History & Film: The Substance & Subtlety of Shōgun

WRITTEN BY BETHANY LATHAM

There seem to be few new offerings today, television or film, that simultaneously offer production value, superior acting, and depth of viewer engagement. Everything is a tired retread, a sequel, a prequel, a reboot, a Message. Hollywood shills call them “familiar IP,” a positive spin on: we made money on this before; we’re not risking anything original. As one critic admitted, “TV, for the past decade, has been in out-of-control copycat mode, and the returns have been diminishing.”¹ I’d not realized how low the bar had fallen (step over, it’s on the floor) until I came across FX’s Shōgun. It reminded me of what prestige television can and used to provide more regularly –eager anticipation of each new episode and immersion in a storyline and the lives of characters whose experiences are both unfamiliar and fascinating. Perhaps it exemplifies the silver lining to the cloud of mediocrity – the gems shine brighter by comparison.

Shōgun, of course, isn’t “original” material and could’ve fallen into the trap of the “tired retread” or inept “reboot”; the novel on which this latest series is based was published in 1975 and saw its first miniseries adaptation in 1980. The miniseries won award after award, with viewer numbers so phenomenal that over 40 years later, critics were justified in asking, “Could there possibly be any point, beyond the entertainment industry’s thirst for familiar IP, to revisiting this story in 2024?”² The third book in James Clavell’s Asian Saga, Shōgun was immensely popular, quickly selling over six million copies. I saw the 1980 series at some point, but remember almost nothing except that Richard Chamberlain played the main role. I’ve not yet read the novel, primarily due to time commitment. To employ an illustration: a patient anxiously awaits the doctor’s prognosis – how long do I have to live? The doctor replies, “Let’s just say there’s no point starting a Clavell novel.”

This one (circa 1200 pages) provides a great deal of dramatic fodder across an epic canvas: feudal Japan, immediately preceding the Edo period. Clavell had an interesting perspective when it came to Japan. As a British Army officer during WWII, he was captured by the Japanese and endured unspeakable conditions as their prisoner in a camp in Singapore. He considered his survival a miracle occasioned only by the timely dropping of The Bomb. One could be forgiven for thinking his war-time experiences might foster an aversion for Japan, its people, and culture, but instead, they were the impetus for Clavell’s Asian Saga. It began with thinly-veiled autobiography of his time imprisoned (King Rat), and by the time Shōgun was released, Clavell was having dinner at the White House to honor the Japanese Prime Minister, since his work was a “cross-cultural phenomenon” that had improved the post-war perception of Japan with Westerners.³

Clavell’s novel may take place in Japan, but the worldview is Eurocentric. It’s a quintessential “outsider” perspective on a culture. In 1600, Englishman John Blackthorne, pilot of the ship Erasmus, is taken prisoner in a Japanese fishing village, along with the rest of his perishing crew. Their status is uncertain. Japan is in a state of flux. The Taikō (a sort of chancellor) is dead, and his heir is a child. A Council of Regents made up of five warrior lords has stepped into the vacuum, but theirs is a tenuous balance. As the title cards of the 2024 series tell viewers: “All of them would seek the title that would make their power absolute … Shōgun.” Title cards also tell us that the English are late to the game; the Portuguese gained a foothold decades earlier and have grown rich off of Japanese trade. As Catholics, they present a staunch barrier against the Protestant English. Blackthorne (Cosmo Jarvis), whom the Japanese refer to as Anjin (pilot), soon finds himself a pawn in the power play of Lord Yoshi Toranaga (Hiroyuki Sanada) against the other four members of the Council.

The cast of characters is large, so we’ll introduce those of most import. There is Mariko (Anna Sawai), a noblewoman who has converted to Christianity and serves Toranaga. The daughter of a traitor, she wants nothing more than an honorable death. Instead, Toranaga gives her another duty: translate for the Anjin, since she has learned Portuguese from the priests who converted her, a lingua franca for Blackthorne. Mariko’s husband, Buntaro (Shinnosuke Abe), is a fearsome samurai who is able to conquer everything but the aversion his wife holds for him. His father, Hiromatsu (Tokuma Nishioka), is Toranaga’s general, trusted advisor, and best friend. Toranaga’s oldest son, the puppyish Nagakado (Yuki Kura), and the constantly calculating vassal Yabushige (Tadanobu Asano) round out the cast. Ranged against them are the Council of Regents, led by Lord Ishido (Takehiro Hira), and Ochiba-no-kata (Fumi Nikaidô), the mother of the heir and childhood friend of Mariko’s.

All of these characters are based on historical persons. Blackthorne is a stand-in for William Adams, an English navigator on a Dutch ship that arrived in Japan in 1600. Adams later rose to become a direct retainer of Lord Tokugawa Ieyasu, the historical model for Toranaga. Another of Shōgun’s strengths is its ability to provide a plotline that doesn’t condescend to viewers, without requiring a minute knowledge of early 17^th-century Japan to follow along (though it helps). By the time Shōgun’s action takes place, Japan had been at war off and on for centuries. The emperor, who originally ruled from Kyoto, had essentially been a puppet of the shogunate since the 12^th century, and the country experienced various periods of near chaos as warlords came and went, all seeking their own power, none interested in the unity Japan had enjoyed under the earlier emperors. But by the late 1500s, the country had finally experienced a level of peace and stability for several decades. This came to an end when its ruler died and left a council of five regents to govern until his son, an infant, came of age.

This is the context for Shōgun’s characters and its political machinations – the reason Toranaga displays reluctance to pursue another shogunate and risk a period of relative peace devolving into yet more chaos for the country. The other side of the coin is the strengthening of Japan’s position in an encroaching larger world, seemingly possible only when unified under a single, strong military ruler. This is the duality that Toranaga’s characterization must exhibit, and Sanada is perfect to personify it. He constantly leaves the audience searching for what he may be thinking, what his plans and motivations are, where this is going next. There are many areas where the series excels, but perhaps the most important to viewer engagement is the complexity and emotional depth conveyed by the actors’ portrayals. Toranaga’s relationship with Hiromatsu is entirely convincing – there is the comfortable familiarity of two comrades who have seen years of battle together, but also deep affection, respect, and humor. Such portrayals make later events all the more emotionally engaging … and devastating.

While there is pervasive realism for all characters here, another aspect that sets this series apart is its treatment of the female characters and respect for historical context (and reality). These are women who are strong – but not in the tired trope of being abrasive and condescending to all males while “kicking butt” in ways that laughably defy the laws of physics. In one of the few scenes where a female character is forced to fight, as one critic noted, “since this is not a Marvel movie and she is just one woman against fifteen men, she is unable to overcome them.”⁴ One feels her despair at the futility of the exercise and knowledge that the only reason she survives is because the men, due to her rank and position, stand back and choose not to kill her. So instead of unrealistic physical force, these are women who exude strength and command respect through their very nature: dignity, determination, wisdom, loyalty, and an iron-clad grip on emotion. Sawai’s Mariko is stoicism personified: a paragon of self-control, of calm within despite chaos without. She is also representative – if she can help Blackthorne (and, by extension, the Western audience he represents) understand her motivations, he will better understand the culture which fashioned her. It is Mariko who explains to Blackthorne the concept of the “eightfold fence,” a self-constructed inner stronghold to which the most vulnerable parts of self can retreat, allowing focus on one’s duty in the outside world, no matter how difficult, painful, or cognitively dissonant. It’s also a metaphor for “the Japans,” as Blackthorne knows them. In a modern, Western world determined to glorify selfishness, crass conduct, unchecked attention-seeking, and the inability to appreciate even the greatest of gifts, Shōgun plunges viewers into a different realm. Interspersed with the power play and blood (of which there’s certainly a respectable amount), it focuses on self-sacrifice (sometimes in the most literal and visceral sense), of seeking stillness, pausing to ponder and appreciate beauty, to understand where true meaning can be found.

Shōgun’s world is a complex and intricately structured one. In a word, this series is subtle. It subverts expectations in the best of ways – though there is plenty of action, it eschews forgettable blow ‘em up set piece battles. This is about strategy. The 1980s miniseries had characters speaking Japanese with no subtitles; the idea was to offer the viewer the same level of confusion and uncertainty as Blackthorne, who couldn’t understand until he learned the language. A conscious choice was made with this Shōgun to provide the viewer with more information than Blackthorne can glean, but subtly. It is primarily in Japanese with English subtitles. This was done to allow the viewer to understand the nuances of the Japanese characters and the complicated political and personal situations – to give viewers the information necessary to see the Japanese perspective. It’s also a more subtle take on putting Blackthorne in the backseat, intentionally minimizing his importance (since he’s a straight white male European). This wasn’t Clavell’s portrayal or that of the earlier miniseries. Blackthorne isn’t the hero here – like so many of the characters, he’s just a pawn. And while the Japanese characters, to varying degrees, understand their places on the chessboard, Blackthorne is a piece who often doesn’t even recognize he’s being maneuvered, much less comprehend the overall strategy of the gambit.

The costuming is impeccable, and despite being filmed in Canada rather than Japan, as was the previous miniseries, as one critic noted, “production design is flawless. Cinematography is gorgeous.”⁵ Another pointed out, “Style is easy. Substance is hard.”⁶ Shogun excels in substance. It is often unpredictable, with the occasional unforeseen gut punch, and it takes its time to create its emotional investment and immersive experience. One of the few criticisms leveled at the series is its pacing, that it can occasionally be slow moving. Yet I see this as a feature rather than a bug. “Shōgun asks us to become a different type of spectator, more patient, less distractable … Shōgun is not just a voluptuously mounted historical epic, it’s a daring experiment in the kind of narrative we can immerse ourselves in.”⁷

The experiment seems to have been a resounding success, currently sitting at 99% positive with critics and 91% with viewers.⁸ Still, success can breed its own dangers. Shōgun’s ending, which mirrored the book’s conclusion, was close to perfect in its execution. This was intended to be a limited series, a one ‘n done. Yet due to its unanticipated success, there is talk that a Season 2 might not be outside the realm of possibility. Usually one wants more of a good thing, but in this case, the story has been told, and the viewer is left with a conclusion that doesn’t need or warrant revisiting. I don’t want more, with the inherent risk of diminishing quality. Please don’t ruin a good thing. Instead, learn from Shōgun, and apply its subtlety and substance to the telling of other — perhaps even new? —  stories.

References:

1. Maciak, P. (2024, 8 April) “Shōgun Is Reinventing the TV Epic.” The New Republic. https://newrepublic.com/article/180392/shgun-fx-tv-show-reinventing-epic
2. Berman, J. (2024, 7 February) ” FX’s Shōgun Isn’t a Remake—It’s a Revelation.” Time. https://time.com/6692336/shogun-review-fx/
3. Schott, W. (1975, 22 June) “Shogun.” New York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/1975/06/22/archives/shogun-from-james-clavell-with-tea-and-blood.html
4. 4.Kain, E. “Shogun Episode 9 Crimson Sky Recap: This One Hurt.” Forbes. https://www.forbes.com/sites/erikkain/2024/04/17/shogun-episode-9-crimson-sky-recap-and-review-this-one-hurt/?sh=74e42436e317
5. Roeper, R. (2024, 26 February) “New ‘Shogun’ series tells the engrossing tale with cinematic-level sweep.” Chicago Sun-Times. https://chicago.suntimes.com/movies-and-tv/2024/02/26/shogun-review-hulu-fx-series-anna-sawai-hiroyuki-sanada-cosmo-jarvis-james-clavell
6. Lawler, K. (2024, 27 February)”Review: Dazzling ‘Shogun’ is the genuine TV epic you’ve been waiting for.” USA Today. https://www.usatoday.com/story/entertainment/tv/2024/02/27/shogun-review-fx-series/72657765007/
7. Maciak, P. (2024, 8 April) “Shōgun Is Reinventing the TV Epic.” The New Republic. https://newrepublic.com/article/180392/shgun-fx-tv-show-reinventing-epic
8. Rotten Tomatoes. https://www.rottentomatoes.com/tv/shogun_2024

About the contributor: Bethany Latham is a professor, librarian, author of three monographs and a number of scholarly articles. She is HNR‘s Managing Editor and a regular reviewer for Booklist.

Published in Historical Novels Review | Issue 109 (August 2024)