Should Your Teen Watch Akira?

More than three decades after its release, Akira still feels like a cinematic punch to the gut. It’s loud, chaotic, visually overwhelming—and at the same time, hauntingly philosophical.

Often recommended as a “must-watch classic,” Akira is much more than an animated dystopia. It’s a film that questions authority, power, identity, and what happens when a lost child is given the ability to destroy the world.

For teens, it’s undeniably cool. Futuristic bikes, psychic powers, city-wide explosions. But without the right context, that spectacle can bury the warning it’s trying to send.

Set in Neo-Tokyo, a cyberpunk city rebuilt after a mysterious explosion, Akira follows two teenagers—Kaneda, a cocky bike gang leader, and Tetsuo, his more timid, insecure friend.

After a strange accident, Tetsuo begins to develop psychic abilities. At first, he’s frightened. Then he’s drunk on power. He lashes out. And as the military, scientists, rebels, and government agents scramble to contain him, Tetsuo transforms from a troubled teen into something unstoppable.

The city, once scarred by its past, is about to relive its destruction—this time from the inside out.

Tetsuo’s arc is terrifying because it’s familiar. He starts as a kid who always felt small. Ignored. Underestimated. Then suddenly, he has godlike power—and no emotional compass to guide him.

The film doesn’t just show destruction. It shows what happens when someone with unresolved trauma and zero guidance is handed total control. It’s not just about explosions. It’s about identity unraveling.

The adults in Akira—politicians, scientists, generals—are all chasing control. They experiment on children. Lie to the public. Manipulate the truth. And in doing so, they create the very thing they feared.

For teens already questioning authority or navigating distrust in systems (school, government, society), Akira mirrors those anxieties. It validates rebellion—but doesn’t glamorize it.

At its core, Akira is also a story of broken friendship. Kaneda tries to save Tetsuo, but can’t. Not really. The emotional distance between them becomes literal as one ascends into power and the other remains human.

That heartbreak—the feeling of watching someone you love become unrecognizable—is perhaps the film’s quietest tragedy.

Recommended for: 16+

The violence is intense, the visuals often grotesque (especially in the final act), and the emotional impact of the film can be overwhelming. While the movie is animated, it deals with extremely mature themes and disturbing body horror that younger teens may not be equipped to process.

Akira demands focus. It’s messy on purpose. It doesn’t want to comfort—it wants to disrupt.

Despite its intensity, Akira carries deep lessons. It’s a cautionary tale about what happens when trauma isn’t addressed, when institutions prioritize control over care, and when power is pursued without ethics.

It also asks painful questions about responsibility—both personal and collective. Who failed Tetsuo? His friends? The government? Himself?

And through that lens, it becomes more than a dystopia. It becomes a mirror—held up to every generation that tries to build something new on the rubble of what came before.

Watching Akira is like watching a city burn in slow motion. It’s overwhelming, shocking, and unforgettable. But for teens, it can also be deeply thought-provoking—if they’re ready.

If your teen wants to watch it, don’t just hand them the remote. Watch it with them. Talk afterward. Not about the animation (though it's iconic), but about the fear. The rage. The loneliness. The betrayal.

Because Akira isn’t just a film about power—it’s a warning about what happens when we ignore pain for too long.