Osamu Tezuka’s epic horror-fantasy turns out be a masterwork across media.  In fact, perhaps Vertical’s release of the second and third volumes in Dororo’s long-awaited English translation will spur U.S. interest and prompt a deluxe Region 1 DVD of the 2007 Japanese hit… or at least some more theatrical screenings in addition to NYAFF.  With the film’s sequel reportedly in the works, I’m selfishly hoping that when the time comes I can enjoy it without rooting around too much to find it first.

In the meantime, I urge you to read Dororo by whatever means you can get your hands on it, for it ranks among the most compelling imaginative works of literature I’ve encountered in any medium.  Why?  Well, there’s nothing really too tricky here.  Tezuka tackles the big themes—the staggering moral and spiritual price of war, the universal longing for an idealized set of parents—with both passion and heartbreaking honesty.  Moreover, he does so while keeping his sights set fully on his audience’s sense of wonder, which he stimulates on virtually every page.

An instructive comparison can be made to the original Star Wars trilogy, and of course George Lucas was partly inspired by classic samurai tales, as no doubt was Tezuka.  In those first three films we got “I am your father,” the Force, and potent themes of corruption and sacrifice—but we also got light sabers, a cantina scene, and hyperspace.  And let’s not forget the brotherly relationship between the male leads (even more pronounced in the Tezuka work).  Like Star Wars, Dororo embeds its archetypal, even mythological, elements in what are simply a lot of cool ideas.

In its manga form Dororo also invites a comparison to The Lord of the Rings (which the film version shares certain things with visually).  Both are quests that feature blighted lands, unlikely friendships, pint-sized heroes, and a ruler with a supernatural anchor to his power base.  Just as Tolkien keeps the bad guys coming in a variety of memorably horrific forms (Ringwraiths, Orcs, Gollum), in volume 2 alone Tezuka outdoes himself with fiery fox spirits, maternalistic shape-shifters, and face-stealing mold monsters.  Of course on many, many levels making a close Tolkien-Tezuka parallel doesn’t hold up.  The point is, both creators immerse readers into a fantasy realm where everything—heroism and evil alike—is elevated and purified beyond what we’d encounter in our world and yet somehow connects with us in strongly personal terms.

Like the LOTR film trilogy and Sam Raimi’s first Spider-Man (2002) installment, the live-action film version of Dororo brings Tezuka’s vision to life in a way that left me tingling; it’s the notion of seeing something on the screen that not only does justice to the source material visually and thematically, but is also stunningly real for the first time.  Director and co-writer Akihiko Shiota has streamlined Dororo’s central storyline and reworked parts of it winningly as only the best comic book adaptations do (Batman Begins, Iron Man).  Once one gets used to the idea of one of Japan’s most beautiful actresses, the twenty-something Kou Shibasaki, playing the title character—originally conceived as a male ragamuffin—then one can settle in to enjoy an exciting action-adventure tale steeped heavily in the grotesque.  As Hyakkimaru, the young swordsman out to recover forty-eight of his body parts from demons, Satoshi Tsumabuki brings the tortured intensity and the dashing physicality that the role requires.

Supporting the two leads is an incredible all-star cast that includes icon Yoshio Harada as well as Kiichi Nakai (so impressive in Warriors of Heaven and Earth and elsewhere).  Again, it might be apt to make a comparison to Batman Begins, where even the secondary parts were taken on by actors of undeniable stature.  And clearly one can see why such talents might be attracted to this kind project.  In addition to Shiota’s adept handling of both drama and comedy, the film benefits from a quirky, often Morricone-esque score and world-class fight choreography from Ching Siu-Tung of Zhang Yimou fame (Hero, House of Flying Daggers, Curse of the Golden Flower).

However, if you don’t find Hyakkimaru’s encounters with his family powerfully moving, as I did, chances are that for you the entire film will never rise above a spirited exercise in sword-and-sorcery, which still isn’t too bad.  But if you do connect with what transpires on an emotional level—possibly as a result of bringing the manga with you as your “contribution” to the film “text”—then you’ll probably come out of the experience with your head spinning and your heart thumping, as did I.  In Hyakkimaru we’re given an unforgettable hero who represents a combination of Zatoichi, Wolverine, and Frankenstein’s Monster.  Similarly, the film itself is an artful blend of elements recognizable from other fantasy titles such as Men in Black (a duo battling a parade of scary/funny monsters), The Wizard of Oz (the quest for one’s heart, brain… and home), and the Harry Potter series (the forehead scars, the orphan who slowly discovers the truth about his past).

In the manga these points of similarity are often still present but less obvious, buried somewhat in the richness of Tezuka’s startling creativity.  In volume two we get a deepening exploration of the core storylines alternating with more tangential episodic adventures.  That structural approach is typical of the manga form and is not really worth critiquing.  What’s particularly amazing, though, is Tezuka’s ability to craft unpredictable contrasts in tone and to steer his narrative nimbly through the dark forests of his own imagination.  In the space of a few pages, he’ll use spread-based story units to shift moods and emphases in ways that can leave you reeling.