Readers of a certain age (and certainly elder fans of anime) might remember an old sci-fi cartoon called Astro Boy, which ran on both US and UK TV throughout the 1960s and early 80s. While its presence on these respective shores was brief, it continues to enjoy reverence in its homeland of Japan. Over there, the inception of Tetsuwan Atom (to use its original name) is still considered a watershed moment for the nation’s animation industry, and is possibly the most iconic franchise that its creator, legendary manga artist Osamu Tezuka, ever produced. So what happens when you take one of its most popular story arcs, dust it down a little bit, and convert it into a mature murder mystery thriller with timely commentary on the human-robot relations to come? You get Pluto, an eight-episode Netflix crime epic that despite its admittedly curious origins, is as splendid an execution in detective storytelling as you’re likely to find in any other medium.

‍Pluto is the product of Naoki Urasawa, another massive name on the manga / anime landscape whose other works (Monster, 20th Century Boys, Yawara!) are worth their own attention (and probably additional long-winded essays from me at some point). While the manga for Pluto was originally published in the 2000s, its Netflix-produced anime equivalent only landed late last year.  With the continued emergence of AI and the mini-renaissance of cyberpunk media that has come along with it (Edgerunners and forthcoming Blade Runner projects being some examples), Pluto’s release couldn’t have come at a better time. It’s an articulate, high-brow series packed full of all the things that make cyberpunk great: visually stunning mega-cities, characters with guns for limbs and a whole lot of musing on human existence to do in not a lot of episodes. By and large though, driven by its fascinating premise, it manages to do so incredibly well. 

This is also an anime that borrows very heavily from its non-animated detective story counterparts. With an emotionally heavy soundtrack that utilizes jazz and orchestral ensembles, and an even thicker film-noir atmosphere that saturates everything down to a methodical but considered pace, Pluto certainly has its stylistic influences forged out of tradition for the crime genre and doesn’t step outside of them. Also unsurprisingly for a science fiction anime, it is also remarkably dense in terms of its philosophizing on the impending impact of sentient robots in our society, and isn’t afraid to tackle a very broad set of subjects: everything from raising android children, the threat of anti-robot hate groups and the evolution of war itself when self-aware machines do most of the fighting. But all throughout, its messages on each of these themes are clear, with exposition that is respectful to the viewer’s patience instead of challenging. Fans of Ghost in the Shell’s techno-spiritual musings will find a lot to enjoy here in particular, and won’t have to do a huge amount of mental legwork to follow along as long as they keep their ears pricked.

Most importantly, it also nails the ‘murder thriller’ aspect of its plot, frequently filtering the rawness of human horror with its robotic main character as the lens. In the early onset, Gesicht is pretty much the blueprint of the traditional detective investigator, exhibiting little more than a determination to solve the murders and gathering every clue with automaton-like precision. But his distinctly human vulnerabilities are revealed the more we see of his personal life - especially through his conversations with his wife Helena (also a fellow robot). On the flip side, the killer he is sent out to stop is only represented early on as a god-like monstrosity, traveling around in a giant tornado-driven storm that masks its real appearance. The idea of a ‘human’ (and thus flawed) investigator up against an untrackable, unseeable monster for a murderer might be a well-used idea in the detective genre, but it works very well within Pluto’s sci-fi confines - especially when the roles are played by machines, and also given that the murderer’s targets have plenty of screen time to develop their own personalities (at least before they suffer their own cruel demises at its hands). 

As Gesicht begins to unravel the motives behind the killer’s rampage, he also encounters these very targets - all fellow machines, but also individuals in their own ways, from gruff arena gladiators to conscientious objectors running homes for war orphans. Some simply serve as tragedy fodder (although even those moments will pluck the heartstrings), while others take on more prominent roles - particularly Atom, a peace-advocating boy robot with the most advanced artificial intelligence in the world, whose own existence and purpose is set against a backdrop of contention between his guardian, the equally pacifist Professor Ochanomizu, and the enigmatic Professor Tenma, Atom’s original creator. 

Atom himself is also an intriguing character - the truth behind his creation and his relationship with his younger android sister, the equally empathic Uran, both forming poignant side stories to the bloodier main narrative. They’re also pretty symbolic, not just because his own character is practically lifted from Astro Boy from the original story, but also because he serves as an interesting allegory for morality driving the development of AI, and AI adopting their own morality in turn when faced with difficult decisions. For anyone interested in the philosophy of such things, his own character development is an intriguing watch.

In fact, the majority of the robot cast tend to follow the better angels of their (and humanity’s) nature for better or worse, and it is often the human characters in this show who are portrayed as more ruthless and cold-blooded. This becomes increasingly apparent when the plot veers from a mere bad case of serial killing to a far deeper conspiracy involving a war in the Middle East, and the weapons inspection that led to its outbreak (a not-so-subtle dig at certain U.S military excursions at the time the manga was written). Once this angle is played, the real message behind Pluto becomes more apparent: human hate, as it happens, is just as potent a weapon when instilled into a robot as it is in our own hearts. The show isn’t just a study into the threat of sentient robots - it is also a study into the darkness of human nature itself. Hatred begets vengeance begets further hatred, and it’ll take something incredible - world-changing perhaps - to find a way to break the cycle. Such a message may have been delivered in its manga form during a different time (and a different conflict), but in this day and age - one that sadly, tragically, continues to indulge in bloodshed - it is still as powerful a message as ever, and one that Pluto underlines with full sincerity and gravity.

Packed full of memorable characters and able to tie many of its individual threads together into a satisfying conclusion, Pluto absolutely delivers in terms of dramatic execution and is a genuinely emotional experience. Kudos should also go to the excellent English dub that makes surprisingly light work of what is, even by cyberpunk standards, pretty involved subject matter. It might not necessarily be perfect: of all the cyberpunk tropes I’d like to see the back of, maybe Gesicht being tormented by ‘missing memories’ of his past was one of them. Also, it’s important to remember that Astro Boy, which Pluto borrows so much from, was still aimed at a young audience. Thus, some of the climactic revelations - particularly those surrounding Pluto’s main villain itself - might come off as a bit whimsical and daft to more cynical viewers. Nonetheless, this is one anime that shows just how special this medium can be, succeeding as both a gripping sci-fi crime story and a provocative commentary on the impact for humanity once its essence - all the light and the dark - finally comes to reside within a machine.