Akira

Let’s cut to the chase: if you’re a 20-something anime fan who’s only ever heard whispers about Akira being “that old cyberpunk movie,” you’re missing out on more than just a classic—it’s a cultural earthquake that’s still shaking up sci-fi today. Directed by Katsuhiro Otomo and released in 1988, this TMS Entertainment banger isn’t just a film; it’s a neon-drenched middle finger to “safe” storytelling, and even 35 years later, it’s still splitting fans into two camps: those who think the movie is a masterpiece, and those who swear the manga is God-tier. Spoiler: Both are right… but let’s unpack why this debate even exists.

First, let’s set the scene. Akira drops you into Neo-Tokyo, a city rebuilt from the ashes of a 1988 nuclear explosion (meta, right?) and now drowning in gang violence, political corruption, and secret government experiments. Our main guys? Kaneda, the cocky biker gang leader with a red leather jacket that’s basically a character itself, and Tetsuo, his quiet, resentful best friend who’s always lived in Kaneda’s shadow. When Tetsuo gets into a motorcycle crash with a weird esper kid (think glowing eyes, telekinetic powers, and a bad haircut), he’s snatched by the government and injected with… something. What follows is a spiral of power, paranoia, and destruction that turns Tetsuo from a bullied sidekick into a godlike force of nature. Oh, and there’s a psychic named Akira who’s been locked up under the city this whole time. No big deal.

Now, here’s where the fan wars start. If you’re like most Gen Z viewers, you probably watched the movie first and thought, “Wait, what just happened?” The plot moves at a breakneck speed—one minute Kaneda’s racing his bike through neon-lit streets, the next Tetsuo’s blowing up buildings with his mind—and let’s be real, some of the government conspiracy stuff feels like it’s missing a few pages. That’s because it is. The movie crams six volumes of Otomo’s manga into two hours, and fans are obsessed with pointing that out. “The manga explains everything!” they’ll yell. “Kaneda’s backstory! Tetsuo’s trauma! Why the espers look like that!” And they’re not wrong. The manga dives deep into the characters—like, really deep. You learn why Kaneda’s such a hothead (he’s got abandonment issues), why Tetsuo hates being weak (he was abused as a kid), and even what Akira’s deal is (spoiler: he’s not just a plot device). Plus, the manga has subplots about anti-government rebels, corrupt scientists, and a journalist named Kei who’s way more than just a love interest. In the movie, she’s basically Kaneda’s sidekick; in the manga, she’s a badass revolutionary with her own agenda.

But here’s the thing: the movie’s “flaws” are also its superpowers. Otomo didn’t just adapt the manga—he reimagined it. The animation? Mind-blowing. The way the bike races blur with neon, the way Tetsuo’s body contorts when his powers go haywire, the way Neo-Tokyo feels both futuristic and decaying? That’s not just “good for 1988”—that’s good, period. And the soundtrack? A mix of traditional Japanese drums, synth beats, and eerie chants that makes every scene feel like a religious experience. When Tetsuo destroys the stadium? That drum solo hits harder than any modern movie score. Fans who saw the movie first (shoutout to the 90s kids who stumbled on it at Blockbuster) will tell you it’s a vibe, not a textbook. “I didn’t get half the plot,” one MyAnimeList user admitted, “but I was blown away by the visuals.” Another put it better: “The movie isn’t about understanding every detail—it’s about feeling the chaos.”

Of course, the manga stans will clap back with, “But the characters have depth!” And yeah, they do. In the manga, Tetsuo’s descent into madness is tragic, not just scary. You see him struggle with his new powers, lash out at the people he loves, and eventually realize he’s become the thing he hated most. Kaneda’s arc is more than just “save the day”—he grows up, takes responsibility, and even confronts his own fear of being alone. The manga also adds layers to the espers (they’re not just creepy kids—they’re victims of government experiments) and the political commentary (Otomo’s take on authoritarianism and scientific hubris is way more nuanced). One fan gushed, “The manga made me cry. Tetsuo’s death scene? I felt that.” Another went so far as to say, “After reading the manga, I was ashamed to watch the movie again. It’s that good.”

But let’s be real—this “manga vs. movie” debate is missing the point. Akira isn’t just one or the other; it’s a two-part punch that shows what animation and comics can do when they’re unapologetically bold. The movie is a sensory overload that hooks you with its style, while the manga is a slow burn that rewards you with its substance. And for 20-year-olds who grew up on Attack on Titan and Cyberpunk: Edgerunners, this is essential viewing. Why? Because Akira invented the playbook. That gritty, cyberpunk aesthetic? Edgerunners owes it everything. That “power corrupts” theme? AOT’s Eren Yeager is basically Tetsuo with a titan form. Even the way modern anime uses music to set the mood? You can trace it back to Akira’s iconic soundtrack.

So, should you watch the movie or read the manga first? The answer is both. Start with the movie—let the visuals and music blow your mind. Then dive into the manga to fill in the gaps and fall in love with the characters. And if you’re feeling extra, check out the 4K remaster—those neon lights look even better on a big screen.

At the end of the day, Akira isn’t just a movie or a manga. It’s a reminder that sci-fi doesn’t have to be about happy endings or easy answers. It’s about the chaos of growing up, the danger of power, and the fact that even the strongest friendships can break under pressure. And let’s be honest—any story that can spark 35 years of arguments is doing something right. So grab your bike, crank up the soundtrack, and welcome to Neo-Tokyo. Just don’t get on Tetsuo’s bad side.

P.S. If you’re still confused about the ending? Join the club. Even Otomo says it’s up to interpretation. But that’s the fun of it, right?