By Alison L. Roberts

Part of the fun in revisiting artistic works of the past — especially those tinged with science fiction — is seeing how close their predictions measure up to the technological and social advances of today.

In the late 1940s, the man who would go on to be considered the "godfather" of Japanese manga (comics) and animation, Osamu Tezuka (Astroboy and Kimba the White Lion), created a manga trilogy partially inspired by random images he had seen from the classic, Fritz Lang-directed movie, Metropolis (1926). Tezuka's vision of the future, complete with art-deco buildings that reach to the sky, corrupt politicians and robots who are increasingly human, captured the collective imagination of a generation, inspiring many present-day innovators and creators who eventually grew up to follow in his footsteps.

Kenichi looks down upon Metropolis from the ruins of a building.

Based on the second manga volume, the animated feature Metropolis (2001) is a literal and symbolic labor of love driven by two members of Tezuka's devoted fanbase, Rintaro (director of Galaxy Express 999 and X - the movie) and Katsuhiro Otomo (author/artist behind Akira).

They have created a stunningly visual and symbolic film of opposing forces and contradictions. It's only fitting. In interviews included on the DVD set, Rintaro and Otomo laugh about the fact that Tezuka would never have allowed the film to be made if he were alive. Later, they remark that if Tezuka were working today, he would be leading the charge to push the limits of the technology used to create the movie's seamless combination of traditional/2-D and computer-generated/3-D animation.

The film's Metropolis is a bright and shining city of industry, powered and maintained by robots, bustling with activity and set to a cheerful, Dixieland jazz soundtrack. . . at least on the surface level. For robots and for humans who are not members of the "elite class," it is an entirely different story.

Hot on the trail of a fugitive "mad scientist," detective Shinsaku Ban and his nephew Kenichi arrive in the city on the opening day of a celebration commemorating the completion of "the Ziggurat," a skyscraper of fantastic proportions that is the pet project of Metropolis' unofficial leader, Duke Red. As they follow their police-issued, robot escort through the vertical city's levels, they discover strict segregation between the "haves" and "have-nots," as well as prejudice fueled by both economics and fear. Robots have replaced humans in a majority of occupations upon which the poor had depended for a living.

In one of these subterranean levels, the scientist is working on a very special project, commissioned by Duke Red, himself. Her name is Tima, a very lifelike robot who is the spitting image of the Duke's deceased daughter. Beyond the obvious, sentimental reasons, the powerful man has secret plans for the newest addition to his family.

On the run from Rock, Tima (top right) and Kenichi (bottom right) hide behind Fifi, one of the robot denizens of Metropolis' lower levels.

The Duke's other child, Rock, is a member of the city's militant, anti-robot faction. After discovering Tima's existence, he burns the lab down in a jealous rage. Kenichi and his uncle arrive at the scene. While the detective and his charge are separated, the youngster finds Tima awake, but helpless, and without any kind of memory. From here, the two innocents find themselves on the run, with the deadly Rock in tenacious pursuit.

Metropolis is a world of juxtaposition. The architecture of the past meets the architecture of the present. Jazz Age sounds waft through streets bustling with the robot technology of the future. Tezuka's old-school character designs, rounded and wide-eyed, fit naturally into their modern, CG-enhanced environments.

Thematically and technologically, Metropolis transports viewers to a world that cannily recalls yesterday, incorporates today and hints at tomorrow - an affectionate tribute to Tezuka's preternatural vision of the past's future. A tribute that, in its creator's spirit, acknowledges that science may advance, but the question of what it means to be human is a timeless constant.