(For those who have not yet watched Green vs. Red, there's an analysis of that OAV in here that contains spoilers. Just letting you know.)
Okay, so what the hell is it with me and this Lupin III stuff anyway? Why is a person well into their 50s so obsessed with a cartoon character? And such a blatantly silly one at that?
Well, the age thing IMO is a straw man, given that so many of the creative types and talent behind these anime are well into their 50s as well (hell, several of the remaining original Japanese voice acting cast are well into their 60s and 70s). Plus I remain unapologetically kid-like in many areas of my life--insert lyrics to "I Won't Grow Up" from Peter Pan here: "... if growing up means it would be / beneath my dignity to climb a tree / I'll never grow up ... not me."
But totally aside from that ... I'll admit that, at times, I wondered if I wasn't reading a hell of a lot more into this wacky anime character than perhaps its creators ever intended. But that was before I watched the recent OAV Green vs. Red, and discovered that other people besides me had been struck by the larger meanings of this crazy little monkey-man.
The setup to GvR (as fans are inevitably abbreviating the title): we are in a slightly different universe than the one in which the usual Lupin III adventures occur, one in which the master thief has become enough of a cultural pheonomenon to start spawning copycats. Amidst all the hijinks and intrigue of hundreds of Lupin wannabes running amok in Tokyo, plus a big scary caper pitting the current reigning Lupin against a green-jacketed upstart, a young TV reporter pays a visit to a mysterious old man, a bookstore owner who is rumored to be a major authority on Lupin, to try and get to the bottom of things.
This bookseller (who might or might not be the real Lupin in disguise) proceeds to give an extremely Zen explanation of just who and what this man Lupin is: "Nationality doesn't mean anything to him. He is freedom itself ... He's always smart and cool. Or at least he's been so since he became Lupin." When Yukiko, the reporter, asks what he means by that last statement, the bookseller responds with a question reminiscent of a classic Zen koan: "Since when are you Yukiko-san?" He follows this up with: "Someone once told me 'A man isn't born a man, but becomes a man.' The same goes for Lupin."
And as the rest of the film plays out, it's shown that a large part of becoming a Lupin involves simply daring to believe that one is Lupin. Even two of the most inept wannabes manage to bust a majorly Lupinesque move (an homage-to-Cagliostro physics-defying drive up a cliff), once one of them challenges the other with a cry of "Don't say you can't!" And even the current reigning Lupin (there's some question left as to whether even he is the original Lupin, or if there ever was one) has a moment of panic in a death-defying situation--but then he pulls himself together, goes "Yeah right," steps on the gas, and sends the ol' Fiat zooming back on track.
This concept of total faith in oneself being the key to this wild freedom--this is what has me hooked on the character of Lupin. It speaks to all those aspects of my life where I find myself defying convention--from my sexuality, to my beliefs about the world, to my attempts at theatre, even to my current devotion to writing serious fanfiction. Sometimes, carrying on against the cultural tide of convention feels overwhelming--especially when I'm tired or vulnerable or having a self-esteem attack. But when I can psyche myself into believing in myself, when I can connect with the passion, the energy, the rightness I feel when I live in the very things that defy convention, then I have all the strength I need to actualize those things in the world.
There's also, of course, the entertainment value of the kind of outrageous stunts the Lupin character perpetrates with his freedom, and the over-the-top style with which he does them. Lupin is the fictional embodiment of the dude who can get away with anything, the one who always defies the odds. Somebody has to exist on that far tail of the probability curve, and he just happens to be that guy. Yes, there's an obvious element of wish-fulfillment in identifying with this character. But even in something as seemingly trivial as writing a story or performing in a play, there's an element of risk-taking and getting away with wacky stuff that partakes of the same cartoon energy as Lupin's misadventures. Or at least it feels that way to me.
So there you have it, a piece of life philosophy built around an anime character. But for the time being it's working for me. And who knows? He's given me some ideas for whole original stories of my own. How's that for an unexpected--and very real--litle treasure?
