Books
[Anime Horrors] Exploring the Emotional Heartache of Junji Ito’s ‘No Longer Human’
Happy New Year and welcome to the first installment of 2020’s Anime Horrors!
Before diving into the main focus of this article, I want to share my gratitude once again for all of those who enjoy this column. This month marks the one year anniversary of Anime Horrors; it has been such an awesome experience to write about and share anime with all of you. This year I’m excited to once again explore all kinds of titles; from the classics to contemporary works, I’ll be covering a wide variety of amazing shows, movies, and manga. So without further ado, let’s begin.
I am kicking 2020 off with a really special review – Junji Ito’s No Longer Human.
Anyone who knows me, or who has followed this column, knows I love the work of Junji Ito. His drawings and stories elicit a profound unease; his utilizing of line work, shadowing, as well as his understanding of the manga medium, allows him to lure readers into surreal nightmares. But No Longer Human is a different type of horror – it is existential horror of the mind, of mental illness and dread.
No Longer Human not only makes for another fantastic release from Ito, but also marks another venture into adaptation. For those unaware, this manga is based on the 1948 novel of the same name (written by Osamu Dazai). The novel is considered Dazai’s masterpiece, with some even speculating that it acted as his suicide letter. The novel contains an autobiographical quality, addressing themes of emotional and mental suffering associated with Dazai’s life. With his manga adaption, released this past December, Junji Ito not only translates the emotional brutality of Dazai’s novel, but he even elevates its air of despair.
No Longer Human follows Ōba Yōzō (who may have been a stand-in for Dazai). Yōzō narrates the plot to the reader, describing his struggles with addiction, relationships, and mental health. Yōzō is introduced as a child from a prestigious family; due to the pressures set forth by his father, as well as his own anxieties, Yōzō strives to make people like him. His extraneous efforts to clown around serve his needs for external validation; eventually, his clowning around leads him to risky behavior with horrifying consequences.
The “horrifying” in this sense is not that of gruesome visuals or otherworldly beings (though these are present throughout the manga); instead, the core that makes up No Longer Human’s horror is that of a permeating despair. Through Yōzō’s narration, the reader comes to understand his internal workings and warped sense of reality. Though nothing is officially stated in the plot, Yōzō displays symptoms related to anxiety and depression, further building upon his constant state of suffering. As the story progresses, Yōzō’s mental state fluctuates, his warped notions leading him to commit a number of hurtful acts upon others.
For all his own personal torment, however, Yōzō is not that great of a person. He is flawed, even cruel at times. With each new chapter, Yōzō’s life continues to spiral into an existence of heartache. The consequences of his actions, as well as his mental state, come together to create a somber experience where the prospect of hope gradually disappears.
As I was reading the manga, I could not help but think about Lars Von Trier’s 2018 film The House That Jack Built. While that film’s protagonist and Yōzō are significantly different people with different beliefs, the essence of their stories are similar to a fascinating degree. Along with the flashback structure they embrace, both narratives share a spiritual similarity in how their protagonists analyze the world and themselves. In the way Von Trier’s Jack ruminates on life and the actions of human beings, Yōzō does the same. Yōzō’s narration not only provides context to his character, it also elevates the story’s emotional impact – No Longer Human isn’t a story just to be read, but to be felt.
For an artist so well known for his striking visuals, No Longer Human proves to be one of Ito’s more fascinating works in regards to plot. That said, Ito does provide unique and haunting artwork to convey the agony of Yōzō’s life. Unlike his past works, however, he does not dive that deeply into gory body horror. Much of the art involves Ito emphasizing body language, portraying depressive moods and unease. The manner in which he depicts empty eyes and uses shadows to heighten internal turmoil displays a unique expansion upon his craft – that beyond the brutality of the body, Ito’s illustrations are able to translate emotional pain. Additionally, there are a few pages that include interesting uses of color.
There and then Ito provides chilling imagery to coincide with the narrative’s moments of supernatural horror. As Yōzō’s psyche worsens at certain points, his and the reader’s understanding of what’s real and what’s a hallucination become muddy. With his artwork, Ito makes the everyday life of Yōzō come across as a nightmare.
No Longer Human is a large work, its pages just passing the 600 mark. If one approaches this manga assuming it will be like Ito’s past titles, please be aware it is not like such – this is a more psychological, plot driven work. Ito’s masterful artwork, as well as the fascinating story, allow No Longer Human to be a superb experience of emotional horror.
It’s ironic that one year ago I began Anime Horrors with a review of another Junji Ito adaptation, being that of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. I’m very excited about where this column will lead in the new year. I hope you check out Junji Ito’s No Longer Human and I look forward to catching up again next month.
Thanks to Viz Media for providing a review copy of No Longer Human. You can find multiple links to purchase No Longer Human, as well as free preview of the story, here.
Books
‘Halloween: Illustrated’ Review: Original Novelization of John Carpenter’s Classic Gets an Upgrade
Film novelizations have existed for over 100 years, dating back to the silent era, but they peaked in popularity in the ’70s and ’80s, following the advent of the modern blockbuster but prior to the rise of home video. Despite many beloved properties receiving novelizations upon release, a perceived lack of interest have left a majority of them out of print for decades, with desirable titles attracting three figures on the secondary market.
Once such highly sought-after novelization is that of Halloween by Richard Curtis (under the pen name Curtis Richards), based on the screenplay by John Carpenter and Debra Hill. Originally published in 1979 by Bantam Books, the mass market paperback was reissued in the early ’80s but has been out of print for over 40 years.
But even in book form, you can’t kill the boogeyman. While a simple reprint would have satisfied the fanbase, boutique publisher Printed in Blood has gone above and beyond by turning the Halloween novelization into a coffee table book. Curtis’ unabridged original text is accompanied by nearly 100 new pieces of artwork by Orlando Arocena to create Halloween: Illustrated.
One of the reasons that The Shape is so scary is because he is, as Dr. Loomis eloquently puts it, “purely and simply evil.” Like the film sequels that would follow, the novelization attempts to give reason to the malevolence. More ambiguous than his sister or a cult, Curtis’ prologue ties Michael’s preternatural abilities to an ancient Celtic curse.
Jumping to 1963, the first few chapters delve into Michael’s childhood. Curtis hints at a familial history of evil by introducing a dogmatic grandmother, a concerned mother, and a 6-year-old boy plagued by violent nightmares and voices. The author also provides glimpses at Michael’s trial and his time at Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, which not only strengthens Loomis’ motivation for keeping him institutionalized but also provides a more concrete theory on how Michael learned to drive.
Aside from a handful of minor discrepancies, including Laurie stabbing Michael in his manhood, the rest of the book essentially follows the film’s depiction of that fateful Halloween night in 1978 beat for beat. Some of the writing is dated — like a smutty fixation on every female character’s breasts and a casual use of the R-word — but it otherwise possesses a timelessness similar to its film counterpart. The written version benefits from expanded detail and enriched characters.
The addition of Arocena’s stunning illustrations, some of which are integrated into the text, creates a unique reading experience. The artwork has a painterly quality to it but is made digitally using vectors. He faithfully reproduces many of Halloween‘s most memorable moments, down to actor likeness, but his more expressionistic pieces are particularly striking.
The 224-page hardcover tome also includes an introduction by Curtis — who details the challenges of translating a script into a novel and explains the reasoning behind his decisions to occasionally subvert the source material — and a brief afterword from Arocena.
Novelizations allow readers to revisit worlds they love from a different perspective. It’s impossible to divorce Halloween from the film’s iconography — Carpenter’s atmospheric direction and score, Dean Cundey’s anamorphic cinematography, Michael’s expressionless mask, Jamie Lee Curtis’ star-making performance — but Halloween: Illustrated paints a vivid picture in the mind’s eye through Curtis’ writing and Arocena’s artwork.
Halloween: Illustrated is available now.
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‘Halloween: Illustrated’ Review: Original Novelization of John Carpenter’s Classic Gets an Upgrade
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