Satoshi Kon: The Illu­sion­ist is an emo­tion­al look at a vir­tu­osic director

Through a series of inter­views struc­tured around his work in ani­mé, this doc­u­men­tary high­lights just how mon­u­men­tal Satoshi Kon​’s all-too brief career was. Start­ing out as a man­ga writer and artist, Kon became a beloved fig­ure in the world of ani­ma­tion with films like Per­fect Blue, Mil­len­ni­um Actress, Tokyo God­fa­thers and Papri­ka, his TV series Para­noia Agent – all com­plex, rav­ish­ing high points of the medi­um. Trag­i­cal­ly, Kon passed away in August 2010 from ter­mi­nal pan­cre­at­ic can­cer, diag­nosed just three months prior.

Satoshi Kon: The Illu­sion­ist main­ly focus­es on Kon’s film career, open­ing with a brief his­to­ry of his work in man­ga which it only returns to inter­mit­tent­ly. Direct­ed by Pas­cal-Alex Vin­cent (who also direct­ed the ret­ro­spec­tive pro­file doc Miwa: Look­ing for Black Lizard), the film boasts incred­i­ble access to some big indus­try names and peo­ple who knew Kon well, with inter­views staged around the world so as to illus­trate his far-reach­ing influence.

While the major­i­ty of the film is struc­tured around his four fea­ture films and TV series Para­noia Agent, sort­ing through the con­text, pro­duc­tion details and recep­tion of each, some of its most inter­est­ing moments are found around the edges of that struc­ture. Sev­er­al inter­vie­wees speak of Kon’s efforts to pro­tect new ani­ma­tors, while oth­ers dis­cuss how his expe­ri­ence with the ani­mé and com­ic book indus­tries fil­tered into his work, and the psy­cho­log­i­cal strife of his characters.

Anoth­er fas­ci­nat­ing digres­sion comes from dis­cus­sions of adap­ta­tions and col­lab­o­ra­tions that nev­er were, most notably a seg­ment which details Dream­ing Machine, Kon’s nev­er-to-be-com­plet­ed fifth fea­ture that is still mythol­o­gised to this day. Per­haps the film’s stand­out inter­vie­wee, Aya Suzu­ki, fre­quent­ly notes how labour issues in the ani­mé indus­try were intrin­si­cal­ly impor­tant to Kon’s work, and adds that Dream­ing Machine was intend­ed to nur­ture emerg­ing ani­ma­tors – a mourn­ful moment that reveals the true extent of what was lost with Kon’s passing.

For those who already know Satoshi Kon’s work, this is a worth­while com­pan­ion piece – strong in organ­is­ing famil­iar infor­ma­tion while offer­ing fresh per­spec­tives, although it is some­what vague on the par­tic­u­lars of his artis­tic process. That said, the cul­tur­al con­text for Kon’s films is con­cise­ly pre­sent­ed, with the inter­vie­wees offer­ing per­son­al reflec­tions on each. Lead actress Junko Iwao’s dis­cus­sion of Per­fect Blue is a par­tic­u­lar high­light, con­vey­ing how Japan’s idol cul­ture has impact­ed and com­mod­i­fied the lives of women.

There’s not much footage of Kon him­self, which may enhance his enig­ma but feels at odds with how the film oth­er­wise attempts to human­ise him. It’s to the film’s cred­it, how­ev­er, that it doesn’t evan­ge­lise him or shy away from show­ing his faults – one pro­duc­er, Taro Maki, recalls how Kon told him he had ​“brought shame upon the indus­try” after strug­gling to secure fund­ing for a feature.

When it comes to Kon’s work, the gen­er­al focus here is on the themes rather than the tech­ni­cal aspects which set it apart – for instance, his high­ly-detailed method of sto­ry­board­ing. There are a few excep­tions: Masashi Ando, a char­ac­ter design­er at Stu­dio Ghi­b­li who also worked on Para­noia Agent, talks through Kon’s approach to char­ac­ter design, not­ing that the indus­try as a whole is con­tent to draw ​“cute girls and hand­some boys” and how the imper­fec­tions of Kon’s char­ac­ters were what made them spe­cial. Still, it’s a shame not to see fur­ther insight into how his manip­u­la­tion of sub­jec­tiv­i­ty dis­tin­guished him as an ani­ma­tion director.