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The Best Manga You’re Not Reading: Benkei in New York

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I’ve always thought that I had something in common with Warren Ellis — besides a sailor’s fondness for colorful language, that is — and reading Benkei in New York confirmed my suspicions: we both like Jiro Taniguchi. Flip to the back cover of the VIZ Pulp edition, and you’ll see Ellis declaring that “Benkei is better than 96% of the crime fiction coming out of America right now.” I have no idea how he arrived at that figure, but eleven years after Benkei’s initial US release, I’m still inclined to agree with him.

Originally serialized in Big Comic Original, Benkei in New York (1991-96) is a collaboration between Taniguchi and writer Jinpachi Mori, best known in Japan for Kasai no Hito, a long-running manga about an eccentric but wise judge. The seven Benkei stories focus on a Japanese ex-pat living in New York. Like many New Yorkers, Benkei’s career is best characterized by slashes and hyphens: he’s a bartender-art forger-hitman who can paint a Millet from memory or assassinate a thug using a swordfish. (Let’s just say they call it “swordfish” for a reason.)

Benkei’s primary job, however, is seeking poetic justice for murder victims’ families. Of course, there wouldn’t be much of a story if Benkei simply used a gun; part of the series’ allure is watching him set elaborate traps for his prey, whether he’s borrowing a page from the Titus Andronicus playbook or using a grappling hook to wound an unscrupulous dockworker. In “Haggis,” for example, Benkei uses a draft-dodger’s memories of a 1968 trip to Scotland to win the man’s confidence, persuading him to visit an out-of-the-way bar where a gruesome dish awaits him. “Throw Back,” another stand-out, culminates in an elaborate showdown in the American Music of Natural History that gives new meaning to the phrase “interactive exhibits”; Benkei and his victim plunder display cases for weapons, dueling their way through the Hall of Human Origins.

As the scene in the Natural History Museum suggests, New York City is as much a “character” as Benkei himself. Taniguchi clearly spent hours poring over photographs of the city: his rendition of Coney Island, for example, doesn’t just show the Cyclone — an easy symbol for this iconic stretch of New York coastline — but all the bathhouses, apartment buildings, and other structures that line the boardwalk, including the distinctive facade of the New York Aquarium. Moreover, he captures the feeling of Coney Island in the off-season — the dark grey color of the ocean, the empty expanses of boardwalk, the absence of people — imbuing the scene with a melancholy authenticity.

Taniguchi’s eye for detail is evident in his busier scenes as well. In the opening pages of “Throw Back,” Benkei pursues his mark through the 42nd Street subway station. A series of narrow, horizontal panels convey the bustling energy of the platform, cross-cutting between a busker pounding on plastic drums (a subway fixture in the 1990s) and Benkei threading his way through the commuters. Taniguchi swiftly pulls back from extreme close-ups of the the drummer and Benkei to crowd scenes, in so doing helping us see this claustrophobic, noisy space as Benkei does: camouflage for the urban hunter.

Like many VIZ manga from the 1990s and early 2000s, Benkei in New York boasts a stylish translation. (Yuji Oniki is credited as the adapter.) The script crackles with wit and energy, as Benkei trades one-liners with clients and targets alike. One of my favorite exchanges occurs early in the volume, as Benkei talks business with the leader of an art forgery ring:

Forger: Timing is of crucial importance. Once we agree on a deal, it’s our responsibility to deliver the product to the client while they’re still drooling.
Benkei: You sound like you run a pizza joint.
Forger: What’s wrong with that? Selling pizzas is how I learned everything about New York.

Hokey as that conversation may be, it wouldn’t be out of place in a gangster flick; one could almost imagine a character in Goodfellas or The Godfather reminiscing about his past in a similar fashion.

If Benkei’s motives and methods are sometimes inscrutable — or downright illogical — the stories still work beautifully, with crack pacing and memorable denouements that can be as deeply unsettling as they are emotionally satisfying — or, in Warren Ellis’ words, Benkei in New York is “diabolically well-told.” Couldn’t have said it better myself.

BENKEI IN NEW YORK • STORY BY JINPACHI MORI AND ART BY JIRO TANIGUCHI • VIZ • 224 pp. • RATING: MATURE (18+)

The Best Manga You’re Not Reading: Benkei in New York

by

I’ve always thought that I had something in common with Warren Ellis — besides a sailor’s fondness for colorful language, that is — and reading Benkei in New York confirmed my suspicions: we both like Jiro Taniguchi. Flip to the back cover of the VIZ Pulp edition, and you’ll see Ellis declaring that “Benkei is better than 96% of the crime fiction coming out of America right now.” I have no idea how he arrived at that figure, but eleven years after Benkei’s initial US release, I’m still inclined to agree with him.

Originally serialized in Big Comic Original, Benkei in New York (1991-96) is a collaboration between Taniguchi and writer Jinpachi Mori, best known in Japan for Kasai no Hito, a long-running manga about an eccentric but wise judge. The seven Benkei stories focus on a Japanese ex-pat living in New York. Like many New Yorkers, Benkei’s career is best characterized by slashes and hyphens: he’s a bartender-art forger-hitman who can paint a Millet from memory or assassinate a thug using a swordfish. (Let’s just say they call it “swordfish” for a reason.)

Benkei’s primary job, however, is seeking poetic justice for murder victims’ families. Of course, there wouldn’t be much of a story if Benkei simply used a gun; part of the series’ allure is watching him set elaborate traps for his prey, whether he’s borrowing a page from the Titus Andronicus playbook or using a grappling hook to wound an unscrupulous dockworker. In “Haggis,” for example, Benkei uses a draft-dodger’s memories of a 1968 trip to Scotland to win the man’s confidence, persuading him to visit an out-of-the-way bar where a gruesome dish awaits him. “Throw Back,” another stand-out, culminates in an elaborate showdown in the American Music of Natural History that gives new meaning to the phrase “interactive exhibits”; Benkei and his victim plunder display cases for weapons, dueling their way through the Hall of Human Origins.

As the scene in the Natural History Museum suggests, New York City is as much a “character” as Benkei himself. Taniguchi clearly spent hours poring over photographs of the city: his rendition of Coney Island, for example, doesn’t just show the Cyclone — an easy symbol for this iconic stretch of New York coastline — but all the bathhouses, apartment buildings, and other structures that line the boardwalk, including the distinctive facade of the New York Aquarium. Moreover, he captures the feeling of Coney Island in the off-season — the dark grey color of the ocean, the empty expanses of boardwalk, the absence of people — imbuing the scene with a melancholy authenticity.

Taniguchi’s eye for detail is evident in his busier scenes as well. In the opening pages of “Throw Back,” Benkei pursues his mark through the 42nd Street subway station. A series of narrow, horizontal panels convey the bustling energy of the platform, cross-cutting between a busker pounding on plastic drums (a subway fixture in the 1990s) and Benkei threading his way through the commuters. Taniguchi swiftly pulls back from extreme close-ups of the the drummer and Benkei to crowd scenes, in so doing helping us see this claustrophobic, noisy space as Benkei does: camouflage for the urban hunter.

Like many VIZ manga from the 1990s and early 2000s, Benkei in New York boasts a stylish translation. (Yuji Oniki is credited as the adapter.) The script crackles with wit and energy, as Benkei trades one-liners with clients and targets alike. One of my favorite exchanges occurs early in the volume, as Benkei talks business with the leader of an art forgery ring:

Forger: Timing is of crucial importance. Once we agree on a deal, it’s our responsibility to deliver the product to the client while they’re still drooling.
Benkei: You sound like you run a pizza joint.
Forger: What’s wrong with that? Selling pizzas is how I learned everything about New York.

Hokey as that conversation may be, it wouldn’t be out of place in a gangster flick; one could almost imagine a character in Goodfellas or The Godfather reminiscing about his past in a similar fashion.

If Benkei’s motives and methods are sometimes inscrutable — or downright illogical — the stories still work beautifully, with crack pacing and memorable denouements that can be as deeply unsettling as they are emotionally satisfying — or, in Warren Ellis’ words, Benkei in New York is “diabolically well-told.” Couldn’t have said it better myself.

BENKEI IN NEW YORK • STORY BY JINPACHI MORI AND ART BY JIRO TANIGUCHI • VIZ • 224 pp. • RATING: MATURE (18+)

Manga Artifacts: Hotel Harbour View

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Back in 1990, before anyone had hit on the magic formula for selling manga to American readers, VIZ tried a bold experiment. They released a handful of titles in a prestige format with fancy covers, high-quality paper, and a large trim size, and called them “Viz Spectrum Editions.” Only three manga got the Viz Spectrum treatment: Yu Kinutani’s Shion: Blade of the Minstrel, Yukinobu Hoshino’s Saber Tiger, and Natsuo Sekikawa and Jiro Taniguchi’s Hotel Harbour View. While neither the imprint nor the format survived, these three titles helped pave the way for VIZ’s later efforts to establish its Signature line.

Hotel Harbour View, by far the strongest of the three, is a stylish foray into hard-boiled crime fiction. In the title story, a man patronizes a once-elegant bar in Hong Kong, telling the bartender that he’s waiting for the person who’s supposed to kill him, while in the second story, “A Brief Encounter,” an assassin returns to Paris, where his former associates — including his protege — lie in wait for him.

As editor Fred Burke observes in his afterword, both stories are as much about style and genre as they are about exploring what motivates people to kill. The characters in both stories are deeply concerned with scripting their own lives, of behaving the way hit men and high-class call girls do in the movies. None of them wear simple street clothes; all of them are in costume, wearing gloves and suits and garter belts. (In one scene, for example, an assassin asks a bystander to hand him his hat, even though he lies dying in a pool of blood. “Just don’t feel right without it,” he explains.) Their words, too, are carefully chosen; every conversation has the kind of pointed quality of a Dashiell Hammett script, with characters trading quips and telling well-rehearsed stories about their past. A brief surveillance operation, for example, yields this tersely wonderful exchange between two female assassins:

“She’s French, isn’t she? Parisienne.”
“How can you tell?”
“She looks arrogant and stubborn. The sort who ruins men.”
“He loves her. That’s why he came back to Paris.”
“And how can you tell?”
“I’m a Parisienne, too.”

[As an aside, I should note that Gerard Jones and Matt Thorn’s excellent translation brings Sekikawa’s script to life in English; each character has a distinctive voice, and the dialogue is thoroughly idiomatic.]

The violence has a cinematic flavor as well; Taniguchi’s balletic gunfights call to mind the kind of technically dazzling shoot-outs that became a staple of John Woo’s filmmaking in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Taniguchi uses many of the same tricks. He follows a bullet’s trajectory from the gun barrel to its point of impact, showing us the victim’s terrified face as the bullet closes in on its target; stages elaborate duels in which passing trains demand split-second timing from the well-armed participants; and shows us a hit gone bad from dozens of different angles. In one the book’s most stylish sequences, we see a gunman’s reflection in a shattered mirror; as the “camera” pulls back from that initial image, we realize that we’re seeing things from the killer’s point of view, not the gunman’s. A dramatic cascade of glass destroys his reflection as he slumps to the floor — a perfect movie ending for a character obsessed with orchestrating his own death.

Like Taniguchi’s other work, there’s a slightly stiff quality to the artwork. His characters are drawn with meticulous attention to detail, yet their faces remain impassive even when bullets fly and old lovers betray them. That detachment can be frustrating in other contexts, but in Hotel Harbour View it registers as sang-froid; the characters’ composure is as essential to their performances as their costumes and studied banter, as each self-consciously fulfills their role in the drama.

Though Hotel Harbour View is out of print, copies are still widely available through online retailers; I ordered mine directly from Amazon. You’ll also find a robust market for second-hand copies; expect to pay between $4.00 and $20.00 for a copy in good to excellent condition.

Manga Artifacts is a monthly feature exploring older, out-of-print manga published in the 1980s and 1990s. For a fuller description of the series’ purpose, see the inaugural column.

HOTEL HARBOUR VIEW • SCRIPT BY NATSUO SEKIKAWA, ART BY JIRO TANIGUCHI • VIZ MEDIA • 94 pp. • RATING: MATURE (18+)