This Man

In the first episode of the 1963 version of Astro Boy, Dr. Tenma’s voice comes from offscreen: “I’ve already sold Astro Boy to this man.” Sitting in the frame is the buyer. His hands are folded together, and his smile has not disappeared. Astro Boy, also offscreen, asks why. The buyer does not speak.

This shot is placed between a close-up of Astro Boy and a shot of Dr. Tenma, lasting about eight seconds. Its most ordinary function is to give “this man” in the line a definite face; there is no need to invent a deeper motive on behalf of the editing. Yet once recognition is complete, the voice does not end with it. First it is Dr. Tenma offscreen, then Astro Boy; the speaker changes, while the buyer’s posture remains largely the same. This is not a face-to-face quarrel: the seller and the one being sold appear only as voices, while the third person being pointed out appears only as a body.

In the middle, he blinks once.

That blink cannot explain the mood behind his smile. It is only a very small change within the eight seconds. What really makes me stop is not the nimble reversal that “stillness is actually also motion,” but the way the image allows two kinds of time not to wait for each other: the character’s identity is already clear enough, while the reason within the relationship is still being demanded.

Even if a single drawing stays on the screen for a few extra seconds, it still has to pass through tracing, coloring, and photography, and it still has to be placed precisely among the shots before and after it in the edit. The body on the screen moves very little, but that does not mean the labor involved has been reduced in the same proportion.

The audience already knows who “this man” is. Astro Boy is still asking why.