In this blog post, we take an in-depth look at the boundaries between reality and illusion, identity and truth, through director Satoshi Kon’s film ‘Perfect Blue’.
Satoshi Kon’s works were deeply impressive, captivating with their dreamlike atmosphere, color palette, and art style that carries a certain somber feeling. His films often leave a profound impression on audiences through his unique direction that traverses the realms of reality and unreality. What exactly is the director trying to say through his films? I’ve always wondered while watching his works, and I chose this film to explore that question more deeply. Among Satoshi Kon’s works, I selected ‘Perfect Blue’ because it marks his debut feature-length theatrical animation. I wanted to see how his distinctive style emerged even in his first feature and how it connects to his later works. Particularly, ‘Perfect Blue’ is famous for being the subject of Darren Aronofsky’s homage, and the plagiarism controversy surrounding his film ‘Black Swan’ only heightened my curiosity about this work. I wanted to see for myself why this film is evaluated as more than just an animation, but as a psychological thriller and a work open to semiotic analysis.
It’s hard to single out any one scene. However, the various devices that confuse the audience by shifting between dreams and reality, and within the play-within-a-play, were deeply impressive. Kon Satoshi maximized tension through direction that obscures what is real and what is illusion, as if trapping the audience in a hall of mirrors. Moments like snapping back to reality when someone taps your shoulder, like popping bubblegum, or the repeated line “Who are you?” plunged the audience into deeper confusion. These devices appear constantly throughout the film, like puzzle pieces left for the audience to piece together themselves. The chase scene between Rumi and Mima in the latter part of the film felt like the climax of this confusion. The scene where Rumi, now Mima, reaches out to savor the light from an oncoming truck’s headlights as if it were a stage spotlight was chilling. This moment completely collapses the boundary between reality and fantasy, transmitting that disorientation to the audience. While there were sensational and provocative scenes, even these elements served a purpose: they were tools used to further emphasize the confusion and identity crisis the film sought to convey. Ultimately, the film masterfully crafted such a confusing situation—leaving you wondering, “Did Mima really kill someone? Who was killed? Is she truly dead?”—that it kept you tense and engaged until the very end.
The protagonist, Mima, lives the life of an idol singer but, sensing her popularity won’t last, chooses an acting career at her agency’s suggestion. Her manager, Rumi, a former idol singer herself, strongly opposes Mima’s decision, but Mima embarks on this new challenge. In the process, she lands a role in the psychological thriller drama ‘Double Bind’ and makes bold choices to establish herself as an actress. Scenes depicting rape and nude photo shoots drastically alter her image, yet simultaneously plunge her into deep inner turmoil. Amidst this, she discovers a website called ‘Mima’s Room’ mentioned in a letter received on the day of her idol retirement, revealing someone is monitoring her every move. Mima, increasingly losing herself, struggles with confusion over her identity and relationships with those around her. This turmoil reaches its peak due to mysterious incidents occurring in her surroundings. The letter that arrived for her explodes, injuring the agency PD who pushed her to become an actress. The writer and photographer of the drama she stars in are murdered. Despite this, Mima begins dreaming about killing them herself. She eventually discovers bloodstained clothes in her closet, gripped by the terror that she might be the culprit. Amidst this, Mima is kidnapped by Uchida, who had been stalking her, but narrowly escapes. However, it is revealed that all of this was the work of Rumi, who had been impersonating Mima, running ‘Mima’s Room’, and mimicking her. Rumi desperately chases after Mima, but in her frantic pursuit, she sees an oncoming truck and welcomes it with open arms, as if it were stage lighting. Ultimately, Rumi is confined to a mental hospital, living as both the idol Mima and Rumi. Years later, Mima visits her in the hospital and, looking at her own car’s rearview mirror as she leaves, says, “I am the real Mima.”
This work can be interpreted through Roland Barthes’ concept of the ‘healthy’ sign. A healthy sign is one that never deceives itself into appearing natural, constantly drawing attention to its own arbitrariness, and even at the very moment of conveying meaning, signals its relative and artificial position. Numerous devices within the film function as these ‘healthy’ signs, constantly instilling in the audience the awareness that ‘this is a movie’. For example, the count that appears mid-film, the sudden appearance of clapping crew members, and the repeated identical scenes continuously remind us that this work is not merely a story, but a fiction created through the medium of film. However, the appearance of these tools of live-action film within animation heightens the theatrical and artificial feel, which in turn emphasizes the arbitrariness of the sign. The film is composed of realistic and representational images—symbols—yet by making the audience realize these symbols are sometimes neither realistic nor representational, it plunges them into confusion. Manager Rumi appearing in the form of protagonist Mima also reflects this arbitrariness of symbols, compelling the audience to constantly ponder their meaning. This structure repeats within the film’s narrative itself, lingering in the audience’s mind long after the credits roll and inducing endless interpretation.
The points where I felt moved and connected while watching this work were: Mima, who dreamed of being a singer but compromised with reality to pursue acting; Uchida, who pathologically pursues the illusory idol Mima she herself created, and Rumi, who projected her unfulfilled dreams onto Mima to find vicarious satisfaction. Watching these characters become entangled around the figure of ‘Mima’ through their distinct obsessions and desires made me deeply contemplate the true nature of ‘self’. Within the film, Mima loses her sense of identity, gradually descending into confusion until even she can no longer be certain of who she truly is. I, too, am seen by others in various ways, and many people remember me differently than I remember myself. This perspective made me contemplate what it means to take responsibility for my own image. As we live, we choose one of the many reflections of ourselves seen through others’ eyes and live believing that is who we are. But does a true ‘me’ even exist? Or are there simply multiple versions of ‘me’? Mima’s final line, “This is the real me,” starkly reveals this dilemma. Yet the question remains: what exactly is this ‘real me’? And is it even possible to find that true self?
I heard the director regretted not being able to include more fish-related scenes due to budget constraints, and I’d like to delve deeper into the meaning behind Mima’s ‘fish’. Fish often symbolize dreams and the unconscious; I wonder how this relates to Mima’s psychological state in the film. Additionally, the semiotic meaning of the awl, a weapon that appears repeatedly throughout the film, is intriguing. With its sharp, pointed form, the awl can be interpreted as a tool that pierces through and reveals truth. This makes it a significant symbol in Mima’s journey of confronting the pressures and truths directed at her. Comparisons to Darren Aronofsky’s ‘Requiem’ or ‘Black Swan,’ mentioned earlier, could also be an intriguing research topic. Both films depict protagonists gradually crumbling under the pressure of reality and internal conflict. Analyzing the similarities and differences with ‘Perfect Blue’ would also be fascinating.
Finally, we must consider the meaning behind the title ‘Perfect Blue’. Literally translated as ‘perfect blue’, ‘blue’ here could also signify melancholy. Does it then mean ‘perfect melancholy’? Questions remain: how does this title relate to Mima’s identity crisis? Why was it specifically titled ‘Perfect Blue’ when it’s a story about her ultimately finding herself? Though Mima seems to find herself by the end, were the confusion and wounds she endured during that process truly healed? Or is she merely trapped within another illusion? This work leaves behind numerous unresolved questions even after writing this report. Therefore, ‘Perfect Blue’ remains not just a film to watch once and forget, but a work that compels continued reflection and leaves room for reinterpretation. Because of this complex appeal, I find myself wanting to watch this work again.
