A long long time ago, in a place far far away, I made a deal with the devil bateszi to watch four episodes of Shigurui and write about it if he would do the same for True Tears. Or maybe it was the other way around, because like Faust, I’m wondering what I got myself into. It’s fortunate that I’ve got an absurdly high level of tolerance for gore and its ilk (to the extent of being able to read a work of Shintaro Kago’s and not be too disgusted), for while I’m not about to go retching into a bucket just yet, the visceral, primal nature of it has floored me.

About the title/post excerpt: I’m referring to how things can be put into perspective so easily, give or take an episode. The wandering samurai with an X-shaped scar on his face doesn’t seem all that glorious anymore, but such is the fate of romanticisation; while Nobuhiro Watsuki might have made the era of the samurai out to be something you’d want to leap headlong into given the chance, what Takayuki Yamaguchi has done here is priceless — for once, I was glad I was on this side of the screen, watching from the comfort of my living room.

It’s the antithesis of entertainment. Blatantly atmospheric, with an intent to make you squirm more than smile; all flinch and no fun. Yet why do I find myself wanting to watch more and more of a show copiously laced with brutality, sex, and the occasional bit of brutal sex? Shigurui shimmers with realism like a mirage in the desert, an almost-there apparition that isn’t at the same time, yet is. It’s too bad that being what it is, not everyone will be able to stomach it, for if there was one anime in the world right now that I wish everyone would have seen, it would be this one.