by Jake Bourgeois, Contributing Writer
Sometimes you know exactly what you want from a show going in.
That was the case with for me Blue Eye Samurai on Netflix.
The animated show follows Mizu (Maya Erskine), the titular ronin whose eye color marks her as an outcast and “demon” by locals, as she is the offspring of one of only four white men in the country at the time of her birth in isolationist Japan. Driven to kill each and every one of them that could be her father, Mizu will stop at nothing to get her revenge. Along the way, she encounters Ringo (Masi Oka), a devoted apprentice without hands, Akemi (Brenda Song), a princess rebelling against her fate, Taigen (Darren Barnet), Akemi’s courter connected with Mizu’s childhood, and Fowler (Kenneth Branagh), the current figure of Mizu’s rage.
The trailer promised me a tale of brutal revenge set in 1600s Japan with gorgeous animation and utterly brutal violence.
Boy, did it deliver.
In watching Mizu on the path of revenge, I was reminded of a statement from the Tony Scott classic Man on Fire: “Creasy’s art is killing, and he’s about to paint his masterpiece.” The same could be said for Mizu. There’s a creativity and a beauty to the way Mizu dispatches foes, whether in a duel or a bloodbath taking out a mass of enemy fighters. No kill is the same, and they can alternate between the graceful and the brutal. In particular, there’s an early season duel that highlights patience and how small adjustments make a difference in how it visualizes the preparation for the lightning quick battle to follow — it’s a technique I wish we could’ve seen more than once.
That doesn’t even take into account the beauty on display in the quieter moments. Whether depicting a night sky or roaring flames, there’s no shortage of frames I’d be happy to have framed on my wall. The animation team knows how to make the colors pop on screen. There’s an art to everything in the show, down to the spatter of each and every blood drop. With the notable exceptions of occasional moments where the computerized cracks appear briefly, or a castle incursion, the show hardly ever sets a foot wrong visually.
About halfway through the season, I was enjoying the tale of revenge the writers were painting. Much like the action, there is a brutality to the world that the show does not shy away from. Man or woman, it doesn’t matter. Through the characters of Mizu, Ringo, and Taigen, it displays how life can be cruel to those either perceived as different at this time, or those who find the level to which they could rise hampered by the station they were born in. Though, even privilege offers a prison of its own, as Akemi struggles with the fate that awaits her as a woman in a powerful family. I could see some seeds the filmmakers were planting, I and was ready for the tale to continue to serve as a vehicle for the next breathtaking vista or visceral bisection.
Then the show an episode to marry the plot with a play, and everything changed. In an episode highlighting parallels between the tale of a ronin driven solely by his need for revenge and the plot in the show’s story. It’s an episode that adds so much depth to the characters, particularly of Mizu and Akemi. For Mizu, gaps we as the audience didn’t even know were there add even more tragedy to her tale, as sides of hers we had not been shown are revealed, while it also wonderfully illustrates the all-consuming nature that can be vengeance. With Akemi, the episode is a crucial turning point in her character that informs the back half of the season.
The show also has a lot to say about sex and gender roles. On the surface, it doesn’t shy away from nudity. It’s utilized both in terms of illustrating the role of sex has in the society and in instances where it has nothing to do with sex at all. While Mizu’s eye color is often hidden behind tinted lenses to avoid drawing attention, her true form is hidden even more so as to prove even more of a danger if discovered. While Mizu is largely shown hiding her true identity as a way to buck against gender roles to enact her revenge, Akemi’s arc is largely based on learning to embrace the role she’s expected to in a way that will allow her to bend the situation to her will.
I’ll admit, I did not give the creators enough credit initially for the writing. Created and largely written by Michael Green (Logan, Blade Runner 2049) and his wife Amber Noizumi, making her writing debut, the best of Green’s major projects shine through. Throw in veteran animation directors, including Alan Taylor, and it should be no surprise that this works so well.
None of that matters without great voice performances, which are present throughout the entire cast. Despite some familiar names, the voice acting never distracts from what’s on screen. Leading the way, Erskine is asked to do so much in the role, and she nails whatever is asked of her, whether it be sadness, rage, or a calm coolness. Song is likewise put through the wringer and rises to the occasion every time. Though he doesn’t get nearly as much screen time, Branagh is also a highlight, as he continues to show how much he appears to relish every opportunity to chew scenery as a villain.
Though perhaps not quite on its level, this is the most exciting and beautiful animated project from Netflix since Arcane. And, like the former, Season Two cannot get here fast enough. It’s an experience definitely only for the most mature of audiences. If you can handle the violence that this show does anything but shy away from, it’s close to impossible to come away without having a bloody good time.
Rating: Loved It
Blue Eye Samurai is currently streaming on Netflix
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