In the United States over the past few decades there has been a trend toward reversing the mainstream conception of animation as a medium for children’s entertainment only (no doubt originally driven by the cultural dominance of the Disney product). While the vast majority of adult-oriented animation in the US is comedy, and thereby not bound to the same conventions of maturity as drama, there has also been increasing interest in anime features and series, which show much greater diversity of genre. Along with the liberation of animation from juvenilia has come greater critical and scholarly attention to the medium. However, there is a certain tendency in the criticism to favor the science fiction and fantasy genres, with their relatively open allegories, ties to cultural movements (like cyberpunk), and fairy-tale motifs. Evangelion (1995) and Mononoke-Hime (1997) are examples of this type.
Shinichiro Watanabe’s best known series (and associated movie), Cowboy Bebop (1998), fits well into the cyberpunk paradigm, with its images of urban decay and futuristic breakdown of national identities and boundaries. Samurai Champloo(2004), his next full-length series, is a very different beast, a chambara period piece about a group of rowdy travelers, with a heavy dose of conscious and conspicuous anachronism and a strongly hip-hop influenced soundtrack. The “champloo” in the title is from [the] Okinawan word champuru, or “stir-fry”, indicating a mixing of disparate elements. Accordingly, it takes a very different tack in addressing the idea of nationality and the entity “Japan”, portraying and commenting on the diversity and social turmoil that underlie a seemingly peaceful, controlled, and conformist era.
And not just the Tokugawa era, either. A quote from an interview with Watanabe reveals that the time period of the series is meant to be an analogue to the present day: “The show is set during the Edo era some sixty years after the confusion of civil war ended. But forget the historical details. Think of it basically like some period in time sixty years before the end of the war.” (Kou 14) It is not insignificant that this interview was conducted in 2003, nearly sixty years since the end of the Second World War. A similar but more light-hearted message appears at the beginning of the first episode: “This work of fiction is not an accurate historical portrayal. LIKE WE CARE. Now shut up and enjoy the show.” In the tradition of pre-war jidaigeki, the past is a medium through which to comment on the present day, particularly when addressing sensitive issues that are difficult to approach directly. Each of the three main characters presents a different aspect of diversity unsanctioned by the Tokugawa state—which is almost invariably represented in the series as middle-aged men of samurai class, wearing a uniform of sober kimono, hakama, and haori, and always appearing in large, armed groups—and also an element of present-day Japanese society that has not been fully integrated into the definition of the nation.
The central plot is merely backdrop through the majority of the twenty-six episodes, but it revolves around Fuu, a teenage girl seeking a “samurai who smells of sunflowers”—her father, although she does not actually reveal that fact until more than two-thirds of the way through the series. Since there are very severe restrictions on and risks for women traveling unaccompanied, she coerces two condemned swordsmen—named Jin and Mugen--into serving as yojimbo on her journey. This slender narrative is used to set the stage for a much meatier succession of stories about life on the road and encounters made along the way.
Of her two bodyguards, Jin puts the “samurai” in the title of the show—he is one, and an exceptionally gifted student of Mujuushin kenjutsu—a genuine historical school: although Champloo is unabashedly anachronistic, it also contains a good deal of legitimate history. The Mujuushin school was fairly well-known despite its less than one hundred year existence (founded in 1640, it was almost certainly out of existence by 1710, which coincides well with the circa 1675 date for the series), and was in fact looked back on by kendo revivalists in the 19th century as one of the “purest” and most esoteric forms of kenjutsu. (Kono) This well-suits Jin, whose name is written with the character for the bushido virtue of compassion: he is utterly, utterly old-school in everything he does, from the way he polishes floors with his rear in the air to his preoccupation with the state of his swords, which manifests itself in frequent scenes of polishing and honing. He is seemingly the perfect samurai, and yet he is not only ronin but a wanted man, accused of having murdered the Mujuushin master in cold blood. Despite appearing to fit all the most prototypical molds of Japaneseness, Jin cannot be fully integrated into Japanese society. He reflects a set of martial values that, while still given lip service, are no longer the way things are done—if they ever were such. In the next to last episode, the shogunate assassin responsible for his fall from grace tells him, “...It seems that I was born into the wrong age. I, and you as well.” The mon on his kimono is another symbol of his being “of the wrong age” –the four-diamond crest signifies the Takeda clan, which was wiped out about a hundred years before the beginning of the series, a major (but ultimately unsuccessful) contender for the shogunate. Jin represents a past that is potentially explosive and subversive to the present order.
This is linked to the present day through the series’ frank and open treatment of Tokugawa sexuality, particularly homosexuality. The seminal study Male Colors states, “Homosexual behavior was formally organized in such institutions as samurai mansions, Buddhist monasteries, and male brothels linked to the kabuki theater. It was, indeed, a salient feature of mainstream culture.” (Leupp 1) Voice-over narration in episode 12 states as much, episode 2 has a middle-aged assassin flirting with (bishonen pretty-boy) Jin, and episode 6 features the main characters’ encounter with a gay (in several senses) Dutchman loose in Edo. The Dutchman, who is explained to be the head of the East India Company in Japan, says that he took the post in order to live in a culture where his orientation would be accepted, and indeed when the characters learn he is gay they scarcely react. Unlike in Oshima’s Gohatto (1999), homosexual relationships are depicted as conducive, not destructive, to group solidarity. Despite the period’s open acceptance, however, later generations were increasingly influenced by Western and nationalistic values, which did not condone homosexual behavior, and the historical acceptance became thought of as a slightly shady half-secret of samurai culture. Again we see the idea of the unassimilated past.
Equally unassimilated, in a very different way, is Mugen, who is by no means a samurai; he is instead the champuru element, the Okinawan synthesis. His clothing and swordfighting style seem more appropriate to hip-hop culture than Old Japan, and his disrespect for authority is such that he refuses to obey any order simply on principle. The disaffected, disenfranchised attitude is very similar to those often expressed by Black Americans from inner-city areas. In the first episode of the series, he is asked why he thinks he can still go around with a sword causing trouble when the era of civil war is long over and his reply is, “Because I’m from Ryuukyuu.” Episode 14 contains an extensive flashback to his past growing up on what is referred to as a prison colony island—an apparent reference to the many apocryphal stories of Japanese court exiles fleeing to the Ryuukyuus. (Lebra 14) There is also a long dream sequence where many of the images recall Okinawan religious beliefs, such as the line of shadowy figures wearing feathered cloaks, which resemble the futuki ancestor spirits that act as intermediaries between the living and the dead, and an upside-down island that seems to reference nirai kanai, a mythical land beyond the horizon believed to be the dwelling place of some of the gods. (Lebra 221) Ryuukyuu had less than a century before [it] lost its political independence to become a puppet of the Satsuma daimyate, and a channel for smuggling around the official trade sanctions. It is thereby a symbol of a Japan more connected with the rest of the world than the central government would wish to let on.
The Satsuma officials seen being attacked by Ryuukyuuan pirates in episode 14 appear similar to all the agents of government authority, but the pirates have distinct clothing and hairstyles that mark them apart from other characters, although I have not been able to find any connection with actual local dress. It is clear in these scenes that the sympathy of the series’ creators was with the margins, rather than central authority. The visual distinction between shogunate and marginalized peoples can be seen even more vividly in the flashback recollection of a fugitive Ainu (whose dress and appearance actually do appear to be based on real life examples) who killed the men sent to burn his village, caught in a smallpox epidemic. Mugen’s uncharacteristically polite remarks to Okuru, the Ainu, suggest a similarity between their subjugated cultures, which is correct in terms of their historical fates of economic colonization by Japan, but unjustified romanticism in anthropological terms. (Lebra 8) Once again, the sympathy is clearly meant to be with the marginalized, and this time there is a glossing over of one of the nastier historical details: although it is quite true that contact with the Japanese brought smallpox epidemics that precipitated the decline of the Ainu to the point where they could be easily dominated, the villagers would flee into the hills when an epidemic struck, and the sick would often be left to fend for themselves. (Walker 177-178)
Mugen’s relevance to the present day is clear in his disaffection and hip-hop references, which reflect the lack of national identity among Japanese youth, as well as his Ryuukyuu heritage. Even today Okinawa is a red-headed stepchild among Japanese provinces, and its people neither fully a part of the nation nor fully able to separate themselves from it, especially economically. Episode 23 seems to have a nationalistic bent given that the plot centers around a bunch of very, very amateur Japanese defeating American sailors in a game of baseball, with Mugen spearheading. (The portrayal of the Americans, with lots of obesity and ruthlessness, is definitely on the harsh side, especially in a series where few groups are consistently vilified, except for yakuza and government agents, and even some of them are depicted as merely decent folk going about their jobs.) Mugen is only coerced into playing, and after the game he stands on a cliff and looks out to sea, and the narrator informs us he is thinking not of having just saved the country, but of the place the American ships have returned to. He snaps back that he doesn’t like people making assumptions about him, so shut up—emphasizing that his accomplishment was a personal achievement, rather than any act of national pride.
In comparison to her two bloody-minded yojimbo, sensible teenage Fuu doesn’t seem like much of a symbol of subversion or anarchy, save in that she rather attracts the depredations of kidnappers and brothel procurers. But the skull charm that hangs off her pink tanto reveals a different story: when observed from the right angle, a hidden cross symbol appears. The charm is a Christian artifact inherited from her father (the object of her quest), and she is warned by Isaac in episode 6 to keep it hidden for fear of detection. The reason why becomes apparent in episode 19, when the travelers reach Kyushu, the most Christianized section of Japan, and encounter a village of kakure kirishitan, “hidden Christians”. An old woman is forcibly escorted away by soldiers after refusing to step on an image of the crucifixion—a fumi-e meant to force believers to reveal themselves. While the Christians are for the most part depicted as only wanting to live quietly and practice their faith, we do also get to see the flip side of their secretive culture. A false priest, claiming to be the descendent of Francis Xavier, the first Christian missionary to enter Japan (apparently no one has explained to this congregation about priestly celibacy), manipulates the Christians into producing illegal firearms with promises of rewards in Heaven. On the island near Nagasaki where the final episodes play out, the villagers fear and despise the few remaining survivors of a Christian congregation, who brought conflict into their peaceful lives.
Fuu is also only one of many strong, independent female characters in the series, who are at odds with the expectations placed on them by society. Many observers during the Tokugawa era commented on what they saw as the increasing feminization of men, who were losing their warlike qualities, and the growing masculinity of women, who were abandoning their maternal, lady-like ways to do things like attend sumo matches and imitate the fashion sensibilities of geisha. (Leupp 173) While this is another example of attempting to rewrite the past to fit the present (women in an era of civil war are hardly likely to behave like ladies), it does show the disjunct between vision and reality. When the characters view a kabuki play about Yamato Nadeshiko, the ideal Japanese woman, the eponymous role is, of course, played by…a man, revealing the emptiness of the ideal. A character like the heavy-drinking, heavily (and proudly!) endowed con artist and loving, fussy mother Budo Kiba of episode 8 has more to do with the women of Imamura Shohei than a kabuki heroine. Sara, the blind female assassin from episodes 20 and 21, is a less thoroughly optimistic view of a woman seeking independence: while her incredible skill makes her untouchable in battle, her love for her child makes her vulnerable to outside control. Though the conflict (or the harmony) between motherhood, sexuality, and survival might be expressed in period terms, it is no less pressing for women today. Every nation in the world, including Japan, struggles to define--or undefine--the roles of women in its national architecture, and there is still far to go.
This wild pageant of diversity certainly makes for varied and entertaining television (and the wild sword fights don’t hurt in that area either), but, what is ultimately the point being made? The answer comes in episode 22, a bizarre mushroom-induced horror-film dreamscape. Mugen, Jin, and Fuu come across a quarry where the revenant corpses of Heike warriors search for their hidden treasure under the guidance of Shige, their hypno-charismatic leader—who turns out to be a rank imposter. In the quarry, time has no meaning; one cannot tell if days or months have passed. The outside world no longer matters, nor does anything besides the ever-elusive goal. The zombies’ bodies are frequently destroyed, but they feel no pain and bear no resentment. In the end, just as a revolt against Shige is finally beginning, the entire quarry is wiped out by the meteor that has been moving ominously nearer throughout the entire episode. The impact creates a huge mushroom cloud.
The imagery is too stark not to be intentional, and the reference to Hiroshima suggests the zombies are meant to represent the citizens under the wartime government, isolated from the outside world and exhorted to work for the nation to the last gasp. The use of zombies to approach the lessons of WWII was used even more directly in the stage play Akuma no Uta with the zombies as members of the Imperial Army. (Tanaka)==The rigid uniformity, obliviousness, and top-down control of the quarry is what must be avoided, if the destruction of the meteor is also to be avoided—this is the message of Champloo. Accepting Japan as it is, with its turbulent, sometimes unsavory past; minorities that neither can nor will be fully assimilated; and women that cannot be mothers without being concubines and vice-versa, gives it its strongest chance to endure. Any definition of the national that does not acknowledge the periphery as well as the center is doomed to failure.
Works Cited:
Kim Hoff
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Furukawa Kou. “Samurai Champloo: Hip-Hop Echoes Through the Streets of Old Tokyo.” Newtype, vol. 10 (October 2003), p. 14-15.
Lebra, William P. Okinawan Religion: Belief, Ritual and Social Structure. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1966.
Leupp, Gary P. Male Colors: The Construction of Homosexuality in Tokugawa Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995.
Tanaka Nobuko. “Whitewash Fails to Cover the Pain.” The Japan Times Online. Feb. 23, 2005. Dec. 10, 2005.
Walker, Brett L. The Conquest of Ainu Lands: Ecology and Culture in Japanese Expansion, 1590-1800. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001.
Yoshinori Kono. “Famous Swordsman of Japan: Muneari Goroemon Terada.” Aikido Journal, vol. 103 (1995).
December 13, 2005