The movie is named after the 1926 Fritz Lang silent classic and is based on a 1949 comic book by the pioneering manga (comic) and animé creator Osamu Tezuka.

Every major city should ban the Japanese animé movie “Metropolis.” A bold statement, yes, but anyone who sees this visually inspiring movie will think twice about praising the megalopolises that bedazzle our country like a field of tacky Christmas lights. Of course, most adults will pass over Japanimation for the “real” entrapments of Hollywood flicks. That’s a shame because “Metropolis” is more layered than 50 scholars trying to discern a Dali picture.

At the primary level is a mushy love story between a brave teen named Ken-Ichi and a cutesy blond robot named Tima. Below the surface is an examination of technology and how it has made man think in fascist terms. Further down in the murky depths is the fragile existence of power and how it can turn any ruler or money magnate into a heartless fiend who thrives on control (it’s no small wonder that a lot of the cartoon’s inspiration is drawn from Fritz Lang’s silent classic/political commentary, “Metropolis”).

Finally, at the dredged bottom, is the city itself. By creating an existence for itself, the monolith sucks the natural environment up like a ravenous vacuum (one of the destruction scenes has the Ray Charles’s tune “I Can’t Stop Loving You” permeating in the background. This is perhaps an ode to Stanley Kubrick using “We’ll Meet Again” to accompany the nuclear apocalypse in “Dr. Strangelove.”)

These four levels all have one thing in common — hypocrisy. “Metropolis” is teeming with helper robots who are supposed to further the advancement of humankind. However, as the movie opens up, we learn that the residents have come to resent the things they created in the first place. Robots are supposedly incapable of emotion, therefore making them the perfect workers. Unfortunately, more and more humans are being shoved out of their jobs, and Metropolis has become a battleground between the “real” and the “perfect.”

A group called Marduk monitors the robots. The organization is headed by the demonic Rock, a latchkey waif who was adopted by Duke Red, the richest man in Metropolis. Rock’s group needs monitoring all their own, as they are apt to shoot at any robot that leaves its specified zone (the robots are relegated to Zones 1-3). The so-called monitors have become totalitarian in their thinking, and they maim anyone (thing) who calls them on it.

The pride of Metropolis is the Ziggurat, a labyrinthine heap of towers linked by bridges and braces. Ziggurat is supposed to be the poster colossus for progress, but behind the sheen is dirty politics (think of the pharaoh’s exploitation of people during the building of the pyramids). The creator of Ziggurat is the diabolical (and big-nosed) Duke Red, who wants to use his tower to wrest control from the equally corrupt elected officials.

At the black heart of the Ziggurat is a throne room encased in computer chips. It is intended for Tima, a robot built in the likeness of Duke Red’s dead daughter. Tima was built by Dr. Lawton, an unscrupulous practitioner who is wanted by every human rights organization in the world for marketing human organs. Lawton, however, is a genius, and he has sculpted Tima to be the ultimate database. Once she sits on the throne, she’ll be able to control every aspect of Metropolis, giving Duke Red the authoritarian green light.

Rock hates this plan, believing that no robot should be able to sit on the throne. Although Rock should be commended for sticking to his beliefs, he comes from a place of hatred. To him, every issue should be solved with a gun. Diplomacy is for bleeding heart politicians who never see the “real world.” I tried to feel sorry for Rock, but his intentions drip with malevolence, and before too long he becomes the villain you love to loathe.

The real hero of the story is Ken-Ichi, a teen from Japan who is traveling with his detective uncle, Shansaku Ban, to capture Dr. Lawton. Rock makes it to Lawton’s first, and tries to destroy the doctor’s humanoid creation. The lab explodes under Rock’s wrath, and he leaves thinking that Tima has been destroyed. Ken-Ichi and his uncle wade through the destruction and find Tima, believing her to be human. Unfortunately, Ken-Ichi and Tima get caught in a fire ring. The floor gives out, sending the couple down to the sewers, otherwise known as Zone 3.

Down in sewerland, boy and robot develop a friendship that soon morphs into an almost obsessive affection. The rest of the movie deals with this relationship and the dire results that follow. Is it possible for a human to love an intricate set of bolts? Should a robot love their creator, even when its brethren are intent on its ultimate destruction? Should love have limits?

That’s the beauty of “Metropolis.” You could conceivably watch this movie a half a dozen times and walk away each time with a different interpretation. The complexities also lie with the incredible animation. The workmanship is impeccable and every pixel seems to have a thousand brush strokes behind it. What’s fascinating about the animé (Japanese for cartoon) style is that it’s meshed between basic Western animation and the intricate Japanese style.

This goes back to the late animé creator, Osamu Tezuka. A huge Disney fan, Tezuka, was the first to give his characters the opal “Bambified” eyes that are now the trademark of Japanese animé. The entire Japanese animé tradition now lies in the ritual of plopping cartoonish characters down into an environment of extreme intricacy. “Metropolis” is no exception — a sappy teen romance amidst the hellish technology that Mr. Orwell always warned us about.

Rintaro, who is a disciple of the Tezuka style, directed “Metropolis.” Rintaro began his ascension by working on Tezuka’s project, “Astro Boy,” a Japanese TV cartoon series that became the benchmark for future animé. Rintaro’s allegiance to Tezuka is obvious in “Metropolis.” He uses comic elements amidst an apocalyptic landscape and displays science’s doomed insistence on meddling with the divine.

Hmm, it almost sounds like another world I know of.

“Metropolis” should also be enjoyed on a purely aesthetic level. It’s the marvel of its animation that compels the viewer to see that there is a lot of depth amidst the sensory overload. And it’s not heavy handed. The love story keeps “Metropolis” from being preachy, and the social commentary keeps the romance from being dopey. All of it is open to interpretation, and anyone, from a soccer youth to a wizened political grump, will get something unique out of “Metropolis.”

Me? I’m sticking to the small town.

(Hunter Pope can be reached at w.h.pope@worldnet.att.net)