Editorials
Diving into the Heart of ‘Devilman Crybaby’ 5 Years Later
Sometimes, it takes an outsider’s point of view to reveal the peculiarities of traditional belief systems – especially when it comes to religion. This is likely why so many people are fascinated with Japanese artists that incorporate Western religion into their work. From the apocalypse of Neon Genesis Evangelion to the pacifism behind Trigun, there’s a long history of anime and manga borrowing from Christian imagery and beliefs in order to tell engaging stories.
In fact, one of the most successful examples of this special kind of cultural fusion happened back in 1972 with the release of Go Nagai’s seminal manga series, Devilman. Long before the days of similar hell-themed heroes like Spawn and Hellboy (or even Marvel’s revamped Ghost Rider, which came out a couple of months later), Nagai cooked up a horror/superhero hybrid that managed to turn a demonic outbreak into a terrifying anti-war parable.
Despite the series’ strange artwork and graphic violence, it became a surprise hit amongst shonen fans, leading to numerous adaptations that tended to tone down the source material. It was only in 2018 that we’d see a new adaptation attempt to tackle Nagai’s original tragic ending, courtesy of a partnership between Netflix and Science Saru. And with the ensuing Devilman Crybaby celebrating its 5th anniversary, I think that this is the perfect time to look back on the brilliance of this infamous modern-day reboot.
A fan of the original manga, Science Saru co-founder Masaaki Yuasa jumped at the opportunity to revisit one of Japan’s most underrated superheroes once Netflix informed the team that they wouldn’t be held back by pesky Network Television guidelines. Not only did this mean that the studio could try their hand at concluding the story with the aforementioned tragic finale, but it also allowed Yuasa to up the violence and sexuality, with the director figuring that Nagai’s original work had been naturally censored by 1970s shonen sensibilities.
Other changes included a Greek chorus of sorts in the form of hip-hopping teenagers (which replace the traditional bullies of the manga), as well as elements of social media outrage once news of the demons gets out. And in a clever fourth-wall breaking twist, the original Devilman anime somehow exists in this world, showing up on TV and posters as the story goes on. However, the overall plot remains largely the same as the manga, especially when it comes to characterizing our noble protagonist.
“Demons exist. There could be one right next to you.”
In the finished series, we follow sensitive high school athlete Akira Fudo as he reconnects with his childhood friend Ryo Asuka and discovers that demons exist. After a plan to expose the demons in a nightclub goes awry, Akira becomes possessed by the demonic influence of “Amon” but manages to resist his murderous urges through sheer force of will, transforming into the super-powered Devilman in the process. What follows is a peculiar mix of gory super-hero adventures and wartime paranoia as Akira comes to terms with his new abilities while navigating a world torn apart by the newly revealed existence of demons.
Much like its source material, Devilman Crybaby is much more than the sum of its bizarre parts. From brutal gore and extremely graphic sex scenes to moments of genuinely touching teenage drama, there’s nothing else quite like it even in the anime world. While the plot initially follows familiar superhero tropes as our young protagonist learns how to use his powers for the greater good, this premise is eventually abandoned in favor of a fascinating geopolitical allegory that dives into the consequences of prejudice and media manipulation.
This ambitious tapestry of narrative threads means that the pacing is a bit wild, with the story allowing almost no time for the viewer to reflect on events as conflict continuously escalates in 20-minute episodes that have little to no breathing room, but this ends up giving Devilman Crybaby an infectious energy that keeps you hooked from the very beginning.
As if that wasn’t enough, the animation alone here is already enough to keep up your eyes glued to the screen. Science Saru is known for their highly stylized action (which is likely why they were hired for last year’s Scott Pilgrim Takes Off), but the Netflix budget and minimalist art style make this one of their best and most fluid works yet. Vivid colors and solid motion make for some of the most memorable visuals in animation history, and it’s all boosted by a kick-ass soundtrack that effortlessly mixes techno, hip-hop and rock into a unified experience.
“You’re not a demon, you’re not a human either.”
Of course, it’s the horror elements that make this superhero story stand out, and while the disturbing monster designs and excessively detailed gore are terrifying enough, it’s the faith-based terrors that make Devilman Crybaby such a chilling show. Borrowing from the darker side of Christianity and human history as it depicts a society on the verge of collapsing while humans turn on each other, this is one of the most unique takes on religious horror to ever come out of Japan. The origins of these demons and the angelic antagonist might not be 100% “lore-accurate,” but the scenes showing how Christian characters react to this terrifying test of faith are proof that the creators took the source material seriously.
These quieter moments make the horror hit that much harder, with the show juggling themes of family and identity while also showing that the demons can often be more human than human as they indulge in mindless sex and violence. I also really appreciate how Akira doesn’t really have a traditional character arc, starting out as a sensitive and caring person and continuing to celebrate these qualities to the bitter end like a slightly more demonic Superman.
And speaking of the end, you can’t discuss the first adult-oriented Devilman adaptation without diving into its controversial ending. While I won’t get into details in order to avoid spoilers for newcomers, I will say that this is the perfect conclusion to a story about the horrors of war and persecution even if it does come out of left field. Honestly, I’d rank it up there with The Mist as one of the most meaningful downer endings of all time.
At its core, Devilman Crybaby is a story about the viral nature of empathy and hatred, which is something that we’ve seen play out in real life time and time again since the anime’s release. Science Saru may have recontextualized the story for a new generation, but moments like that final relay race where students literally pass a baton of empathy to each other in the middle of the climactic showdown are proof that the studio understood the decidedly human heart of Nagai’s creation.
Sexy, brutal and captivating, Devilman Crybaby still hasn’t been surpassed in the five years since its release. The frantic pacing and graphic content mean that it’s probably not for everyone (especially if you’re not used to over-the-top anime stories), but I’d argue that even non-anime fans should give this strange little show a chance.
College kids, strippers and vampires—those were Donald P. Borchers’ only requirements when he approached Richard Wenk about writing and directing a movie for New World Pictures. As requested, Wenk cooked up Vamp (1986), a tailor-made blend of the decade’s teen movie craze as well as its horror boom.
Grim and earnest stories were still very much a part of the ’80s horror landscape, yet Vamp is something of a comedy. One difference between it and, say, Saturday the 14th, though, is the former avoids using schtick. Wenk’s movie proves that horror comedies also don’t have to subtract thrills from their recipes. Of course, it takes a minute before reaching that point; college antics and culture shocks preface this one macabre misadventure.
Vamp‘s initial setup is apt for a typical college-set, sex-driven comedy; to bribe their way into a fraternity house, two pledges (Chris Makepeace, Robert Rusler) go looking for some adult entertainment. Without wasting time on any further exposition, the characters embark on an all-in-one-night trip that quickly detours into terror.
To procure their elusive MacGuffin—a stripper willing to gyrate for some frat boys—Keith (Makepeace) and AJ (Rusler), plus a third wheel named Duncan (Gedee Watanabe), trade the safety of their remote college campus for the seediness of some unnamed city. The setting is recognizably L.A. by day, but as soon as night falls, downtown, along with the characters, slips into a kind of surreal universe. Director of photography Elliot Davis gave this early entry on his prolific résumé an unusual yet distinctive look; that Mario Bava-esque, magenta-green lighting is omnipresent, so much so that it’s almost its own character.
Chris Makepeace and Robert Rusler in Vamp
The faint comparisons to Martin Scorsese’s After Hours are merited, although not just because of Vamp’s distinguishing nighttime aesthetic. Save for the primary characters, the supporting roles in Wenk’s movie are also quite colorful and transactional in their behavior. The difference here, though, is the additional urge to ruin Keith and his friends at every turn. Some of that harm is humorous and tolerable enough, whereas the moment Vamp dishes out its first fatality, it’s abundantly clear how this movie qualifies as horror.
Vamp falls into that category of horror movie that reveals its genre with a scream rather than a series of whispers. The opening scene can function as a hint of what lies ahead—things are not at all what they appear to be—but otherwise, Wenk is more than happy to hold off on the horror. When that time does come, though, it catches the viewer off guard. In addition to the pure shock value is that sudden decision to upend the movie’s foremost feature. Or so it would seem.
If afraid of major spoilage, those new to Vamp would be wise to stop reading here. There’s just no skirting around the fact that the central fellowship in this buddy movie hits a serious snag when AJ is killed. That development causes the story to become more of a “long, bad night” journey for Keith and his romantic interest. So while Wenk scores points for subverting expectations, there is also a touch of sadness in his decision. Because if Vamp does anything well, it’s making the characters likable.
Something that comes easily to Vamp—and other teen horror movies from this same era—is its ability to invent young characters worth caring about, or at the very least, are interesting and not so immediately off-putting. More impressive is how Wenk did all this without actually fleshing out those characters. Still and all, Keith and his kind are a grade above cookie-cutter, and in some cases, aren’t completely devoid of growth.
Grace Jones in Vamp
Vamp appeals with an assorted cast of characters. No two are the same, nor are they operating on the same wavelength. The cinematically extroverted AJ, whose actor conveyed charm and vulnerability in near equal amounts, comes alive when he’s at his most undead. Makepeace then makes the chronically cautious Keith a sympathetic fellow, even as he’s more and more affected by the night’s bizarre events. Meanwhile, Duncan is indeed the designated loser of the whole bunch, but Watanabe still manages to humanize him. As a bonus, the role didn’t require him to pull a Long Duk Dong.
As for Dedee Pfeiffer, she is plain adorable as the mysterious After Dark server nicknamed “Amaretto”. She spends all night fixing her dress strap while at the same time trying to get Keith to remember how he knows her. As their offbeat romance grows, it becomes another highlight of this movie. Whether or not Pfeiffer’s character is really a vampire also creates some welcome tension in the story.
Like a lot of its contemporaries, Vamp went on to become a bit of a cult classic. That current status is determined by several factors, but without a doubt, the casting of Grace Jones is the most considerable. The image of her writhing on that unique-looking chair, a Keith Haring original, springs to mind whenever this movie is brought up.
Chris Makepeace, Billy Drago and Paunita Nichols in Vamp
Prior to that first display of unequivocal horror, local vampire queen Katrina (Jones) took to the stage and delivered a strip show like no other. One would expect nothing less from that renowned model and performance artist. By now reports of Jones’ tardiness on set are no secret, yet it’s also hard to deny her commitment to the part of Katrina. It was, in fact, Jones who took charge of her character’s appearance—on top of Haring painting her body and that now-iconic chair, she had Andy Warhol handle her costuming. And not too many actors could seize a room’s attention without saying a single line of dialogue.
In 2022, Vamp received a retrospective novelization from Encyclopocalypse. This literary union of preexisting source material—Wenk’s original screenplay—and new ideas from author Christian Francis amounts to a more comprehensive visit to the After Dark Club. The basic story there is no different than what’s shown on screen; however, Francis gets creative with the characters’ origins and designs, and he enhances a number of key scenes.
The novelization expands on the urban and social decay of the main setting, and supplies a background for the After Dark Club. Sandy Baron’s character, Katrina’s emcee and familiar, is given ample motivation for sticking around; up until the fiery end, he is loyal to his friend and former business partner “Squeak”, who looks like he was “fed through a combine harvester, and left as nothing more than a heap of mangled remains”. Then there is Billy Drago’s character Snow, the leader of a street gang called The Dragons. His reason for menacing Keith and AJ is more altruistic than in the movie; he and his peers act tough to scare off any potential food for the vampires.
Lisa Lyon in Vamp
If not for all the backstories, Francis’ Vamp would be a hell of a lot shorter. Instead, this tie-in read dives into how AJ met Keith—the orphaned Anthony Joseph hailed from a broken home back in Brooklyn—and how their friendship flourished over the years. Keith’s archership is no longer just an assumed part of his entire being; it’s a confidence-building extracurricular for a boy who got picked on before coming into the protection of the new kid in town. These supplemental, in-depth looks at the protagonists, plus their close connection, are maybe unnecessary. The movie already did a fair and concise job of addressing their platonic intimacy without the need for flashbacks and insights, specifically in that scene where AJ lays it all out as he sacrifices himself.
Where the novelization gets off course is its approach to the minor characters. Intermittently backstorying the likes of Katrina’s indentured servants, Seko (Leila Hee Olsen) and Vlad (Brad Logan), ends up disturbing the flow of the writing. Was it absolutely essential that readers know Vlad was the Grand Duke of the House of Romanov, or how Snow’s accomplice Maven (Paunita Nichols) became so dentally challenged? No, not really. However, one’s mileage with these random biographies may vary.
The novelization is a more substantial experience, but for a movie like Vamp, less is more. And as plentiful as they are, it never simply coasts on its campy charms, either. The character work sits comfortably in that realm between cursory and meticulous, the script is sharper than first realized, and Greg Cannom’s vampire makeup is straightforward yet effective. Most of all, the movie didn’t squander its out-of-the-box concept. Richard Wenk made his vision of a “comic nightmare in which just about anything that can go wrong does” come true, and it is very enjoyable.
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