'Blue Eye Samurai' Cuts Through the Myths of Samurai and Shoguns
There are few periods in history that are as unique as Feudal Japan (also known as the Edo period) from the early 17th century to the Meiji Revolution in the late 19th century. Unlike other non-western countries that were colonized by European powers and converted to Christianity, the Japanese Shogunate managed to resist this influence and preserve its feudal system for almost an additional three centuries. Thus, for historians evaluating merits and drawbacks of Western colonization, the Edo period offers an ideal case study—as well as a fascinating setting for storytellers desiring a cultural alternative to the modern West.
On one hand, there were many virtues to Feudal Japan during this time. Generally speaking, it was a stable political setup where powers were balanced, and everyone knew their role. Additionally, this arrangement cultivated a strong social cohesion, resulting in a highly developed culture. Although it was technologically stagnant, there was nothing barbaric or ugly about their way of life. In many ways, it was more natural and human-scaled than what most Westerners experienced at the same time.
On the other hand, Feudal Japan took traditionalism to brutal excesses. Hierarchies were rigid and effectively stifled any social mobility. Most innovation was discouraged. Women were universally objectified, relegated to producing children and giving men pleasure. Nearly all minorities were ostracized and kept to the margins. And on top of this sat a parasitic class of lords and samurai who continually exploited the people under their dominion.
Of course, whether made in the West or the East, most movies and television series taking place in Feudal Japan tend to emphasize the positive points and downplay the negative aspects. It’s common to see a cast of stoic warriors exemplifying the virtues of Bushido fighting bravely for the sake of honor and tradition (e.g., The Last Samurai or Shogun). By contrast, it’s rare to see flawed human beings maintaining a corrupt system that immiserated the majority of the population.
Fortunately, a series that finally takes up the challenge of representing both the good and bad of Feudal Japan is Blue Eye Samurai, the new adult animated show on Netflix. The story takes place in Japan in the early 1600s, right after the Japanese Shogunate kicked all Europeans out of the country and closed its borders to outsiders. The protagonist is Mizu, a female samurai with blue eyes on a path of revenge against the handful of Europeans remaining in the country, one of whom might be her father. Because of her mixed racial heritage and sex, Mizu must hide her identity at all times.
At first glance, the premise (and streaming platform) of Blue Eye Samurai suggests yet another tedious tale of an over-powered girlboss taking down the patriarchy or an equally tedious anti-colonial fable of a virtuous non-Western culture triumphing over decadent Western occupiers. Fortunately, the series rises well above these tropes and delivers something that’s nuanced, realistic, and visually stunning.
All of this begins with Mizu herself, who is indeed a strong, independent woman, but also happens to have serious flaws. Although she has good reason to seek revenge for being abandoned, unprotected, rejected, and ultimately forced to hide her true self, her violent methods along with her fixation on the few white men left in Japan is questionable. True, the man she ends up pursuing is a British arms smuggler bent on destroying the Shogunate and ruling as a kind of shadow emperor, but he is certainly not the only one responsible for Mizu’s suffering.
Rather, as the show makes apparent, it is Feudal Japan that is Mizu’s real enemy. While each frame of the series really is a work of art—as YouTube critic Critical Drinker observes—the characters depicted frequently exhibit the worst aspects of that time. No one is nice to Mizu; everyone either ignores, insults, or tries to kill her. Nor is it much better for anyone else. The only two exceptions to this are a blind sword maker, a surrogate father for Mizu (never realizing that she’s a girl) and a handless young simpleton, Ringo, who serves as her disciple and friend.
Even as the audience can marvel at the discipline of the samurai’s training, the many rituals of daily life, the elegance and craftsmanship behind making katanas and noodle soup, the simplicity of Zen and Shinto religious practices, or the lush, uncontaminated Japanese landscapes, no one would make the mistake of believing that this is the best of all possible worlds. All actions are so carefully prescribed that no one, not even those in power, has any true freedom. Only Mizu seems to challenge these boundaries and is thus the most liberated character—but this all comes at the cost of her physical and emotional wellbeing. As she says herself, she seeks satisfaction, not happiness.
Two counterpoints to Mizu’s character in the series who provide additional commentary to the setting are the samurai Taigen and the noblewoman Akemi. In most other stories of Feudal Japan, Taigen—strong, ambitious, and devoted to honor—would be the hero, and Akemi—attractive, refined, and loyal—would be the love interest/damsel in distress. Indeed, this seems to be the case at first, with the two of them being in love and looking forward to marrying.
Nevertheless, a violent encounter with Mizu sets Taigen on a quixotic quest to duel her and regain his honor, leaving Akemi to be married off by her status-seeking father to someone better. Despite his virtues, Taigen comes off like a fool for giving up on his life with Akemi to satisfy his pride and uphold a misguided warrior’s code that couldn’t even prevent him from losing to a woman. On the flip side, Akemi cultivates greater independence and inner strength by adapting to her changing situation and exercising agency over her life. Both come to see through the facades and grow as people, though it’s arguable how much difference this will make for them in the end since their cultural environment remains the same as it ever was.
If one could make any criticism of Blue Eye Samurai from a cinematic standpoint, it would be the gratuitous sex and violence in each episode. The series straddles the line between graphic and pornographic, sometimes feeling appropriate and authentic and sometimes being over the top and distracting. The fact that it’s animated mitigates some of the misgivings a viewer might have and even gives an elegant and artistic expression to an otherwise smutty or gory subject. Perhaps life wasn’t quite as intense as it’s portrayed, but it was considerably more dynamic than the stately Shakespearean set pieces of an Akira Kurosawa film.
Overall, there’s a lovely messiness in the series that does justice to its subject matter and engages the audience. Whether it’s Mizu taking vengeance, Taigan recovering his honor, Akemi experiencing independence, Ringo finding purpose, or the Japanese Shogunate preserving its authority, none of it is clean or simple. Like the history behind it, the story has many angles to consider and the real interest comes more from observing how everything comes together than witnessing a perfect resolution where everyone gets their just deserts. Events certainly come to a head in the first season, but not to a clean conclusion. Hopefully, more questions will be answered in future seasons and the mysterious and complex setting of Blue Eye Samurai will continue to unfold.
Auguste Meyrat is an English teacher in the Dallas area. He holds an MA in humanities and an MEd in educational leadership. He is the senior editor of The Everyman and has written essays for The Federalist, The American Conservative, and The Imaginative Conservative, as well as the Dallas Institute of Humanities and Culture. Follow him on Twitter.
