Review of Samurai Champloo

Future’ meets ‘Past’ in a collision of precise swordplay and erratic breakdancing.
 It is a conglomeration that sounds weird, but for the man that mixed Hong Kong action films, 1940’s film noir and jazz music into a futuristic ‘cowboy’ space adventure, this is par for the course. Shinciro Watanabe, director of Cowboy Bebop (the aforementioned ‘cowboy’ space adventure), decided to mix cultural elements of past and future, once again, in a samurai anime that defines rule-of-cool, that being: Samurai Champloo. The method in which Mr. Watanabe clashes the past and future together is unique. As he juxtaposes the ferocious, off-beat Mugen with the rigid, ‘by-the-book’ Jin. Each character’s personality emanatesto their fighting style, giving further insight into their ‘being’ than words could ever convey.


While most anime — and films, for that matter — have a destination, Samurai Champloo is about the journey. Sure. The plot is held together via the search for the samurai that smells of sunflowers (interesting fact: they have no smell; which supports my next statement). But this merely pretext for Mr. Watanabe to display his full arsenal of talent by taking historical events and flipping them on their head. All the while sprinkling in fluid samurai fights that are sparse on exposition, and heavy on blood spattering (Shonen anime could learn a thing or two). Because Samurai Champloo is absent of an end goal, it was paramount for its characters — Mugen, Jin, and Fuu — to be more than a mere vehicle to reach the proverbial ‘end-goal,’ and to be the story, itself. A story about the human experience and the futility of life.


Mugen represent the future, as his baggy clothes, employment of free-flowing dance moves, curt demeanor, passion for graffiti, infatuation with sex and willingness to get drunk or ‘stoned’ are reminiscent of a 90’s or early 2000’s rapper. As such, his movements seem random, but his flow is crisp. Whether it’s to repel an attack with his geta (Japanese wooden shoes; fitted with metal strips, in Mugen’s case) or slice his opponent to pieces, each movement glides to the next. Perhaps he needlessly waste effort performing these complex ‘dance’ moves. Perhaps his swordplay looks ridiculously to a trained samurai. Perhaps he is not respected his peers, or humanity. But his ‘futuristic’ ideals align with a generation of apathetic youth who do not care about what’s ‘right’ or ‘acceptable.’ Or, as Conner Mcgregor stated, “I just don’t give a f—k!” Mugen lives a bohemian lifestyle in which he does what he wants, when he wants — and damn the consequences. He embraces chaos; in fact, he thrives on it. Hence his eagerness to stir the pot of life to stimulate anger in others. Mugen is the proverbial Joker to Jin’s Batman. A counterweight that explores all the possibilities of the world via the notion that rules are a human contrivance, and only serves to inhibit one’s creativity. He is unique unto himself. Making him the perfect juxtaposition to Jin, a samurai who is entirely stuck in his ways.


Jin embodies the ‘past.’ His restrained demeanor and adherence to strict rules are indicative of this fact. Even in a state of extreme hunger, he will refrain from theft; feeling obliged to reimburse whoever it is that gave him food. His sword style is that of a fish: quick, technical, and efficient. He relies on the teachings of his elders, but refines his skills to a razor’s edged. Due to his rigid, antiquated ideals, he feels out of place in the ‘wild west’ of ronin. Hence his disdain for samurai who ‘prostitute’ themselves to affluent conmen who debase the martial arts by using the samurai as mere muscle. Thus, Jin’s unwillingness to accept full-time employment. In this regard, Mugen and Jin are similar — as they both loathe the samurai who denigrate themselves, by allowing someone to rule over them. One commonality, however, is not enough to achieve camaraderie. This is where the ‘Present’ comes in.


Fuu achieves cooperation between the fiery Mugen and the ice-cold Jin — albeit, reluctantly — via keeping them preoccupied with their search for the samurai that smells of sunflowers. A task that seems inconsequential as the show proceeds; nevertheless, it gives the three an opportunity to form a bond with one another. In their search for the cryptic samurai, the begin to accept one another, and even form a friendship. Though their friendship is faint from a surface level, it is easily discernible in a moment of peril. Numerous times throughout the series, Mugen and/or Jin will rescue Fuu from a hazardous situation without a second thought. A far-cry from the first episode when Mugen needed to be bribed with dumplings to aid Fuu.


That, in my opinion, is what Samurai Champloo is all about. A character study on the bending — but not breaking — human personality. We can sort-of alter different aspects about ourselves through the influence of others; yet, in the end, we are who we are. Mugen, while developing a companionship with Jin and Fuu (and possibly a love interest with the latter), is still a bombastic, slice first, ask questions never kind-of-guy. Because his past is mired in deceit, he trusts no one. Causing him to be a pirate captain in a proverbial sea of loneliness. And while Fuu and Jin bring him closer to the shore, he still remains emotionally inaccessible till the end.


Jin remains a calm, level-headed spirit, even though he risked his life numerous times for his companions. Even when he seems to be developing a relationship with Shino, he pushes her away, and decides to live in solitude. And Fuu maintains her spunky optimism despite being forced into a whore house, taken hostage (multiple times!), and being told she has no sex appeal.


In terms of the conclusion, western audiences may be taken back by the absence of a ‘happy ending,’ but life rarely ends with a neat little bow. The ending is also a commentary on the individuality of existence. We bond with people for transient moments in time and then it ends, and we move on; forging a path toward new relationships and acquaintances. Even when we commit to a family, we have the unfortunate circumstance of saying goodbye in death. Or, as Orson Welles claimed: “we’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we’re not alone.” Samurai Champloo confronts embraces this notion, and doesn’t steer away from its unsightly appearance to appease the audience. It certainly isn’t easy to swallow, but nothing worthwhile ever is.