“Is the city a good place?” At the very end of the film, as the beautiful melody of JANE DOE starts to play, Angel Devil whispers a question, one that he long knew the answer to. Chainsaw Man Movie: Reze-hen is not just another piece of anime media, it is a modern masterpiece, a philosophical statement from Fujimoto challenging overarching power structures in society that has existed for hundreds of years. With this intricately animated film full of artistic expressions as the medium, Fujimoto echoes a question shared by the characters of the film: is it possible to be truly free? Clearly, the outcome of thestory rudely plasters the answer—NO.
A recurring motif used in the film, Aesop’s fable of the country mouse and the town mouse, is stretched, disfigured, and molded by Fujimoto to fit his own ideology. Originally, the fable explores the idea of opportunity and risk, telling the story of a country mouse that had a peaceful and frugal life who switched places with a town mouse that had an exciting and opportunity filled but perilous life. It reflects upon a belief many people hold, such that good things in life are always accompanied by roadblocks—that you have to work hard and persevere with effort to make it to the top. But what if it was all for naught? The illusion of choice, to be able to choose your life, to work hard towards a goal? That is what Fujimoto tries to convey with this film. In a world where power and control is in the hands of a few elites, does freedom of choice really exist, or is every action just a tug of the string of someone powerful? In the context of the film, this concept can be seen in Denji, who lives a minimal paycheck to paycheck life—practically an embodiment of modern enslavement—chained by the Devil Hunter Bureau. Similarly, we can visualize it through Reze, whose upbringing is literally in a system of violence, a human gu poison jar, where the fittest survived by ravaging on the corpses of others. They were forced to exist in a system where disobedience meant the termination of their lives. Consequently, what Fujimoto depicts through his film is but an extreme version of the very real human rat race. On the road, there can be different tunnels, which gives off the illusion of choice, but at the end of the maze, each rat ends up in the same place. There is no country or town mouse, it was simply a mouse. As long as you were born a mouse, there was no way to escape the fate that came after each mouse.
In the case of Denji and Reze, the case was much more nuanced, and tragic. Their meeting, each moment of laughter and joy, was fleeting, like the dull ache of waking up, the cold silver of tears in the corner of your eye glistening with the only evidence of the dream you had last night. You had convinced yourself it was reality, since that warm smile could never possibly be a figment of imagination, right? Their romance might have been fleeting and novel, but I don’t think it would be an overstatement to say it had a profound impact not only on me, but on many of the audience who watched the film. This was Fujimoto’s second major theme: the fragility of emotional connection, something as brittle as a crumbled piece of fallen leaf on a cold, autumn night. Many other shounen authors excessively stress how friendship and human connections can overcome all burdens, encouraging the reader with positive energy. In contrast, Fujimoto’s brutal approach, while cruel, fits the world we live in. He laments how in the face of adversities such as betrayal, monetary hardships, societal pressure, and many more, love doesn’t mean shit. If romance was commonplace, the social hierarchy, pyramid which elites built, would collapse.
The composition of the film, all the symbolism and motifs throughout, done through a tasteful and cinematically brilliant method, would make anyone shed a few tears at the tragic fate of Reze. Though she doesn’t have as much screentime as Power, Aki, or Makima, I would argue she is one of the most human characters portrayed in all of the Chainsaw Man series.
“Denji. Truth is… I’ve never gone to school either.”
Something about this line, with the camera cutting to the back of Denji’s head, with a bouquet of flowers in hand, tugged at my heartstrings, giving me goosebumps. Unlike in the other parts of the film, when she was smiling, laughing, grinning, blushing—here, she had but a blank expression. But again, it was at this moment that I felt the most emotion from Reze, that I felt she was such a well-written character. Even the line prior, where she questions her hesitation on her first meeting with Denji, is so hauntingly melancholic. She loved Denji, but she herself didn’t know it. How could she? The girl who was born and raised as a military asset? Maybe this was why her blank expression was so poignant. With fake expressions she practiced all her life gone, she had nothing but a blank canvas, a seed yet to sprout. But before she could bloom, it was cut short. She was never able to discover a smile that belonged to her. That innocent white daisy, originally supposed to be dyed red with romantic passion, was instead dyed red with blood.
All in all, even though I mostly talked about the message of the film, such a sophisticated delivery would never be possible without beautiful animation, perfect voice actor/actress role casting, and one of the greatest compilation of music and soundtracks I’ve experienced in cinema. I feel truly blessed to be able to watch and enjoy this film.