Something cool about Blue Eye Samurai is how sex is juxtaposed with the end-goals.
I really love how our three protagonists are all obsessed. And that obsession defines them, torments them, and are subsequently reborn through their obsessions.
Mizu, of course, is obsessed with the concept of revenge. It's not even about getting even or getting justice as some might use to justify the bloody road taken—it is simply about seeking satisfaction for Mizu. She cuts a bloody swathe across Japan because of what the Four White Devils did to her mother and herself. She does not concern herself with the ramifications of her wrath but merely charges forward, leaving behind a trail of viscera and gore behind her.
Like I said before, her vengeance and obsession with satisfaction is not painted by the show as wrong. It is how she allows it to affect others along the path. It's why the episode with Madame Kaji is so enlightening; Mizu should not tackle this quest as a vengeful revenant; an onryō. She has let the world define her as a monstrosity and so she embraced it, when Swordfather and Madame Kaji knew what the correct path was to satiate her need for vengeance. Treat her sword as the Artisan's tool it truly is. Treat her body the way an Artist would treat their canvas.
Madame Kaji and Swordfather are both outcasts, for being a woman and a blind man. Yet they found strength in their exclusion, becoming single-minded in their fields of art. Because sex is art and swordsmithing is art. It's what makes Mizu's body writing scene so fucking good.
Artistic vision becomes stagnant when one pulls from only one source. They become rigid and unbending when Mizu, like her namesake, must be fluid. She has shown fluidity in her use of her gender and her morals, but cannot apply that same flexibility towards her goal. Throughout season one, she was becoming an uninspired artist, merely painting the world in hues of scarlet. In a world that forces Women to be either Wives or Whores, Mizu chose to be a Warrior—but a warrior fights for a cause, whether it be just or otherwise. A soldier fights in an army. Mizu is neither of these things. She is an Artist first and foremost, and her medium is Death. Sex, something Mizu was at first hesitant before her failed marriage, and something she actively avoided afterwards, is what gives her a new perspective. Like an Illustrator studying life to better draw their intended worlds, taking inspiration from wherever one can find it.
Taigen and Akemi are also equally affected by the artistry of sex, as befitting of Mizu's fellow protagonists.
Akemi is quite obviously Mizu's narrative foil. Mizu chases after revenge like a bloodhound whereas Akemi longs for freedom like a bird in a cage. Both are fierce women who are unsatisfied with their lot in life, with their sex and gender being used against them in their lives. Literally, the episode "The Tale of the Ronin and the Bride" is a fucking triple entendre:
Mizu is the Ronin as well as the Bride.
The play showcases the tale of the Ronin and the Bride.
It is also Mizu as the Ronin and Akemi as the Bride.
And when Mizu finds her center as she melts down her blade and engages in body writing, this scene of enlightenment is juxtaposed with Akemi laying with her new husband Takayoshi. Both, in this moment, are taking control of their lives through sex. They are both taking control of their futures through the ways Madame Kaji taught them. Mizu and Akemi are both rebels against this oppressive society, and are both talented artists with their body. Whether that be sex, politicking, or ass-kicking.
Taigen, like the two women before, finds freedom through it but in a more subtle manner.
Where Mizu and Akemi are narrative foils, both using sex as a form of art and escape, Taigen finds liberation through his awakening.
Like the closeted bisexual man he is, he begins his journey of self-realization when he first encounters Mizu at the Dojo.
Every single battle these two have is purposefully rife with sexual tension. All his life, Taigen has been taught that a man must live with honor. That he must take control of his life and his identity, or he will have failed and that he is better off dead than to live with such shame.
Taigen is just as much a victim of the Patriarchal society around him. Mizu rails against it violently. Akemi seeks to run away from it all. And Taigen, with the privilege given to him by his manhood, chooses to become a perpetrator, enabling the vicious wheel of society to keep moving forward.
His obsession with honor leads him to hunting down and even protecting Mizu. Mizu is no doubt the better warrior, but even she knows she owes so much to Taigen. The blockhead not only did everything to protect her in the valley, but also sealed his lips shut even under the duress of torture. His obsession with honor becomes an obsession with Mizu.
His regrets over tormenting her over her looks and ethnicity as a child. His shame in having lost so decisively in his own dojo. Taigen was a man born with nothing and climbed up to the top with every advantage he could muster, and suddenly it's all ripped away by this one vengeful spirit passing by.
Taigen learns to surrender control around Mizu. He begins to discover his own sexuality and purpose around Mizu, redefining what honor really means to him now that he, as a man, has a budding attraction towards the man who beat him.
Mizu's Vengeance. Akemi's Freedom. Taigen's Honor. In all three, Sex becomes a catalyst in redefining what each of these concepts truly mean to them all. It's not just sex of course, but it is undeniable how the writers keep juxtaposing sexual acts and thoughts with massive character moments.
It changes how Mizu chases after her Vengeance. It recontextualizes how Akemi can be Free. It showcases the absurdity of the Honor forced upon Taigen.
It's so fucking refreshing seeing Sex not used as fanservice or shoe-horned in just to further a stale, poorly written cis-heterosexual romance; but used as a plot point that cannot be ignored. An impetus that fuels the narrative.
Moving forward, I'm curious as to how sex will be used.
The next few ideas aren't as sound or organized because I'm neither Asexual nor Genderfluid, so please if anyone reads this who understands it better, feel free to point it out.
I think it'd be cool if Mizu met the inverse of Madame Kaji. A person who is apathetic to sex. Sure, Swordfather has shades of this, but I'm tired of the person with disabilities also being on the Asexual spectrum. And I'm not saying that Ace or Graysexual people with disabilities don't exist! But they always tend to be written as having some form of disability (Varys from ASOIAF) or a Robot.
Just as artists need a variety of sources to pull inspiration from, I hope in the next seasons we get to see different perspectives on sex and gender. In London, it feels like Mizu finding the other half of herself, and with that having a better way of tackling her own identity. Whether it be gender, sex, combat, etc.
Basically what this inane rambling amounts to is that Blue Eye Samurai tackles sex and violence and revenge and obsession in ways that most media has yet to truly do. So that was pretty cool.
584 notes
·
View notes
I'll be referring to Mizu by her canon identity (she/her) since that is what the series creators choose to call her.
My favorite thing about Blue Eye Samurai is that the plot does punish Mizu for her single-mindedness and wrath against the Four White Devils. Ringo is horrified by her act of allowing Akemi to be forcefully brought to the Shogun because, in her eyes, Akemi would be safer there—but it can also be stated that she did this because her path to revenge cannot be bogged down by things such as friendship or affection.
It does not necessarily mean that the plot wishes to punish her for her vengeance itself.
Blue Eye Samurai, I believe, isn't going down the route of Vagabond or Vinland Saga (two special stories close to my heart) where the protagonists there learn the value of forgiveness and letting go of their hatred. Here, Mizu is even explicitly called an Artisan, her works are of Death. Swordfather calls himself an artist of Blades, whereas he refers to Mizu as an Artist of the Sword, both single-minded in their endeavors.
Anger must fuel her, but it cannot blind her. Like an artist, her strokes must be purposeful. Her hand steady and controlled. Her canvas cannot be tainted with the blood and wounds of the innocents. Not Ringo's. Not Akemi's. Not Taigen's.
Don't get me wrong, I love narratives that explicitly put down the thought of vengeance. That these stories dissuade the thought of "An Eye for an Eye" and pushes their protagonists down a path of wisdom and peace.
But anger and vengeance and *satisfaction* are also very human things to feel and pursue. The Princess Bride showcases a tale of vengeance without causing collateral damage. I believe Mizu is learning to move away from her identity as a mere instrument of punishment; a spirit of revenge. Instead she chooses to become an Artist.
It's why she takes up body writing at the series finale. Art must be pulled from different perspectives and sources. One cannot be stagnant in their field. Just like how an Archaeologist will have some mastery over Anthropology to better understand the past, an artisan needs to know other expressions of art.
I think that's beautiful. Not dissuading vengeance, but refining it. Directing it. Guiding her bloodlust into masterful strokes of her blade.
93 notes
·
View notes
Stop making 8-episode seasons
When you look at why people complain about shows in recent years, so much of it boils down to a couple of issues issues:
- The pacing was inconsistent/the pacing lot felt rushed
- The audience couldn’t connect enough with the characters to care about what was happening
Why is this?
It’s because when a show has only 8 episodes, there isn’t enough wiggle-room to properly flesh out ideas and characters.
Take Avatar: The Last Airbender on Netflix. Only 8 episodes! The first season of the animated series had 20.
But MrRyckman, the animated show’s episodes were much shorter!
Timewise, the animated show’s first season came to a runtime of about 7 hours and 34 minutes, compared with the live-action’s 6 hours and 22 minutes, a difference of over an hour in runtime. That is not inconsequential, even if you cut the plot of a few episodes (which they did).
The other issue is that, whereas animated shows tend to dive right into the action (because animation allows for unique character designs and bright colors that makes it easier to distinguish things), live action shows tend to take their time. They introduce characters more slowly, take time to introduce more intricate plots, and use a fair bit of time to wrap things up. That results in a *lot* less time to replicate the same elements without just doing a 1:1 adaptation (which in this case would be extra-weird).
What makes shows memorable?
Shows become memorable when audiences connect with the characters, and this cannot happen when every season of your show has to be intensely plot-focused. Look at popular shows like Supernatural - each season of that show had between 16-23 episodes, most of which were around 40 minutes long.
Because each season had approximately 800 minutes to tell a season-long arc, Supernatural was able to have character-focused episodes where little plot happened. As a result, audiences connected with Sam and Dean (and Castiel. And Bobby. And others!) more!
This isn’t to say that all shows with shorter seasons are terrible. In fact, when the writers know what they are doing (or are adapting a work that can fit nicely into that timeframe), shorter-seasoned shows can become popular, too!
For the first 4-5 seasons of Game of Thrones, the showrunners were very adept at balancing plot and character moments. Heck, there were *tons* of characters that audiences connected with, far more than other shows with longer seasons, and yet audiences had no trouble connecting with them because the show was well-written. It gave us time to know the characters and understand more than just their basic motivations, and kept putting different characters together to show unique interactions that contributed to the show’s popularity.
Then the showrunners decided they were tired of GoT and cut it short. Despite the fact that HBO was more than happy to give them several more 10-episode seasons, they ended it at Season 8 and cut the final two seasons to just 7 and 6 episodes. Because they had to get to a predetermined ending, they rushed the plot, resulting in character assassinations and fast-travel of a sort that even the Dragonborn would be jealous of. And all at once, the collective consciousness of the Internet doomed the show to die just about as soon as it had finished airing. The shortened seasons didn’t help it - they actively hurt a show that had taken the attention of millions of people.
Why the shorter seasons now?
So if we have examples of long-running shows with huge fandoms (meaning more people willing to spend money on products related to said fandom) and an example of a show that ruined its reputation with two shorter seasons, why are 8-episode seasons suddenly the norm?
It’s a combination of multiple factors. For starters, networks are trying to make higher-quality shows to capitalize off what they saw as the successes of shows like Game of Thrones. Bigger set pieces, more CGI elements, big-name actors, all of which means more money. Instead of many low-budget shows, we now have a case of several big-budget shows. But in order to maintain that level of quality throughout, there have to be fewer episodes.
There are other factors as well (the popularity of binge-streaming, the fact that networks no longer have to care about syndication and reaching 100 episodes, to name a few), but overall, it is clear that networks seem to think that 8-episode seasons are the way to go.
Do I hope that the rise in negative reviews with shows like The Acolyte or the last two seasons of GoT will maybe force networks to reconsider this model and give us longer, better-developed shows? Absolutely. But I’m also cynical enough not to think they will.
17 notes
·
View notes