The Better Ghost

Since Lost in Translation I’ve been a devoted Scarlett Johansson viewer—the kind of person who watches everything she makes, even when it doesn’t work. And there’s been plenty that doesn’t work. Lucy, Under the Skin, Rough Night, Ghost in the Shell are all the same film, essentially: a beautiful actress in a hollow thing, cashing in goodwill on material that doesn’t merit it.

The best Ghost in the Shell film ever made is a pornographic anime called Ghosts of Paradise. Hardcore hentai, graphic sex, completely unapologetic about what it is. Not trying to shock anyone—just stating fact.

It has a plot. Section 9 chasing a prostitution ring through the underworld, the usual paranoia and neon. The sex is graphic and constant and central to the narrative. But underneath it—and this is the part that matters—there’s an actual grasp of what Ghost in the Shell is supposed to mean: the dissolution of self, the body as machinery, the moment you stop knowing where you end and the system begins.

The animation demonstrates real skill. The composition has restraint. Rupert Sanders’ $110-million live-action version, starring Scarlett Johansson, understood none of this. It was technically impressive and empty.

What does it say that a hentai parody understood the source material better than a major studio film? I don’t know. Nothing good, probably. But here we are.