But a devoted cadre of car lovers gather every five years to put pedals to the metal on the plains of some distant world, to participate in the no-rules-just-ride race known as the Redline. Far into the future, space travel has become commonplace, aliens and humans have intermingled and cross-mutated, and wheeled vehicles have been long since replaced with antigravity systems. Floor itĪ fine way to start any story is to describe some mad, wild undertaking, as undertaken by the few, the proud, and the totally off-their-rockers. © 2010 Katsuhito Ishii, GASTONIA, MADHOUSE / REDLINE Partners "Sweet" JP's Trans Am is destined to take him to the Redline. It also serves as one of the best recent concrete examples of what people mean when they say something has to be seen to be believed. It entertains - broadly, if not terribly deeply - and it serves as a milestone marker for animation as an art form as produced by human hands, not computer algorithms. If there's a stupid grin on your face right now, don't wipe it off you're the target audience for this delirious, one-of-a-kind project. REDLINE has no more story than it needs, because its real mission is to provide a gloriously over-the-top answer to the question: What if Ralph Bakshi came out of retirement and directed a space-borne installment of the Fast & Furious franchise? The first time I watched REDLINE I put it in the "thin" category, since it only seemed to have enough plotting to put wheels on the vehicle and set it in motion - albeit at six trillion miles per hour. But I've come around since then. A thin story has just enough to pass as a story, but nothing more than that: no flair, no feeling, no curves.
A simple story has just enough to get the job done: no fat, no waste, no excess. There's a difference between a simple story and a thin story.
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