This Week in Anime

Uncomfortable and Uncompromising: the Works of Shuzo Oshimi

Coop
Happy New Year, Sylvia! I am thrilled to meet you once again and discuss an author who has been on my mind for a couple of years now. And honestly, there's a good chance those works have been INSIDE my brain longer than I've realized.

Just as long as all of these terrible puns have.

We'll circle back around to Inside Mari later, but I'd say that Hiroshi Nagahama's take on The Flowers of Evil was my first proper encounter with Oshimi's work as well. Around the time Nagahama was announced as a guest at Otakon 2024, Lynzee sent me an all-caps message that read "YOU'VE GOTTA WATCH EVERYTHING HE'S DONE," and I ended up starting with Flowers...

For being a series from 2013, I can't think of many other modern productions that've aged so well. Not to mention that it made me feel like I'm watching something that I wasn't meant to see—a peek right behind the keyhole of a closed door. I've come to feel this about most of Oshimi's work, and it's not just for the horrifying or salacious reasons. Rather, it's that his works are uncomfortably and uncompromisingly honest.

The 2019 live-action adaptation of The Flowers of Evil also makes me a bit sad that Nagahama and the crew at Zexcs never had the opportunity to wrap up their version. If I were a betting man, I'd assume it had something to do with the violent reaction many had to the show's rotoscoped look. While I can understand people not being crazy about that style, it is that element that propels the series into its own lane. In fact, I had the chance to pick Nagahama's brain on the rotoscoping last year, and we both had a good chuckle about it.

Wow, that rules! Experiencing that graciousness for myself was something incredibly special. You can tell that he really values everyone who's taken the time to wait in line and see him. Man, I treasure the experience (and the Venom he drew for me) so much.

The Nagahomies are wilding out

@hyakushiki0087.bsky.social @brainchild129.bsky.social

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— Coop (@riderstrike.bsky.social) May 25, 2025 at 10:07 AM

As a fun aside, I knew I'd be standing next to my friends while waiting for Nagahama's autograph, but I didn't expect Masao Maruyama to also be in line!

I flicked through a bit of the first volume not long after finishing the anime series, and was taken aback by the relatively safe look of Oshimi's initial style... But looking at it where it goes, you can see just how much he's evolved as an artist over the manga's five-year run. I firmly feel the makings of Welcome Back, Alice in that second page—almost as if Flowers of Evil is something of a blueprint for that story. Well, parts of it at least.

I'm also a touch more familiar with his post-Flowers of Evil work. And similarly, I feel like I've grown so much since I randomly bumped into Inside Mari sometime in 2016 or 2017. How or why I stumbled upon it, I'm not sure. Looking back at it, that time in my life was a stressful blur—I scrambled to find meaning in my last year of a degree I knew I probably wouldn't be doing anything with.

A few hard-to-watch favorites of mine emerged from that time like The Tatami Galaxy and A Silent Voice (a film I can't bring myself to watch again), but Inside Mari just didn't stick...or so I thought. When I finished watching Flowers of Evil in 2024, a friend strongly recommended that I check out Mari. It was then that hazy memories of it and its twist came seeping back into my mind.

Capital-G Gender, indeed.

Even though his afterwords are probably seen as oversharing by many, I appreciate how raw, unfiltered, and human they are. Despite the manicured image so many of us put out for the world to see, we're all flawed beings with elements about ourselves that we don't talk about or keep behind closed doors. Oshimi's willingness to talk about the unfortunate bruise on his person, his relationship with pornography, or how that all rolls into his self-image lets readers know that they're not alone. They're not the only person who have struggled with these sorts of issues.

I'm firmly of the belief that the right story just might change your life, and I'm so glad that Welcome Back, Alice was one of those stories for you, from the sounds of it.

Absolutely, that's his own business to share (or maybe not share) how he feels about his gender. But I do find it encouraging that he's well aware of the effect his stories have had on queer readers.

If any particular image from Oshimi's works has been burnt into my mind, it's Kei's response to Mitani's supposed thoughts on love early on in Welcome Back, Alice. For a long time, I've struggled with the idea of what that four-letter word means to me. Platonic, familiar, romantic... Not to say that there aren't people in my life who do love me, but it's hard not to yearn for that unconditional love we're all hunting for. A love that doesn't care about your gender, how you present yourself, or your faults (within reason on that last one, of course). Generally, most people just want to be loved for who they are. As Yoh and Kei's relationship cements itself, I felt as if I was seeing more than puppy love or a carnal dalliance; it's something that goes beyond. Though let's be honest, Kei doesn't go about it in the right way, and they don't fully realize it until Mitani starts aggressively toying with Yoh. Be it my feelings on love or how the love triangle plays out, it's messy. Hell, all of our lives are messy. That's just being human.

Or you read through Miss Kusakabe and start seeing red flags from both parties on page one.

His one-shots, especially, are targeted gut punches that leave you reeling... However, that's probably Oshimi's greatest strength overall—he leaves everything out on the page for readers to figure out for themselves.

And here I was simply going "Oh, it's called Blood on the Tracks because he's a huge Bob Dylan Fan."

I love his time with the Traveling Wilburys myself. By the way, the freely and officially available Me and Bob Dylan (and My Father) one-shot nails the gradual disconnect many feel with their parents over the years. Painfully so at times.

Between Bob Dylan and Prince, Minnesota really is two-for-two on generation-defining musical talent.

Corporate has asked me to find the difference between the images above, and I can't.

Speaking of that lovingly rotoscoped town, I sincerely hope that the good word around works like 100 Meters will convince a few producers to give the animation style another try. Specifically, I'd love to see Nagahama and his crew return to tackle Welcome Back, Alice. A pie in the sky thought, but it would be a full-circle moment for the band of creatives who all "became Nakamura."

Now that's what I call discourse, baby.

Sylvia, I'm starting to believe that we, too, are Nakamura.

That's not an essay, but I'll take it.