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Redline poster

Redline

2009 · Takeshi Koike

For when you want to blast off the couch — max volume, zero homework, a movie that treats speed as a religion. Pure comfort for anyone who loves cartoons that go too hard.

What it's about

A pompadoured daredevil named JP wants one thing: a spot in Redline, the biggest, most lawless race in the galaxy, held only once every five years. This time it's set on a militarized planet whose government wants no spectators and no survivors, and to even reach the starting grid he has to get past the mafia, his own shady past, and a rival racer he can't stop falling for.

The experience

It plays like a shot of pure adrenaline — bodies stretch, engines scream, colors hit like strobe lights, and it barely lets you exhale between setpieces. Loud, funny, sincere, and faster than almost anything else animation has produced.

The craft

Seven years in production and more than 100,000 hand-drawn frames without a single computer-generated one: thick black outlines, acid color, motion smeared into pure abstraction. James Shimoji's electro-funk score drives the film like a second engine. This one begs for the biggest screen and loudest speakers you can find.

Why it matters

It flopped in Japanese theaters and then became exactly the cult object it deserved to be — passed hand to hand on home video as a high-water mark animators still point to.

Reception & legacy: how Redline was received, argued over, and remembered →

Seven years in production, more than 100,000 hand-drawn frames, and not one of them computer-generated: Takeshi Koike's debut feature is the maximalist terminal point of Japanese cel-style animation. Koike, a protégé of Yoshiaki Kawajiri at the Madhouse studio, honed his high-contrast, speed-smeared style on the Animatrix short World Record; here, with writer-producer Katsuhito Ishii, he pours it into the oldest pulp premise there is — a pompadoured daredevil, an intergalactic race, a militarized planet that wants no visitors — and detonates it. Bodies stretch like taffy, engines bloom into pure abstraction, thick black outlines throb against acid color, and James Shimoji's electro-funk score drives the whole thing like a second engine. The film flopped in Japanese theaters in 2010, then did what such objects do: became a home-video cult, and eventually a canonical one. Nothing on this scale has been hand-drawn since, and likely nothing will be — Redline is the medium showing off everything it could do, once, at full throttle.

Lines of influence

Appears in courses