" story, Metropolis is a must-watch.
To get the most out of your viewing, try to watch the 1927 original Metropolis afterwards. Seeing how the two films "talk" to each other across nearly a century is a trip. Once you've finished the film, look up the concept art by Shuichi Hirata; seeing how they built the layers of the city will give you a whole new appreciation for the scale of the production.