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Blade of the Immortal: Anime Review
I can't tell you how happy I am to have found an anime that really pleases me. It's been a long time since I've come across one that's more than diverting. The only real problem with Blade of the Immortal is that it's one of these non-ending anime and is, in general, too short. It makes me want to read the manga, though my apprehension of investing great money and shelf space endless book series with few words/book makes me balk.
But to the anime: It's a samurai (or let us say swordsmen/women) anime, apparently set in the pre-Meiji 19th century (?) [1], which concerns a girl's quest for revenge against the band that killed her parents. To expedite her revenge, she engages the services of a warrior whose body is infected by supernatural worms that repair him when he's injured; hence, he can't be killed. What makes this anime work, in a nutshell, is terrific characters, all around.
Review: (Spoilers follow)
The Bad:
There's not much to dislike about this series. As I noted, it doesn't end. In fact, it ends on a music-swelling overview of a bunch of characters and events to date that is reminiscent of the end of the first episode of the 1992 Ai no Kusabi. Even given a non-ending, I would have rejoiced if it had been 26 episodes instead of 13. It has a lot of characters and subplots, and it could have used the extra time well.
For a story that is very smart in its critique of revenge and discourse of what constitutes "real" strength, it is sometimes (for my taste) too eager to show our kick-ass warriors in kick-ass fights, when other courses of action would have made more sense/been more interesting.
Speaking of the kick-ass fights, they're fine but could have been better. They do not rise to the level of precision and the very real sense of danger you get from Shigurui, which is a shame because the story is much concerned with the mechanics of fighting and more attention to the particulars could have made a good theme outstanding.
The Good:
All the characters are presented as real people. Some are very scary, demented real people, but even they have thoughts to share, ideas that motivate them, and relationships with others that have at least some aspect of positivity. (Ex. Kuroi, who takes the cake as the creepiest, seems to have been a caring enough mentor to young Anotsu to win his lasting camaraderie.)
In keeping with this, none of the characters is wholly black or white. When Rin (the revenge-seeking girl) first asks Manji (the Immortal) to assist her, he asks her how he's supposed to know that her cause is really just. She presents it as such, but that's one everyone says about their own POV. His commentary sets the tone for the whole narrative. Rin is a very conventionally moral character, yet various characters powerfully critique her revenge, noting that in seeking retribution for her own orphaning, she has no doubt created other orphans just as outraged. Conversely, Rin's arch-nemesis, Anotsu, while he is a brutal killer for dubious reasons, is also a genuinely philosophical man with a social project grounded in his own sense of justice (in essence to undermine effete samurai hypocrisy) and a likable person in daily life (if you're not on his bad side).
Further in keeping with the psychologically reality of the characters, the women as treated as seriously as the men. Rin is not a super fighter (in fact, her only fighting trick invariably fails--it's like a running joke), yet she is as serious a moral player in the story as anyone: as intelligent, as formidable, and as responsible as any of the men in choosing her course of action.
In fact, progressive gender discourse in this story is both fascinating and successful. In my experience, "samurai anime" tend to frame women in one of the three ways:
1) spunky (Samurai Champloo),
2) traditionally feminine/helpless/put upon (The Hakkenden, Shigurui - note, this can be done very intelligently), or
3) kick-ass fighters who are basically gender coded as men but sexy and often romantic objects (examples escape me as I tend to avoid this).
Blade of the Immortal keeps clear of the spunk (thank God), but it walks a very careful line between the other two. I have to suspend my disbelief a little for the straightforwardness with which female fighters are accepted (even expected)--but only a little. The tour de force is Makie, who is explicitly presented as the most skilled warrior in the series yet is not the standard girl-samurai battling away just like a man. In fact, Makie is emphatically, self-consciously--coded feminine. She is very soft spoken, soft hearted, nurturing (when not killing things); she sings and plays music in the traditional feminine style; she was raised and has principally worked as a prostitute/later geisha. Indeed, she has chosen that career, despite disliking it in many ways, over a career as a warrior because she perceives it as more her right place.
Makie's tragedy is that her talents are at odds with her socialization. She recognizes this very clearly. She is an excellent illustration of many of the problems that might face a woman warrior in Edo society. In her first fight with Manji, she is immediately, utterly trounced, and this is not because she threw the fight. It's because, mentally, she wasn't ready to fight. Like a "woman," she has a strong sense that killing is awful (she calls prostitution better because it's better to give comfort than maim and kill), vendetta endless, and humble peacefulness preferable. Every time she raises a weapon, she has to do so against her better judgment. This makes her vulnerable, not because women cannot be phenomenally dangerous martial talents but because women are trained not to think like killers.
This tension extends beyond the representation of women to the overall discourse of the story. It's a story that extols impressive fighters while questioning their basic motive for existing. The argument that the prostitutes actually live better is a powerful one (underwritten by good, solid, Bechtal-passing attention paid to the friendships among women who support each other in that profession). A similar tension exists in Anotsu's contention that samurai schools' "honor" is mendacious, a critique that carries weight, even while his own school (whose basic tenant is "do whatever you can to defeat your enemies") attracts unscrupulous characters whose lack of honor (or anything to put in its place) gives their sadism free reign.
Finally, I give this story massive points for its avoidance of clichéd relationships. The main pair, Manji and Rin, are not romantically steered toward each other but rather given a sweet and complicated dynamic wherein she has a slight (not overwhelming) crush on him, while he staunchly sees her as a surrogate younger sister.
Anotsu and Makie, on the other hand, succeed in the daunting task of enacting a het romance that is neither dull nor annoying. Their relationship is an odd mix of gender norms and abnormalities. She is older than he is, his childhood hero and role model and someone he acknowledges as a superior warrior. Yet he is also the authority in the relationship, the one who buys her out of prostitution, the one whose project she (reluctantly) joins, I think, because ultimately, being a woman, she cannot not stand by her man.
The antagonistic relationships are atypical as well. Rin, not Manji, is the principal enemy of the Itto-ryu (Anotsu's school). Manji is cast as her secret weapon more than as an independent agent. And Rin finds herself repeatedly having a peculiar rapport with her enemies: she engages in philosophical discourse with Anotsu and even finds herself sympathizing with the man who raped her mother because he is trying to turn over a new leaf and be a good father to his son.
It's all really compelling and remarkable and over too soon.
The Baffling:
Why didn't the heads Kuroi had sewn to his shoulders decay? (For that matter, why didn't they fall off his shoulders? That looks precarious.)
The Random: Manji reminds me of Kai from Lexx. I'm not convinced he's actually that great a fighter--or maybe he once was but he's gotten so used to being indestructible that he doesn't put up much defense anymore. He certainly gets skewered more than his adversaries get skewered by him.
[1] Everything I've read about the manga sets it in the 18th century, which is a lot more what the anime looks like. But if that's the case, why did Anotsu say that Nobunaga lived 300 years ago? (Or was that missubbed? Or was it a different Nobunaga; it all went by a bit fast?) As I make it out, 300 years after Oda Nobunaga flourished would be the 1860s-70s or so; clearly this story is set before that.
But to the anime: It's a samurai (or let us say swordsmen/women) anime, apparently set in the pre-Meiji 19th century (?) [1], which concerns a girl's quest for revenge against the band that killed her parents. To expedite her revenge, she engages the services of a warrior whose body is infected by supernatural worms that repair him when he's injured; hence, he can't be killed. What makes this anime work, in a nutshell, is terrific characters, all around.
Review: (Spoilers follow)
The Bad:
There's not much to dislike about this series. As I noted, it doesn't end. In fact, it ends on a music-swelling overview of a bunch of characters and events to date that is reminiscent of the end of the first episode of the 1992 Ai no Kusabi. Even given a non-ending, I would have rejoiced if it had been 26 episodes instead of 13. It has a lot of characters and subplots, and it could have used the extra time well.
For a story that is very smart in its critique of revenge and discourse of what constitutes "real" strength, it is sometimes (for my taste) too eager to show our kick-ass warriors in kick-ass fights, when other courses of action would have made more sense/been more interesting.
Speaking of the kick-ass fights, they're fine but could have been better. They do not rise to the level of precision and the very real sense of danger you get from Shigurui, which is a shame because the story is much concerned with the mechanics of fighting and more attention to the particulars could have made a good theme outstanding.
The Good:
All the characters are presented as real people. Some are very scary, demented real people, but even they have thoughts to share, ideas that motivate them, and relationships with others that have at least some aspect of positivity. (Ex. Kuroi, who takes the cake as the creepiest, seems to have been a caring enough mentor to young Anotsu to win his lasting camaraderie.)
In keeping with this, none of the characters is wholly black or white. When Rin (the revenge-seeking girl) first asks Manji (the Immortal) to assist her, he asks her how he's supposed to know that her cause is really just. She presents it as such, but that's one everyone says about their own POV. His commentary sets the tone for the whole narrative. Rin is a very conventionally moral character, yet various characters powerfully critique her revenge, noting that in seeking retribution for her own orphaning, she has no doubt created other orphans just as outraged. Conversely, Rin's arch-nemesis, Anotsu, while he is a brutal killer for dubious reasons, is also a genuinely philosophical man with a social project grounded in his own sense of justice (in essence to undermine effete samurai hypocrisy) and a likable person in daily life (if you're not on his bad side).
Further in keeping with the psychologically reality of the characters, the women as treated as seriously as the men. Rin is not a super fighter (in fact, her only fighting trick invariably fails--it's like a running joke), yet she is as serious a moral player in the story as anyone: as intelligent, as formidable, and as responsible as any of the men in choosing her course of action.
In fact, progressive gender discourse in this story is both fascinating and successful. In my experience, "samurai anime" tend to frame women in one of the three ways:
1) spunky (Samurai Champloo),
2) traditionally feminine/helpless/put upon (The Hakkenden, Shigurui - note, this can be done very intelligently), or
3) kick-ass fighters who are basically gender coded as men but sexy and often romantic objects (examples escape me as I tend to avoid this).
Blade of the Immortal keeps clear of the spunk (thank God), but it walks a very careful line between the other two. I have to suspend my disbelief a little for the straightforwardness with which female fighters are accepted (even expected)--but only a little. The tour de force is Makie, who is explicitly presented as the most skilled warrior in the series yet is not the standard girl-samurai battling away just like a man. In fact, Makie is emphatically, self-consciously--coded feminine. She is very soft spoken, soft hearted, nurturing (when not killing things); she sings and plays music in the traditional feminine style; she was raised and has principally worked as a prostitute/later geisha. Indeed, she has chosen that career, despite disliking it in many ways, over a career as a warrior because she perceives it as more her right place.
Makie's tragedy is that her talents are at odds with her socialization. She recognizes this very clearly. She is an excellent illustration of many of the problems that might face a woman warrior in Edo society. In her first fight with Manji, she is immediately, utterly trounced, and this is not because she threw the fight. It's because, mentally, she wasn't ready to fight. Like a "woman," she has a strong sense that killing is awful (she calls prostitution better because it's better to give comfort than maim and kill), vendetta endless, and humble peacefulness preferable. Every time she raises a weapon, she has to do so against her better judgment. This makes her vulnerable, not because women cannot be phenomenally dangerous martial talents but because women are trained not to think like killers.
This tension extends beyond the representation of women to the overall discourse of the story. It's a story that extols impressive fighters while questioning their basic motive for existing. The argument that the prostitutes actually live better is a powerful one (underwritten by good, solid, Bechtal-passing attention paid to the friendships among women who support each other in that profession). A similar tension exists in Anotsu's contention that samurai schools' "honor" is mendacious, a critique that carries weight, even while his own school (whose basic tenant is "do whatever you can to defeat your enemies") attracts unscrupulous characters whose lack of honor (or anything to put in its place) gives their sadism free reign.
Finally, I give this story massive points for its avoidance of clichéd relationships. The main pair, Manji and Rin, are not romantically steered toward each other but rather given a sweet and complicated dynamic wherein she has a slight (not overwhelming) crush on him, while he staunchly sees her as a surrogate younger sister.
Anotsu and Makie, on the other hand, succeed in the daunting task of enacting a het romance that is neither dull nor annoying. Their relationship is an odd mix of gender norms and abnormalities. She is older than he is, his childhood hero and role model and someone he acknowledges as a superior warrior. Yet he is also the authority in the relationship, the one who buys her out of prostitution, the one whose project she (reluctantly) joins, I think, because ultimately, being a woman, she cannot not stand by her man.
The antagonistic relationships are atypical as well. Rin, not Manji, is the principal enemy of the Itto-ryu (Anotsu's school). Manji is cast as her secret weapon more than as an independent agent. And Rin finds herself repeatedly having a peculiar rapport with her enemies: she engages in philosophical discourse with Anotsu and even finds herself sympathizing with the man who raped her mother because he is trying to turn over a new leaf and be a good father to his son.
It's all really compelling and remarkable and over too soon.
The Baffling:
Why didn't the heads Kuroi had sewn to his shoulders decay? (For that matter, why didn't they fall off his shoulders? That looks precarious.)
The Random: Manji reminds me of Kai from Lexx. I'm not convinced he's actually that great a fighter--or maybe he once was but he's gotten so used to being indestructible that he doesn't put up much defense anymore. He certainly gets skewered more than his adversaries get skewered by him.
[1] Everything I've read about the manga sets it in the 18th century, which is a lot more what the anime looks like. But if that's the case, why did Anotsu say that Nobunaga lived 300 years ago? (Or was that missubbed? Or was it a different Nobunaga; it all went by a bit fast?) As I make it out, 300 years after Oda Nobunaga flourished would be the 1860s-70s or so; clearly this story is set before that.