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Titan Comics

Short Takes: No Guns Life and Ryuko

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This month’s Short Takes column checks in with two previously-reviewed series: No Guns Life, a sci-fi thriller whose principled hero sounds like Sam Spade and looks like a Remington; and Ryuko, a thriller starring a yakuza assassin who’s hell-bent on avenging her mother’s kidnapping.

No Guns Life, Vol. 2
Story and Art by Tasuku Karasuma
Translation by Joe Yamazaki; Adaptation by Stan!
VIZ Media, 224 pp.
Rated T+ (Older Teens)

After a decent, if predictable, first volume, Tasuku Karasuma finds his groove in volume two of No Guns Life, maintaining a brisk pace while allowing his characters’ personalities to emerge more fully. Though the action occasionally pauses for the characters to expound on important plot developments, these dialogues are less of a drag on the story than they were in volume one; here, they add badly needed layers of  complexity to a familiar noir plot line. Better still, Karasuma introduces several new characters who push the narrative in a more interesting direction, hinting at the power and secrecy of the Berühen Corporation, as well as the general public’s mixed feelings about living alongside cyborgs. If Karasuma engages in a little too much fanservice, or relies too heavily on speedlines and sound effects to enliven his fight scenes, No Guns Life is still entertaining enough to make all but the most discriminating reader root for Juzo to succeed. Recommended.

VIZ Media provided a review copy. Click here to read my review of volume one.

Ryuko, Vol. 2
Story and Art by Eldo Yoshimizu
Translation by Motoko Tamamuro and Jonathan Clements
Titan Comics, 226 pp.
No rating (Best suited for older teen and adult readers)

Paging the exposition police! The second volume of Ryuko has all the swagger of the first, but leans more heavily into Talking Points Conversation to help expedite its resolution. In some respects, these exchanges are a welcome development, as they clearly—one might say baldly—delineate the various factions’ interest in the Golden Seal, an object whose significance was glossed over in volume one. These passages also help the reader untangle the complex web of relationships among the characters, making it easier to grasp why Ryuko forges an alliance with an avowed enemy and why US military forces are trying to manipulate the outcome of her feud with the Sheqing-Ban. These conversations would feel less forced if the pacing were more even, but the two-volume format is too compressed for such an ambitious, labyrinthine plot to unfold at a reader-friendly pace.

Volume two’s chief attraction is the same as volume one’s: the artwork. Eldo Yoshimizu has a flair for staging car chases, fist fights, gun battles, and dramatic escapes, immersing the reader in the action with his creative use of perspective and fastidious attention to detail; Ryuko’s leopard-print catsuit is practically a character in its own right. In less capable hands, this maximalist approach might be overwhelming, but Yoshimizu’s layouts have a strong narrative pull that leads the eye across the page at the speed of the action, creating an almost cinematic experience. The final confrontation between Ryuko and evil American operatives is a show-stopper involving a motorcycle stunt so outrageous that even Jackie Chan would be impressed with its audacity. None of the story makes much sense, but Yoshimizu’s energetic, bold, and—yes—sexy artwork is cool enough to carry the day. Recommended.

Click here to read my review of volume one. 

Ryuko, Vol. 1

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If you’ve been jonesing for a stylish thriller that doesn’t take itself too seriously, Eldo Yoshimizu’s Ryuko might just fit the bill: it has the pulpy soul of a Kazuo Koike manga and the brash attitude of a James Bond flick. And while Ryuko never quite achieves the simmering intensity or cohesion of Lady Snowblood and Crying Freeman, it does hold its own against Koike’s best work thanks to its audacious action sequences and cool-as-ice heroine who’ll stop at nothing to avenge her mother’s kidnapping.

Running in tandem with the kidnapping storyline are four —maybe five — other subplots, all connected to the Soviet-Afghanistan war. There’s gun-running and opium harvesting, Soviet malfeasance and CIA chicanery, and some other elements that, frankly, don’t make a lot of sense, though they provide sufficient justification for the imaginatively staged combat. Anyone hoping for a few helpful lines of expository dialogue will be frustrated, as the characters are so laconic they seldom utter more than a few words before throwing a punch or brandishing a gun.

The real star of Ryuko is Eldo Yoshimizu’s artwork, which deftly synthesizes Japanese and European influences without slavishly copying them. His female characters, in particular, have the undulating hips, flowing locks, and determined scowls of Leiji Matsumoto’s most lethal heroines, while the male characters’ appearances owe a debt to the rugged manly-men that stalked the pages of Hugo Pratt, Takao Sato, and Goseki Kojima’s adventure stories. Not surprisingly, Yoshimizu lavishes his greatest attention on Ryuko, swathing her in barely-there dresses and leopard-print catsuits–an artistic decision that makes her look cool, but seems impractical for dodging bullets and karate-chopping enemies.

But oh, Ryuko’s fight scenes! They’re worth the price of admission, as they showcase the full range of Yoshimizu’s talents as a draftsman, veering sharply between naturalism, suggestion, and pure abstraction. In this sequence, for example, we see the young Ryuko ambushing a group of Soviet soldiers:

In the first panel, the tank is drawn with utmost specificity, allowing us to appreciate its sheer mass and its weaponry. The subsequent panels, however, are more gestural than the first, as we glimpse Ryuko silhouetted against the explosion, her age and gender completely obscured by the brilliant flash of light behind her. In the final panel of the sequence, Yoshimizu uses two horses to frame the action, rendering them as bold patches of black, with just a suggestion of a nostril and an eye, their demonic appearance echoing Ryuko’s own fierce resolve. Other sequences, such as this one, are even more abstract, dispensing with a grid in favor of fluid, overlapping images; in a particularly effective gambit, Ryuko’s arm forms a kind of panel boundary between the first stage of the attack — a knee to the stomach — and the second, in which she flips and pins her opponent:

Even Ryuko’s hair plays an important role in helping us understand what’s happening in this confrontation. In the first sequence, her hair swings around her face and shoulders in a naturalistic fashion, but in the final panel, her hair looks like a furious nest of snakes, each poised to strike her victim. That shift is subtle but important, a nifty metaphor for just how quick and lethal Ryuko can be.

For all the verve with which these scenes are drawn, Ryuko‘s characters never quite register as flesh-and-blood people. Yoshimizu has provided them with backstories, but the characters’ behavior is so steeped in action-movie cliche that their motivations for shooting and punching are almost immaterial. The story’s breakneck pacing doesn’t allow anyone much time for introspection, either; the few flashbacks to Ryuko’s childhood separation from her mother are the only genuinely emotional moments in the story. Still, no one reads trashy thrillers for a deep exploration of the human psyche; they’re looking for an over-the-top story that serves up generous helpings of car chases, gun battles, and fist-fights, the more outlandish, the better. On that front, Ryuko performs admirably, infusing a shopworn revenge plot with the sensual swagger of old-school classics like Lady Snowblood and Lupin III. Recommended.

RYUKO, VOL. 1 • ART AND STORY BY ELDO YOSHIMIZU • TRANSLATION BY MOTOKO TAMAMURO AND JONATHAN CLEMENTS • TITAN COMICS • NO RATING (PARTIAL NUDITY, VIOLENCE) • 256 pp.

Ravina the Witch?

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Cute characters behaving badly — that’s been Junko Mizuno’s MO since her professional debut twenty years ago. Her latest work, Ravina the Witch?, is more picture book than manga, eschewing panels and word balloons for glossy, full-color illustrations, but the story it tells is pure Mizuno: a young woman meets a witch, inherits her wand, and then wanders the countryside meeting depraved men whose hobbies run the gamut from S&M to binge-drinking.

There’s a little more to the story, of course, since Mizuno loves to embroider a simple narrative with odd details. Ravina, we learn, was raised by crows in a junkyard, impervious to human custom and language. Once exiled from her home — by eminent domain, no less! — Ravina uses her new-found powers to cure disease, embarrass a cruel tyrant, and make mushrooms dance. She also finds time to work as a dominatrix and do crossword puzzles with an enormous owl. Oh, and she’s almost burned at the stake for being a witch.

As the plot suggests, Ravina sits somewhere between fractured fairytale and feminist rumination. Mizuno clearly recognizes the way in which female healers are viewed as both powerful and subversive; why else flirt with the idea that Ravina might be a witch, the quintessential symbol of dangerous femininity? Yet Mizuno’s obsession with food complicates any understanding of Ravina as a feminist text. In almost all of her works, from Pure Trance to Ravina the Witch?, Mizuno’s female characters binge, purge, and pop diet pills with ferocious abandon. Mizuno plays these scenes for uncomfortable laughs, blurring the line between criticism of the characters’ self-destructive behavior and critique of the cultural attitudes that fuel it. Ravina, for example, doesn’t just eat a meal; she gorges herself on animals, pies, and bottles of wine, with Cabernet-stained drool seeping down her chin. It’s not clear if Mizuno is showing us how the other characters see Ravina — as a repulsive, unstoppable force of nature — or if Mizuno is celebrating Ravina’s obvious pleasure in eating, defying social expectations that she be restrained, demure, or self-abnegating — in short, refusing to be lady-like in the presence of food.

The ambiguity of these binge-eating scenes stems, in part, from Mizuno’s trademark Gothic kawaii style, which subverts the true horror of what’s she depicting; even the most ruthless characters have soft, round faces that belie their rotten natures. (Heck, her maggots are cute.) Her illustrations are framed by a pleasing assortment of pastel doodles, with flowers, ravens, curlicues, and smiley-faced cabbages filling the nooks and crannies of every page. Although Mizuno is no stranger to full-color comics — all three of her VIZ titles are printed in color — Ravina is printed on glossy paper stock that enables Mizuno to exploit the natural shine and texture of metallic paints to striking effect, mitigating the flatness of her character designs and backgrounds with tactile accents.

Though Ravina the Witch? feels like a step forward for Mizuno’s artistry, story-wise it reads more like a remix of Cinderalla and Princess Mermaid. There’s nothing wrong with mining the same vein of inspiration to produce new works, but when your storytelling approach is this mannered, there are only so many times you can rehearse the same schtick before it feels tired. I’m not sure where Mizuno goes from here, but a gonzo sci-fi adventure, a crime procedural, or even a high-school comedy might give her fresh opportunities to stretch herself without rehashing the same Grimm plotline.

RAVINA THE WITCH? • BY JUNKO MIZUNO • TITAN COMICS • NO RATING (MATURE THEMES) • 48 pp.